Page 89 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
“Oh, that’s a good one,” I say. “Keep that one in your back pocket.”
“Seriously, though,” Layla asks, “do people really ask that at a baby shower?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. This is my first one, since neither of you has made me an honorary aunt or is likely to anytime soon.” I add a sassy wink so they know I’m not adding to societal pressure to procreate.
But it turns out, no one at the baby shower asks us those questions. Becky’s sisters instead want to know how we became friends, how hard it was when we were apart, and if we’ll be sad when Layla returns to Turkey soon.
Those answers don’t need rehearsal: through athletics, terribly hard, and yes.
We share the stories of our friendship, then chat more with Becky’s friends and sisters, her mom and her aunts.
Is it the most fun I’ve ever had?
No.
But when my own sister, Kelsey, gets there, I throw myself at her, overjoyed. “It’s been so long. Stop avoiding me.”
She hugs me tight. “Yes. I’ve been ignoring you in the ER,” she teases.
“I knew it.” When I let her go, I cast my eyes to Becky. “Check her out. She’s got our little brother parked inside her. Weird but cool.”
“Funny, that’s how I always described you growing up,” she says.
“Sisters. The ribbing never ends.”
“And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Truer words.”
We have a great time, drinking mimosas—virgin mimosas for the mom-to-be—playing baby word games, and opening gifts containing onesies, bottles, and cloth books.
When the shower winds down, I give Becky a hug and thank her for the invite.
“No, thank you. It means the world to me that you came,” she says with a squeeze of my arm.
I wave goodbye to her big bump.
Two weeks later, my half brother arrives, and when I visit him for the first time, my heart rises into my throat and lodges there.
As tears slip down my cheeks, I give him a soft kiss on the forehead, inhale his baby scent, and understand my father a little more.
Second chances—I get it.
I’m glad he has one.
In a way, I found my second chance with Holden.
If you’re lucky enough to get one, I figure you better not let it pass you by.
My father is embracing his, and I’m loving mine.
One night in May, Holden takes me out to a fantastic Korean restaurant by the Ferry Building, where we dine on bibimbap and kimchi. After dinner, we walk along the water, heading to the spot where he took that first picture of me.
“Let me take another shot of you,” he says.
“Is this for your moody picture collection on Insta?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “As always, it’s for me. Me and my lonely nights on the road without you.”
He takes the pic then tucks the phone into his pocket and wraps an arm around me as we walk away.
“Do you really look at the pictures of me when you’re out of town?” I ask.
“Hell yeah.”
“Weirdo,” I tease.
“I know. It’s so strange to check out pictures of the woman I live with.”
I arch a brow, slowing my pace. “Live with?”
He flashes a winning grin. “Power of positive thinking. I was thinking how nice it would be if you lived with me.”
My heart dances a happy jig. “Live with the new face of the Katt phone, with all its fantastic selfie improvements?” Teasing him about the sponsorship gig that Josh nabbed for him never gets old.
A partnership with a cell phone maker to tout its camera is perfect for Holden. But the company also hired him for how he plays the game of baseball—like a leader.
When he landed the deal, he told me, “They were impressed that I broke up the fight with the Storm Chasers, rather than started it.”
I love that he scored a sponsorship for his character. For a part of him that’s true and real and one of the many reasons I love him.
I went to his photo shoot last week on Marshall’s Beach by the Pacific, with a stunning view of the Golden Gate Bridge. That was a blast, seeing my guy in action off the field. Plus, it was fun because Asher was hired by the phone company to shoot the pics of him, and I got to catch up with the soccer player turned photographer at the end of the session.
“Reese, what do I have to do to convince you that soccer is the best sport?” he’d asked with a glint in his hazel eyes.
I tapped my chin, pretending to consider. “Well, tickets to your former team’s game next time I’m on the continent,” I teased.
“Consider it done,” he said.
The funny thing is I barely know Asher, but I have a feeling he would get me tickets. He’s one of those guys who charms anyone, remembers everyone’s name, and captivates a room when he enters. I was almost tempted to try to set him up with Grant, but something tells me Asher doesn’t need anyone playing matchmaker in his life. I suspect he’s doing just fine on his own. Plus, I’m pretty sure Grant’s heart is still caught in the past.
