Page 46 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
“I like,” he says, the words rolling around on his tongue like a cherry that tastes so good.
And I want to whisper back I like too, but it might come out as Gah, I like you, and I’d like you to take me right now.
I don’t say anything, and soon the barista hands us our drinks. “Do you want to walk and talk?” I ask.
“I do.”
We wander through the Ferry Building, and he takes a drink of his cortado then makes a satisfied sound.
“Look at you, loving your cortado still,” I say with a laugh.
“Look at you, remembering my drink after nearly two years. Should I make something of the fact that you remember it?”
My mind catches on his comment, cycling back to Tia’s recent report on a book that kept her up well past bedtime. And the hero remembered every little thing about the heroine when they reunited, from how she takes her lattes, to her most played Spotify tune, to her favorite poem, and it was almost creepery, but mostly swoony.
“The funny thing is, in some books that’s the sign that a man hasn’t forgotten a woman—remembering her coffee order,” I tell Holden.
A light scoff comes from him. “Beautiful, I remember so much more than your coffee order,” he rumbles.
“Hopefully not in a creepery way,” I say, laughing at the private memory.
“Creepery? That’s creepery? Maybe you’re the creeper, since you remembered mine,” he says, teasing me right back.
“It reminded me of something Tia said,” I tell him, then explain the story.
“Ah, so maybe I won’t tell you the other things I remember,” he says, like he’s tucking those little details in his pocket for safekeeping.
“Try me,” I insist. “I want to know.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Don’t want to be creepery.”
“C’mon,” I say, pouting. “Tell me something you remember.”
He’s adamant though, digging in his heels. “Nah. I’m going to err on the side of swoony by keeping it to myself.”
I frown. “What if I tell you something I remember?”
He stops, stroking his chin. “I’ll consider it then. The floor is yours.”
I lick my lips, cycling through so many moments, so many little details as I savor the view in front of me—the man I’ve most wanted to see again for the longest time. One particular memory flashes before me as I take him in. “I remember how your hair feels when I run my fingers through it.”
His darkened gaze hints of sex and desire, his voice going smoky, enticing. “How does it feel?”
I lift my free hand, lightly brushing the side of his head, stealing a touch of his hair. “Mmm. So good.”
His breath hisses, and he leans a little closer to my palm. “So this is swoony, not creepery?”
“Definitely swoony,” I whisper, then lift my mug and take a drink, the cup hiding my wild grin. After I take a sip, I say, “Now it’s your turn.”
He stares in the distance briefly, then returns to me. “If you want a sign that a man hasn’t forgotten a woman, I’d look for something bigger than remembering she likes macchiatos.”
Bigger.
Is he making a sex joke or something else? “Like what?”
“Like I told you. The fact that he hasn’t been with anyone else in two years,” he says, and it’s a mic-drop moment.
His words come out so strong.
My chest flutters.
It almost feels like he’s telling me more than he said the night at the Legion of Honor. As if there’s more at play than simply not meeting someone else.
I want to dive into the why, to ask more questions, but if I go down that hill, I’ll be tumbling straight into an avalanche of desire.
“Why did I think seeing you today would be easy?” I ask, a little breathy.
“It’s not easy. It’s not easy one bit. But it sure is fun, Reese,” he says, in a voice that makes me feel like we’re in a private cocoon. He clears his throat, straightening his shoulders. “But for the rest of the morning, I’m going to behave. I vow to behave.”
“Fine. If you’re going to behave, I’ll behave too,” I say, bumping my hip to his as proof.
Well, proof of something, but maybe not good behavior.
18
Reese
We both sip our drinks and then turn back into the building. Walking past the Imperial Tea Court, I slide into business. “I checked out some of your press clippings. And I know this is going to sound strange, but I think the problem is you’re almost too honest and too forthright.”
His brow furrows. “This reminds me of a job interview where they ask what your flaw is, and you give them a flaw that’s actually an asset, like ‘I’m too meticulous.’ Or ‘I pay too much attention to detail.’”
I arch a skeptical brow. “When have you ever had a traditional job interview?”
“Hey now. My parents made me practice in case this baseball thing didn’t work out.”
