Page 30 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
He gives me big blue I’m waiting eyes. “I can handle it. I’m not afraid of anything about the female anatomy. I’m not gonna make an eww face.”
“I know you’re not. I can still recall the night you let me take a bath in your hotel room before your first Major League opening day.”
He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t watch you take a bath.”
“Well, obviously. Also, I still miss that tub.”
He makes a rolling gesture with his hand. “Spill.”
I huff, then relent. “We kissed and . . .”
“You can say it.” He drops his voice to a stage whisper. “Was it second base or”—he gasps—“third base?”
I swat his shoulder, then whisper, “Third base.”
That earns me a high-five. “And how was it? Did you fake it? Fall asleep during it? Or did he send you to Orgasm Falls?”
I laugh. “Is that a new location in Candy Land?”
“It is. You’ll find it a little east of Blow Job Commons. Just south of Lollipop Woods.”
“Are those two of your favorite locations in the board game?”
He licks his lips salaciously. “Among them. But I also like Hand Job House, which is a hop, skip, and a lick away from Rim Job Lagoon, another great place to visit.”
I smack my hand again on his made-of-steel shoulder. “I almost forgot how naughty you are.”
“Should I have sanitized my mouth for you? Eased you in gently? Maybe left the rimming mention till dessert or coffee?”
“No way. I’ve missed your pure, unfiltered mouth.” I dip my voice to a whisper. “Even though I know you talk a good game. Need I remind you of what you told me the last time we all went dancing?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I gave you my confession that I’m hardly the player everyone thinks I am.” He brings his finger to his lips. “I have secrets to keep.”
For a few seconds, his eyes darken, and his tone goes more intense than I’d expect. Like his secrets are deeper than the ones he’s shared already. Ones about his first time. About how he still sometimes misses that guy.
But maybe now about something else?
I might be reading into his expression, but I swear there’s something new in his eyes. A new secret.
“Speaking of unfiltered mouths,” he says, interrupting my meandering thoughts as he makes a rolling gesture with his hand. “You went there with Kingsley?”
“That night nearly two years ago, we went there. Tongue Palace, I believe it’s called. And it was earth-shatteringly, toe-curlingly, knee-weakeningly good.” I draw a deep breath. “We also made plans that night to get together a second time. To see each other again.”
“Even though it was long-distance?”
“Yes. And we texted for a week until I left the country.”
“Damn. You guys really liked each other,” he says, his tone serious now.
A smile forms, unbidden, at the memory. “Yes. Are you surprised?”
“Not that he liked you. You’re awesome and fantastic, and any man who goes out with you should want to marry you. I just haven’t been able to get a read on him when it comes to dating and women.”
Something doesn’t compute. “How would you get a read on him?”
“He’s buds with Crosby, my third baseman. I’ve hung out with him and Crosby a few times since he moved to town.”
Ohhhhhhh.
This could be useful. Way more revealing than social media.
“So, is he seeing anyone?” My voice pitches upward with hope.
But Grant dashes that quickly with a scoff. “No clue. We’re not super tight. More like workout buds who debate random shit, like whether Harrison Ford was better as Indy or Han Solo.”
I stare sharply at him. “Indy. Always Indy. Brilliant archaeologist by day, Nazi-fighter by night.”
“Han. Had a better love story,” he answers decisively. Opinions, we have ’em.
Grant leans back into the couch cushion, looking all casual and cool in his jeans and tight gray T-shirt. “Anyway, why are you asking if he’s seeing anyone? What’s going on for real, Reese? Are you still hung up on him because of what happened a couple of years ago?”
When he phrases it like that, I shake my head, thinking I should pry the man loose from my mind. “No, but I have fond memories because I was going to have sex with him. I was going to sleep with someone for the first time, but then the night ended too soon. His flight was canceled, and he had to catch an earlier plane. I probably think about him more because of that. Do you know what I mean?”
His blue eyes twinkle with understanding. “I absolutely understand the fond memories of your first time,” he says, the slightest bit wistful. Is he still hung up on the shortstop for the New York Comets like he was for a while? A long, long while.
Understandably.
I study his expression, then ask softly, “Have you heard from him lately? Declan?”
