The Virgin Rule Book (Rules of Love 1) by Lauren Blakely (best fiction novels of all time txt) 📗

His skills with a ninety-eight-mile-an-hour cut fastball are unparalleled, but so is his smile. His laugh. He actually chuckles and grins while on the mound, twin traits that are about as unnerving as his arm speed.

“It’s cute to see you two getting along every now and then,” I remark as I check the mirrors, then pull out of the parking spot and into traffic.

“It’s been known to happen from time to time,” Chance says with a shrug.

“Because we’re awesome and so are the kids we coach,” I say. “And that’s why you two will treat me to beers tonight.”

“I’m down for that.” Grant taps out a drumbeat on the dashboard, then checks out the time. Close to six thirty. “Where do you want to go?”

“Spotted Zebra?” I suggest.

“Good answer. We’ve got to support my sister,” Grant says. “Did you know her bar was named the hippest in Hayes Valley in SF Weekly?”

Chance chimes in from the back seat, “Plus, you like to pick up guys at the Spotted Zebra.”

Grant shoots us a wicked grin. “I can’t help it if the bar draws an eclectic mix of hot men, and even hotter men who are wildly attracted to me.”

“You do know the bar attracts women too?” Chance puts in.

Grant waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah. I mean, sure. Have at them.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate that,” Chance says dryly.

Grant, the wiseass, adopts a disdainful look. “You don’t see me going after the same opportunities you’re pursuing. I would think you’d be stoked that I’m not trying to horn in on your territory.”

I glance in the rearview mirror at Chance. “Yeah, aren’t you so glad we don’t have to compete with this ugly fucker for the ladies?”

Grant cuts in. “All I’m saying is, I don’t think you cats appreciate what I do for your odds. A thank you would be nice.”

Chance leans forward, his hand curling over the back of Grant’s seat. “Wow. Thank you so much for digging men so we don’t have to compete with you.”

Grant nods, long and confident. “That’s what I’m talking about. You are most welcome.”

“By that same token, you’re welcome too,” Chance says, all offhand and casual.

“For what?” Grant asks, puzzled.

I slow to a stop at the light, amused by the pitcher and catcher spurring each other on. That’s their style. Thick as thieves on the field, prickly as lions in warring prides off it. In the mirror I catch Chance batting his eyelashes as he says. “That I don’t ruin your odds.”

Grant cracks up. “Well played, bro. Well played.”

“And while we’re playing,” Chance adds, all cool and cucumber-y, “If you ever want to see who can rack up more numbers, you just let me know.”

“For real? You think you can pull more babes than I can pull dudes?”

“I think I can.”

Grant barks out a laugh. “Love you man, but you do not know dudes. So don’t even attempt that or you will be schooled.”

I cast a glance back at the pitcher. “Grant has a point. You ever seen the way they flock to him? Time to step down, my friend.”

“Fine, fine.” Chance huffs, then strokes his chin. “Maybe I’ll just chat with Sierra then.”

Grant whips his head around all the way to the back seat, staring at the closing pitcher.  “Do not. Do not go near Sierra. Do not. Do not. Do not.”

Chance grins wickedly. “Maybe I should tonight. What do you think about that, Grant?”

Grant leans back in his seat, closes his eyes, and drags his hand down his face. “You can score as many digits as I can. Just stay away from Sierra,” Grant mutters, then turns to me, his tone shifting. “Speaking of sisters, what the hell happened at the wedding with you and Eric’s sister?”

“Yeah, how does that dog collar fit around your neck, Crosby?” Chance asks. “Is it nice and tight, keeping you in line?”

I tug at an imaginary collar as I merge into the right lane so I can turn. “It’s keeping me away from the women on the other side of the electrical fence.”

“Except Nadia. You two looked pretty tight out on the dance floor,” Chance says, his tone doubtful. “I couldn’t join the guys for the inquisition because I had to talk to my agent then. But it sure looked like you were cozying up with her the rest of the night.”

I flip the signal, turning right, and avoiding the question. “As cozy as Grant looked the other night when he met—who was that you met the last time we were at the Spotted Zebra?”

Chance clears his throat. “Crosby, don’t deflect. We need to report back to Eric. We’re his proxies. What’s the story with Nadia?”

As I drive, I flash back to Saturday night at the wedding.

To the elevator, the hallway, the kiss outside her hotel room door.

The way Nadia melted in my arms, her lips all soft and lush against mine, her body like a dream, her scent invading my mind.

Then I replay our texts the next morning.

Do I confess?

Do I tell them we kissed?

But there’s nothing to confess.

Not a thing.

We simply made plans to attend an event together that we were both already invited to. Potentially, we’re going to enjoy some more perks.

That’s not breaking the pact. The pact was not to date. I’m not dating her. I’m only . . . benefiting with her.

Ergo, it’s all good.

“We’re going to the Sports Network Awards later this week. Just like we went to the wedding. We’re going as friends,” I say, cool and even.

Grant’s eyes widen. “As friends?”

“As friends,” I repeat.

“Do you actually know how to be friends with a woman?” Chance posits from the back seat.

“Yes, I do, turkey burger. I have been friends with Nadia for years. Since we were teenagers. Since we were even younger. I know how to be friends with her quite well, thank you very much.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Chance says, his tone brimming with skepticism.

“Look, it’s all for the best. She’s new in town, she doesn’t know a ton