Page 57 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
When we finish, I turn off the device and tell him he is going to be a model media baseball player. “So long as you stay away from the—gasp—forbidden fruit of me,” I add in my best soap-star voice. But though I’m treating it lightly, it’s not a light situation. There is a world beyond these walls.
A world that would see this afternoon only one way.
And I’d be a fool to pretend there isn’t.
“Seems I’m oh-for-three at resisting the forbidden fruit,” he says with a crooked grin, and I wish we were only joking. I wish we weren’t truly tangoing with trouble.
His eyes drift to my recorder. “Can I take my turn interviewing you?”
“You’re into table-turning, and I’m just learning this?”
“Maybe I am,” he says.
“Then try me.”
I sit cross-legged, fold my hands in my lap, and adopt a good-girl look. “Let’s see if you give a good interview.”
“The challenge is on.”
But he doesn’t pick up the device. Instead, he clears his throat and dives into the question pool, turning the tables on me immediately. “So, Reese, tell me the best piece of advice you’ve ever been given.”
I sit up a little straighter, answering from the heart. “My mom likes to say, ‘The answer is always no, unless you ask, so don’t be afraid to ask for what you want.’ She said that to me when I was growing up as a way to instill confidence in me.”
He arches a brow. “You’re confident? I had no idea,” he says, rolling his eyes.
I swat him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He smiles. “It’s an excellent thing. And it’s good insight into you, into why you’re such a go-getter. Because you are.”
“She also taught me to know my limits. And I think that’s just as important.”
His brow furrows. “Makes sense, but what does that mean to you? Why did it resonate?”
“It means something to me because it meant something to her,” I begin, careful not to tread too close to the elephant in the room—my dad. “She was a woman who learned hers. She was a woman who knew when she’d reached them,” I say, dread curling in my veins as we sway close to the reason this afternoon can only be an afternoon.
Without even saying it, we both know how today ends.
It ends without any more plans. It ends without a game plan for us.
It ends with him going to the ballpark to work for my father.
I swallow the bitterness coating my throat. “And to know myself. Like knowing that I would only go so far in volleyball. Like knowing what I want and what to expect from myself in a relationship.”
I put that out there, not afraid to tell him what I want, even if I can’t have it. “I’m a relationship gal,” I say. “And it’s good to know your limits.”
He’s quiet for a beat. Maybe I’ve touched on a spot that’s sorer than I thought.
His limits.
22
Holden
I tense at the reminder of limits.
We have them.
Soon, I’ll hit hers. I’ll bump up against the elasticity. Because I can’t give her what she deserves. I can’t give her what I want to give.
Best to shift. “What are your goals?” I ask as I continue to mock-interview, hoping to jump to less dangerous terrain.
“Simple. Change the world.”
I laugh, loving her lightness even as she embarks on a big mission. “You know yourself so well at age twenty-five. How is that possible?”
She pushes on my shoulder. “Hey, I’m twenty-four. Don’t age me up.”
“So young. When’s your birthday?”
She gives me the date. It’s in the fall. “And I suppose I know what I want because I’m surrounded by strong women and strong friends, and also because I learned when I was a teenager exactly what I don’t want,” she says, her tone darkening, right along with those crystal blue eyes. “I learned what I find unacceptable.”
I’ve got a feeling she learned it through her dad leaving. She’s never said why he left, but it’s easy to read between the lines. He hurt her mom. He probably cheated on her. I wish I didn’t know that.
I swallow roughly. “Know your limits,” I repeat, heavily too.
“Yes. Exactly.”
I look at the clock. I’ll need to leave in a couple of hours for batting practice.
Maybe I know my own limits. Maybe I’m reaching them.
“Enough of this pretend microphone,” I say, then reach for her shirt, dragging her close to me.
“Yeah, enough of all that,” she says, her eyes floating closed, her lips asking for a kiss.
We move past the tension of the unspoken.
We move to a zone that feels limitless.
The physical.
I kiss her tenderly, exploring her lips, kissing her jaw, teasing her the way she likes. The way that gets her all worked up. The way that drives me wild too. When she’s wiggling and squirming, panting and shuddering, I take her hand, lead her to the bedroom, and tug off her shirt. I shuck off my clothes, reach for a condom, and give her an order.
