Page 80 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
“But you showed them. Messy series, but you played a good game,” she says. “I saw your post-game interview too. You were diplomatic about the Storm Chasers. How they play hard and tough, but that’s just the game.”
“Josh wants me to be chattier with the press,” I say. “He might be sewing up a new sponsorship deal for me. Guess the company likes the press-friendly image.”
My dad flashes a cheesy grin. “As do I. You’ll get me the Bugatti I’ve always wanted then?”
My mom cracks up, slugging his arm. “As if you even know what a Bugatti is.”
“It’s a fast car.”
“You love your Honda.”
He shrugs. “Fine, fine, I love my little Honda. I wouldn’t even know what to do with a Bugatti.” He turns back to me. “How’s everything going out there? Are you settling in?”
“I am. Life is good, and I—” I say, but then stop myself from setting free the words on the tip of my tongue. I met someone, there’s this woman, I want to tell you about her.
I desperately want to tell them. I don’t just talk to my parents about baseball. We talk about life. We talk about hopes and dreams. Reese feels like one of those.
But to sort this out properly, I need to be patient.
“Does it hurt?” Those are the first words out of Reese’s beautiful red lips.
Truth is, my ass hurts like a Bugatti rammed into it on the autobahn. “It hurt the whole game, but I don’t give a fuck,” I say, reaching for her hand, pulling her close once I shut the door.
I try to kiss her, but she’ll have none of that. “Did you put ice on it?”
“On my ass? I won’t even answer that.”
“Holden. Did you?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I’ve been hit with a pitch many times. I’m not icing my ass.”
She rolls her eyes as we head to the kitchen. “Stop being so tough. You’re going to have some serious bruising tomorrow.”
“It’s already bruised. It’s just my glute. He didn’t hit me with his chin music,” I say.
She shoots me a sharp stare. “Don’t joke about that. This is serious, Holden.”
I soften, my heart thump-thumping harder at her concern. “Nobody likes getting hit by a pitch. But it’s part of the game. It’s been part of the game since Little League. Everyone gets hit.”
“And everyone acts like it’s fine on the field and in front of the guys. You’re not on the field now, and you’re not with the guys. And there’s no fight now at second where the dugouts empty because everyone’s pissed about the past,” she says.
I huff. “Fine. It still hurts,” I mutter.
“Then let’s ice it because you’re going to have some kind of goose egg tomorrow.”
She leads me to the living room, sets down her purse, and tells me to sit on my right cheek. I do, giving her the evil eye the whole time. “I’d rather be fucking you.”
“Ice first, sex second.”
“Sex first,” I call out as she heads to the kitchen to grab an ice pack.
When she returns, she asks where it hurts. I pull an Indiana Jones and tap my lip.
“Your ass, silly,” she says with an eye roll.
“You can kiss that too.”
She laughs. “Where on your ass?”
I point to the spot.
She sets the pack on it, and I scowl at her. “It’s cold.”
“Cold is good.”
“Hot would be better. I bet your mouth is hot,” I say, wiggling my brows.
“You’re incorrigible.” She holds the ice pack in place as it freezes my ass to igloo temps.
“C’mon, beautiful. Kiss me while you ice me,” I say, offering my lips.
“You’re relentless.”
“I know what I want, and it’s not ice. And I know what I need, and it’s not ice either.”
“Yeah? What is that?”
I lean closer, sweeping my mouth over hers. “You.”
She trembles slightly, her lips parting.
Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. “I feel better now.” I lift a hand and cup her cheek.
“Holden,” she says, but when I capture her lips in a kiss, her protests turn into sighs.
Moans.
Gasping breaths.
Then I shove the pack off my ass, lie down on the couch, and bring her on top of me.
I don’t give a flying fuck about the bruise.
Her eyes swing to my butt, worry in her gaze.
“Nothing hurts when your lips are on me. Trust me,” I say, answering her unspoken question.
“You are such a cheeseball,” she says.
“I’m a hornball. Now, you know the rules,” I say, all flirty now.
“What rules?”
“When a man gets hit by a pitch, his woman rides him till she comes hard and he comes hard.”
She laughs while rocking against my thickening cock. “Am I your woman?”
I nod, tugging her close. “I love you, Reese. What else would you be?”
She just shrugs, her expression suddenly distant, her mouth falling into a straight line. She swallows, looking away briefly.
“What’s wrong?”
