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

“Declan!” I beam, closing the final feet to the tuxedoed shortstop for the New York Comets. He steps away from his crew to meet me.

“Future Baseball Team Owner,” he says in that sexy guy-next-door voice of his, then yanks me in for a hug.

I laugh, throwing my arms around him. “Why are all the men in my life trying to get me to buy a baseball team?”

“What?” he asks as we separate. “I’m not the only man in your life? Who is he? Who’s this other guy?”

I swat him as I roll my eyes. “Please. You’re the only one,” I say, teasing my friend, a guy who’s most decidedly only ever been a friend. We met a few years ago when I was in New York for business and hit it off, bonding at a party over a shared love for breakfast food and the same loud rock music.

“How long are you in town?” I ask.

He looks at his watch as if it includes his calendar. “I take off tomorrow afternoon.”

I shoot him a wide-eyed glare. “Hello. Why are you not on my schedule for breakfast tomorrow?”

“I could say the same to you.”

“You, me, tomorrow. Let’s do it.”

“All I heard was you’re taking me out for the best omelets in the city,” he says.

“You have such selective hearing. And I’ll text you a breakfast spot.”

I give him a kiss on the cheek and resume my hunt for Crosby. I spot him at the edge of the ballroom, and head over. He’s hanging out with Holden, who’s slung his tux jacket over his arm and rolled up his shirtsleeves. A tattoo adorns his forearm, an illustration of a tree extending over his muscles down to his wrist.

Holden offers a fist for knocking. “Well said, Nadia. I dug the bit about room for both teams.”

“Thank you,” I say, knocking back.

“It’s hard when you feel like you’re ten steps behind from the start.”

“It is. But I find it’s best to try not to let the negative comments affect how you do your job.” I tilt my head, studying his face. “I take it you’re dealing with some of the fallout from the Dragons’ cheating scandal?”

“So much of it.” He sighs heavily, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. “The media constantly wants to talk about it, even in the off-season.”

Crosby gestures to his friend. “I keep telling him that he needs someone to help him handle the media. Someone beyond the team.”

I meet Holden’s green-eyed gaze. “What do you think, Holden?”

With a scratch of his jaw, he shrugs. “I guess I’ll see about that when the season starts.”

I give him a sympathetic smile. “Let me know if I can help. I know some sharpshooters who can give you lots of tips.”

His eyes glimmer with the hint of a smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Holden turns to Crosby, tipping his forehead toward me. “She’s cool. Maybe I’ll let this one slide,” he says.

Crosby’s brow furrows. “Let what slide?”

Holden rolls his eyes, claps Crosby on the shoulder, and says, “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow. For now, don’t do anything in front of me that’ll require a call to the Maldives.”

He saunters away. Once he’s out of earshot, Crosby leans closer, his voice warm and tantalizing near my ear, making me shiver. “But privately, I’d like to do all sorts of things to you.”

Pleasure zings through my body, and I can’t wait for this event to end.

Soon, it does, and we make our way out of the ballroom. Lily Whiting catches us, stopping Crosby to ask if he’ll do an interview before he leaves for spring training.

“Absolutely,” he tells her.

“Great. I’ll be in touch to set it up.”

As she leaves, Crosby turns back to me. “See? I’m good with the media.”

“If I were your team’s owner, I’d be very proud of you.”

“If you were my team’s owner, I’d still want to bang you,” he whispers.

I laugh, shaking my head.

“I mean it. Your job is hot. Smart women are hot. Powerful women are hot. Also, you’re hot.”

I am indeed, thanks to his compliments—ones that are the polar opposite of what I heard my last year dating in Vegas.

Crosby is the opposite of so many men, and I love that he’s not threatened by me. That he admires me rather, and supports me.

Still, once we’re outside, I put on my big-girl pants and say the hard thing.

20

Nadia

Outside the event hotel, I take a step closer to my plus-one and slow the train even though I don’t entirely want to. “I want to invite you over, but I think I’d break rule number three,” I say, my voice low and just for him as I tug my wrap a little tighter around my shoulders, the mercury dipping as the stars twinkle in the night sky.

Crosby heaves a sigh then nods in agreement. “You read my mind. If I’m alone with you tonight, I’m going to have the hardest time keeping my hands off you.”

“It’s not your hands I’m worried about,” I say in a flirty tone as the limo pulls up.

He lets his gaze drift downward, straight to his crotch. “Aw, that’s so sweet of you to worry about my cock.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about your cock at all,” I toss back.

Crosby grabs the door before the driver gets out, shaking his head in admiration as I slide into the long black car. “You’re a woman unleashed. As soon as you say one swear, you’re saying them all.”

“That’s poppy . . . cock,” I say with a wicked grin.

“Speaking of . . . let’s go get a cocktail.”

Fifteen minutes later, we walk into the Spotted Zebra.

The fun decor fits the name perfectly. One wall is pink. Another is black. Yet another is brick. Alt rock plays on the sound system, and hip bartenders and servers in monochrome uniforms circle the joint with drinks.

Low couches with black-and-white stripes beckon patrons, inviting them to lounge.

We swing by the bar, saying