Page 45 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
Good thing I’m not an arm woman.
Except wait. I’m kind of salivating. Yep. Gawking now. Mouth is watering too. Oh, holy hell, I am such an arm woman.
And that man is a purveyor of arm porn.
He reaches me, stops, and flashes a grin. “Fancy meeting you here on a Saturday morning.”
“Where do you live?” I blurt out. “I never asked you the other night.”
“I live in Pacific Heights,” he answers. “It’s kind of, like, baseball player central over there.”
“True.” I gesture toward the nearby coffee shop, and we head to it. “Grant is there.”
“Crosby too. I guess we all like it in that area. And I suppose that’s no surprise to you. I didn’t talk about where I lived because we were discussing so very many other interesting things.” His eyes glimmer as he lets that sentence fall from his naughty tongue.
“Yes, if memory serves, we had a . . . great conversation,” I say, matching him flirt for flirt as we reach the shop and get in line.
He licks his lips, then lowers his voice. “There was definitely some discussing going on . . . and there was also some . . . not discussing going on,” he says, making the not sound so delicious, so tantalizing on his lips, as that word becomes a synonym for everything else we did with our mouths. All that kissing.
“But there were some discussions in my brain,” I add coyly, tapping my skull.
We shuffle toward the front of the line. “What was going through your head, Reese?”
Less than a minute, and we’re back to the way we were.
Maybe we need to get the flirting out of our system by doing it. “I was wondering whether you kissed as well as you did the first time,” I say, a rush of tingles spreading through me as we dive into the topic we both seem to like the most—each other.
This is what happens to me near him. I transform into Reese amped-up. Flirty Reese. Vixen Reese. Reese who feels wildly sexy.
I love this side of me.
It’s such a different side than Work Reese or Daughter Reese or Friend Reese.
He arches a brow. “And what was the verdict? Did I live up to, well, me?”
I let a small smile play on my lips. I don’t want to give away entirely how much he lived up to the memories. “Yes, you definitely did. And then some.”
I guess I did give it away. It’s hard for me not to be honest with him.
We’ve always been wonderfully honest with each other since the day we met. One of the things I liked the most about Holden was I felt like I could be myself with him. Like I could speak from my heart. That was another reason why I wanted him to be my first.
I felt like me with him.
I felt understood.
No secrets, no hiding, no lies.
Perhaps that’s why it seems like I know him well, even though this is only the third time I’ve seen him. Every time we’re together, we connect like we’ve known each other forever.
We play zero games.
Except flirting, and even that game is all truth with him. It’s our truth.
So, I suppose I do know him well.
“And what about me? Did I live up to the memory?” I squeeze my eyes shut, wincing at my own boldness. Was that too much? Too needy? I open my eyes, nervous. “Silly question. That assumes you were even thinking about that time.”
There. That time makes our night together seem like any other night.
He leans a little closer. “I thought about you so much.”
“You did?” My chest flips.
“I told you, Reese. I haven’t been with anyone since you. I haven’t kissed anyone since you. I didn’t want to.”
A shiver runs down my spine. Our night together wasn’t like any other night. For either one of us, it seems.
“And to answer your question, you kissed like a dream.”
I want to grab the neck of his shirt, yank him in close, and kiss him once more. But I’ve got to let go of that desire. I’ve got to treat this morning for what it is—a simple business meeting on a Saturday at the Ferry Building.
A bright voice chirps. “What can I get you?”
Saved by the barista.
“Cortado?” I ask Holden.
His lips curve up in a lopsided grin. “And a macchiato for you?”
“Indeed.”
We order, and as we wait, his gaze swings down to my sweater. “You still have a thing for vintage style, I see,” he says.
I pluck at my buttons as if I just noticed the top. “I suppose I do.”
He tips his forehead to the coffee shop. “And researching cafés and hip little spots to eat and drink,” he adds, and I can’t even try to hide a grin.
“I still do,” I say, too charmed by him.
He smiles, and it’s the kind that disarms and undresses me at the same damn time.
