Page 13 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
Curiosity has taken the wheel.
If he can kiss like that, I’m dying to know how he makes love.
Do I say that to him?
Should I say that?
That’s probably too much, too soon.
I need to think about what to say, how to ask for what I truly want.
Or whether I should say anything at all.
I lean in close, feeling as bold as I did when I asked him for the interview. “I would love to have dinner now.”
Can he hear the subtext in my voice?
He growls, and that’s close enough to a yes for me.
4
Holden
This was not in the plan.
But I’m writing a new one for the next few hours.
Instead of returning to my hotel room, studying up on the Texas Scoundrels starting pitcher, then hitting the sack early, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this time with the most captivating woman I’ve ever met.
Even though a nagging voice in the back of my mind warns that I should resist her—because I don’t do hookups, and this can’t go anywhere.
But I want it to.
Oh hell, do I want it to.
That’s unexpected; I didn’t think I wanted anything more than casual for a while. Not after the way my college girlfriend, Olivia, kicked me to the curb shortly after I was drafted to the minors in the unremarkable eighth round.
We’d made plans to stay together after graduation, but her plan, it seemed, wasn’t to date a minor leaguer.
A guy whose career was in flux.
Translation: why the hell couldn’t I have scored a fat signing bonus in the first round?
She walked away, and I vowed to focus on the game and only the game.
But fuck the past.
Screw plans.
Here I am.
All thanks to chemistry.
Only, there’s more going on with Reese than that. This thing brewing between us isn’t merely about hormones. There’s a connection that makes me want to get to know her, to understand her.
This attraction feels like a winning streak at the plate, and every good ballplayer knows the golden rule of the game—you don’t mess with a streak.
You honor the hell out of it.
So, we go to a nearby diner, an old-school one with green Formica counters and a sign beckoning in neon. “I loved this place when I went to school here.”
She agrees. “It hits me right in my retro-loving side.”
“Is that the side that’s wearing that red blouse?” I ask, my eyes swinging to her shirt.
She runs her fingers over the black buttons, a thoroughly distracting move. “You recognize the style.”
“You wear it well.”
“Thank you. I have a thing for vintage tops, and retro diners, and also trendy new clothes and the hippest new eateries.”
“So you like to hedge your bets. Make sure you’ve got a horse in every race.”
She laughs too. “Apparently. Or maybe I’m just a woman of varied tastes.”
“An excellent way to be,” I say.
We grab a booth near the back. I order the Asian chicken salad and she opts for the Cobb, then we return the menus to their spot behind the napkin holder. “Now and then you gotta go for a salad—athlete habit, right?”
With a sheepish grin, she shrugs. “Athlete habits die hard.”
“No need for them to die. You’re still an athlete,” I point out. “You said you’ll always play volleyball.”
“True. You’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming away from the court, so I’m all about greens, protein, and new cuisines. Except,” she says, lifting a finger, “I’ll always make an exception for fries.”
“Ah, the universal french fry rule,” I say, adopting a wise man tone.
“It’s the ultimate exemption.”
“The grandfather clause of food.”
“Thou shalt not resist fries.”
“Wouldn’t that be a commandment?” I posit.
“Of course. Fries are on a biblical level.” She shoots me a curious glance from under her sexy lashes before her gaze drifts down. There’s a hint of a secret there, maybe even shyness.
She’s quiet for a beat, longer than I’ve heard from her. I tilt my head, trying to understand her. “Hey, Reese,” I whisper.
She lifts her pretty face, and for a flash of a second, she’s all wide-eyed innocence.
That expression slams into me.
Whatever happens tonight, I realize I need to let her set the pace. I don’t want to forget that for an instant.
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
She’s still for another moment, then her lips curve into a grin that lands this side of naughty. The innocence is all gone, erased in a heartbeat.
“I’m very okay,” she says, a little breathy. “I’m having a great time. I had a great time on the steps too.”
“What do you know? So did I.” I grin just thinking about the kiss that boggled my brain, that turned my temperature up to incinerator heat.
She slides her elbows closer to my side of the table, looks left, looks right. Hardly anyone is here, but I get the sense she values privacy. “I think I can still feel your kiss.”
