Page 14 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
A groan works its way up my chest. “Good. That’s how you should be kissed. So you don’t forget how it feels when my lips touch you.”
“I don’t think I can or ever will.”
I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine. “Don’t. Because I’m planning on kissing you again, Reese. A long, passionate good-night kiss that you’ll feel in your knees.”
That hint of innocence flickers across her eyes once more, then it’s chased by heat. “I’ll hold you to it.”
I’d like to hold her against me all night long.
With my free hand, I scrub the back of my neck, blowing out a long stream of air. “If we keep talking about kissing, I won’t be able to focus on anything else. How to use a fork, where I keep my credit card, remembering my fucking name,” I say, and she grins wickedly. I clear my throat, shifting gears. “But I want to know you more too. What will you do when you graduate? Do you have a job lined up?”
She holds up her right hand, her index and forefinger crossed. “I’m supposed to be getting a job offer this week in San Francisco. I’m from there, and my mom still lives there. It’s entry-level at a publicity firm that works with different charities. Not all the charities are sports-related, but it’s a decent start.”
“That’s fantastic. I hope you lock that up,” I say, and I can’t believe the routine-centric portion of my brain is already whispering, San Francisco isn’t that far from Los Angeles. You could see her again during the season. Maybe date her.
Then, my logical side says, Yeah, dipshit, and you’re on the road half the year. When are you going to fit in a long-distance girlfriend?
I tell both those sides to fuck off because tonight isn’t about plans. It’s about here and now. That’s all that matters anyway. This out-of-this-world chemistry with Reese Fallon. “You’re close with your mom?” I continue.
She beams. “Definitely. She’s great. She’s a nurse practitioner. I have an older sister too. Kelsey. She’s in San Diego, finishing her residency. She’s a doctor. So I’m the black sheep of the family.”
I arch a skeptical brow. “Somehow I doubt that,” I say, then it registers—she didn’t mention a father. That might be a sore topic for many reasons. He might have passed on. He might not have been involved at all. “And is your dad around? In the picture? Out of the picture?”
Her jaw ticks. Her eyes go hard. That seems to be answer enough. “He’s around, but . . .” She sighs, then smiles. “Let’s not talk about my dad.”
“Fair enough,” I say, not wanting to press.
“What about you? Are you close with your family? Your parents are still in Seattle?”
“Yup. Where I grew up, where I live during the off-season. We all get along great. I have two little brothers. They give me a hard time about literally everything, but I love the knuckleheads. And my parents are both teachers. English and math.”
“So you had no excuse to be bad at either subject.”
I tap my nose. “Bingo. Homework first, then sports.”
“Not a bad mantra. Seems to have worked out.”
Our food arrives shortly. While we eat, Reese and I chat about my time in the minor leagues, about when I got called up. We discuss her favorite professor, my friends, her friends, and how awesome this diner that never changes is.
When we finish, I glance at the time on my phone.
“Do you need to go?” Her voice is pitched with nerves.
“No. My flight is in the morning.”
She dips her head again, and that demure look flickers across her face. “Are you shy, Reese?” I ask, teasing. “Reese who asked me to kiss her on the steps of the building where I learned all about early American history?”
She laughs. “And do you remember all the details from History 101?”
“Every single critical fact. But don’t try to distract me. Are you shy about something? Nervous?” I ask, stretching out my arm, swiping a lock of hair that hides her lovely eyes.
“Do you think I’m shy?”
I shake my head. “No, but I think you have something on your mind.”
With a nibble on the corner of her lips, she nods almost imperceptibly. “I do.”
Those two words latch onto my heart. They sound . . . worried, but also not.
Like she’s concerned, but brave too.
“Do you want me to go?”
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head in a second. “No. Please don’t go.”
The tension in my chest eases, but that voice still asks, Are you doing this, man? Are you throwing your own rules by the wayside?
That’s the question. After things with Olivia ended a few years ago, I’ve been devoutly single and intensely focused on baseball. I don’t mean single and swinging my dick around.
I mean single and swinging the bat.
