Page 75 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
I’m all too happy to take my turn too.
I come again in a rush of pleasure, a burst of ecstasy, and then I collapse next to him.
He runs his fingers down my arm. “Spend the night,” he says.
“I’m one step ahead of you. I already packed clothes for tomorrow.”
“You should pack work clothes for tomorrow night too. And maybe the next one?” he says, his voice pitching up with nerves, his eyes etched with so much hope.
I have so much hope inside me too.
I say yes, and my hope is that I’m not a fool for falling for him.
I see him that next night after his Sunday evening game, curling up together for a hot and dirty session between the sheets.
Then we watch a little bit of Bull Durham. “Yep, it’s definitely an old movie.” But I tap his nose, and I say, “But you? You have become a master at talking to the press. I’ve seen your post-game comments on the local station.”
His eyes go wide, eager for my verdict. “And?”
“You’re doing well.”
“So my Crash Davis training worked?”
“I’d say so. How do you feel about it?”
He shrugs but smiles too. “I still want to be myself, but I keep saying, It’s a true part of me.”
“And then I get to have the other parts.”
He thrusts up his hips. “You can definitely have that part,” he says, all gravelly. He draws me in for a kiss, then whispers, “And all the other parts too.”
“Good. I want all of you,” I say.
“Have me,” he says, his voice vulnerable and all true.
Like he is offering his whole self to me.
He clears his throat and meets my gaze, his expression turning serious. “I meant what I said in New York. I’m working on a plan for us.”
“Ooh, is it called the What-if Woman Loophole?”
He laughs, but only briefly. “Something like that.”
“So what is it? The plan?”
“My agent is coming to town in a few days. I’m going to talk to him. Figure out the best way to navigate this whole . . .” He trails off, scrunching his brow. “Coming out thing?”
I laugh at his wording. “That works. And so does your plan.”
“You think so?”
“I think talking to your agent is exactly the right way to do this. He sounds smart and strategic,” I say, wanting to be supportive through and through. I don’t want him to feel any pressure from me. His agent knows how to handle these situations much better than I do.
But the fact that he has a plan thrills me.
So, too, do these nights together. With Kevin Costner and Susan Sarandon playing faintly in the background, he asks me how the calendar is going.
“I’ve started meeting with the sponsor and some of the athletes, including Rafe, who has the most adorable rescue mutt—it’s some kind of Norwegian elkhound crossed with a Chihuahua, so it looks like a little fox. I kinda wanted to scour all the rescues for one just like it.”
His expression turns intensely serious. “Question. Do you think the dad was the elkhound or the Chihuahua?”
I stare at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know, but I like to think the mama dog was the elkhound and maybe the Chihuahua dad had a footstool or something for easy mounting,” I say.
Holden barks out a laugh, slapping his hand against the mattress. “Yes, he carries it around when he meets the tall lady hounds. He likes to be prepared for any encounter, large or small.”
“Exactly. That’s why he’s so popular as a dog sire. The women find it quite considerate. Sometimes he brings biscuits too,” I say, and he loops his arm tighter around me.
“He sounds perfect.”
“They love him for his biscuits and his considerate humping style.”
“You seem happy with the new gig. It’s your two-week anniversary there, right?”
My eyebrows lift, and I smile. “Someone’s trying to impress me with his memory.”
“Prepare to be astonished by this fact—I also know it’s your birthday in early October,” he says, tapping my nose with his finger.
“Doubly impressed.”
“But I got you a very early present,” he says with a devilish grin, obviously pleased with himself.
“Holden, orgasms don’t count as presents.”
As he reaches for a small gift bag on the nightstand, he says, “Gifts are gifts. Orgasms are mandatory.”
Well, I can’t argue with that.
Nor can I argue with the gift.
I take a white short-sleeve sweater out of the bag. A pair of cherries are embroidered on the breast.
“White for you. And red because it’s your power color.”
I hold it up, grinning. “I have a meeting on Friday. It’ll be perfect for that.”
“Excellent. Let’s keep the sweater here so you have to keep coming back every night till then.”
“So sneaky,” I say, then set it down in the bag and kiss him, and the kiss turns into much more.
On my way to work the next morning, my phone pings with a text.
