Page 44 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
I find Tia in her kitchen, making a pot of tea. Yawning, she arches a brow when she sees me. “You look good,” she says, dragging out the last word.
Prickles of guilt nag at me. Best to dive into the deep end and discuss it. “Tia. I need to know. Am I crossing a line by seeing Holden?”
“Are you going to bang him today?” she asks point-blank. “Is that what the cute top is about?”
I sigh. “I just want to look good.”
“Naturally, but to my point: Are you going to go horizontal with him today?”
“Because everything’s about sex?” I ask with a light laugh, maybe to cover up the whirl of questions inside me.
“It is indeed.” She casts her gaze to the teapot, perhaps willing it to steep faster. “Except sex. Sex is about power,” she adds, going full wise shrink-to-be.
But how does that help me? “So, seeing Holden is about sex?”
She lifts a brow in question. “Do you want to sleep with him?”
I flash back to the other night when my bones melted just being near him, and my pulse soared past the stratosphere. “Yes. But I’m not seeing him to sleep with him. I’m seeing him because I want to help him.”
“Because you want to sleep with him?”
I groan. “No. I mean, yes. I mean, you’re too smart now that you have a master’s degree.”
She laughs, leaning even more casually against the counter. “As long as you don’t bang at the Ferry Building, it’s fine.”
“Seriously,” I press, wringing my hands.
“Do you think it might lead to something more?”
I shake my head, reminding myself of the score. “It can’t lead to anything more. It definitely won’t lead to anything more. It absolutely won’t.”
“You’re speaking in threes. Like he did in that email,” she says with a sly little smile.
I manage a small laugh at the memory. “Tell me if this is a bad idea.”
“He’s not your boss. He’s not your client. He’s just this guy you’re tangled up with, but not in a terrible way. Take each moment as it comes and listen to your gut. Do you know that humans are the only animals who don’t trust their instincts?”
I file that intel away. I have a feeling I’ll need it sooner or later.
Like when I can’t hear what my instincts are saying.
“Okay, I’ll try to listen to them.”
“And if you need to talk about it, I’m here to listen and not to judge. I don’t think you’re crossing a line, for what it’s worth. But the therapist in me says if you feel that way, it’s worth acknowledging that. Then decide whether you should listen to it or not,” she says, more serious this time, then she gives me a hug.
I need it.
As I head across the city to meet him, my head is a swirl of podcast ideas, and naughty ideas, and Holden ideas, and work ideas.
And ideas about lines.
And whether to cross them.
Once I enter the Ferry Building, I feel like I’m right back where I was on Tuesday night, feeling like he’s my guy.
That is the most dangerous feeling in the world.
Trouble is, it’s kind of a weirdly wonderful feeling too.
17
Reese
Outside is safer.
Outside, he won’t be as tempting.
As I wander through the San Francisco Ferry Building on Saturday morning, I feel calm and centered.
Meeting Holden here is perfect. I picked a brand-new coffee shop. I read about it on a coffee blog—it’s known for its cortados and its crowds. We’ll be surrounded by Saturday morning shoppers, and by young parents pushing their toddlers in jogging strollers, dangling mango slices in front of them, offering soy milk in sippy cups, and buying decaf half-skim mocha coffees at the café around the corner.
This is so safe.
If I were secretly, or even subconsciously, wanting to tango with him, I’d have picked a bar.
Chosen to meet at eight.
Worn something slinky that sloped off my shoulder.
Or I’d have met him near the house so that we could ever-so-conveniently rush back to my studio if we needed to get horizontal.
But nope. I’m miles away from my home, right on the edge of the bay, the cool breeze skipping across the water, and people wandering everywhere. Surely neither one of us will be tempted like we were at the Legion of Honor.
Okay, fine. We were surrounded by people at the Legion of Honor too, and we still found an alcove to sneak into.
But there aren’t any alcoves at the Ferry Building. It’s 100 percent nook-free. Plus, I don’t think he lives near here either.
That raises a good question.
Where does Holden live?
That’s a good beginner question. Plus, if I ask him that, I won’t start our convo by saying how yummy he looks in that dark-blue Henley and how those jeans show off his muscular thighs so deliciously.
He strolls down the corridor, heading toward me as I wait near a gelato stand. The Henley shows off his ripped arms.
