Page 66 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I say.
He shrugs casually. “Don’t be so sure. I might believe it.” He straightens his shoulders, his eyes intense. “Just be careful with her heart, okay? She’s strong on the outside, but she’s had some shit to deal with. I just want you to think about that.”
I want to tell him we’re not anything, but I’ve got a feeling that Grant wouldn’t be fooled, just like I wasn’t fooled by his we got coffee.
“She’s kind of all I think about. Well, besides baseball.”
He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Sounds like your head’s a mess. I know how that can be.”
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m getting out of town.”
“You’re heading to New York next? To play the Comets?” Grant asks, fiddling with the label on his beer bottle, sounding like he’s fishing for info because he damn well knows I’m off to New York.
But the guy’s been good to me, so I decide to toss him a line. “Yeah. I’ll probably grab a bite with Declan. But don’t worry, man,” I say, tipping my forehead to the screen where Declan last appeared. “That’ll stay between us.”
His eyes are etched with relief. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
For a conversation where little was said, I feel like we both understand each other completely.
And I understand myself all too well, since the first thing I do when I land in New York is click on the picture I took of Reese by San Francisco Bay, the wind blowing her hair, the ferry docking behind her, right before I bought her the chocolates.
My heart squeezes.
I wish I were seeing her when I return to California, bringing her chocolates as a gift.
I wish she were at my games, the good ones and the bad ones.
I wish I were by her side at her events, supporting her.
What the hell is happening to me?
I throw out the plan of resisting Reese, and I listen to my instincts, the ones that say talk to her, and I send Reese a text.
25
Reese
Like a kid sliding across the hardwoods on Christmas morning, Jillian practically skids down the hall, stopping sharply at my workspace.
“Come, come,” she says, waving me out of my cube. “Adriana has big news.”
I jump out of my chair. “She’s about to deliver?”
Jillian laughs, shaking her head. “No. But I can’t wait to meet her little daughter in another month.” My heart grows two sizes at the thought. I barely know Adriana, but I’m looking forward to her sweetie pie arriving soon. I’m not even a baby person, but suddenly I’m surrounded by preggers women, and I’m looking forward to all the coming-soon baby snuggles.
I follow Jillian to the VP’s office.
Adriana is doing a victory dance, shimmying and shaking, arms in the air, but all belly, just like Becky.
An image of my father’s wife carrying my half brother seizes my attention, along with the invite to the baby shower.
I still haven’t RSVP’d, and time is getting short.
Work comes first. I need to focus on that.
Hell, I’ve been focusing on that. I had my moment with Holden, and that’s all it was—a moment in time.
Nothing will come of it.
So I keep putting one foot in front of the other. My job, my friends, my life.
That’s all.
Adriana clears her throat, adopting a grand-marshal-for-a-parade stance. “Ladies, as you know, we work with Webflix, and the streaming giant is also the corporate sponsor for USA Hockey’s Disabled Hockey Festival, and they want to do a calendar with their athletes and . . . wait for it . . .” She spreads her hands wide like she’s lighting up a marquee, then she finishes with a flourish, “Rescue dogs.”
Cue the squealing.
The three of us lose our minds with glee because . . . dogs.
“That is the cutest thing ever,” I say, brimming with excitement. “That’s, like . . . everything.”
“Dogs are life. Jones and I have a Chihuahua mix named Cletus,” Jillian says, whipping out her phone and showing us a picture of a little dog leaping over an agility seesaw. “Jones does dog agility training with him, and it’s the cutest thing in the entire universe.”
I bring my hand to my heart, sighing happily at the photo. “That is one hundred percent certified adorable.”
“But you know what is cute too?” Jillian asks, with a waggle of her brows. “Rafe Wilson has a rescue dog as well. And he’s going to be in the calendar,” she says, mentioning the sled hockey player who’s become an advocate for athletes with disabilities. “Reese, I want you to work on this project. You could maybe even interview him for your podcast.”
“Actually, I have talked to him,” I say, lighting up. Rafe and I connected on the phone for my show a year ago while I was in Chile. “He’s fantastic. Well-spoken. Funny. So intelligent.”
