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

What is she talking about?

As the new album from my favorite singer ever—Stone Zenith—blasts through my bathroom, I set down my mascara wand and click open the photo Brooke sent.

My chest flutters. My lips form a stupid grin.

“The Guy in the Picture” fills the bathroom, the love song echoing across the tiled walls as I stare at a shot of Crosby and me from the red carpet posted on the Sports Network Instagram feed.

I zoom in on the image, and a barrage of questions slams into me.

Was his hand really wrapped possessively around my waist like that?

Were his eyes staring at me like I’m the only woman for him?

Was his grin telegraphing how much he wanted to follow rule number one? To sleep with me?

My stomach sashays, then does a rumba. Maybe a samba too. Hell, it could be taking a Zumba class for all I know.

This photo is a damning piece of evidence that shows two people who are into each other. Really into each other.

Because I’m looking at him like he’s the only one I want with me.

Last night, tonight, any night.

My heart beats faster and music floods my ears as Stone reaches the chorus.

The song takes over my senses, lodges itself into my heart and mind.

Something is happening between Crosby and me.

Something that’s more than friendship.

And I don’t know what to do about it.

I’ve tried to deny it.

I’ve played the logic card.

But logic has slipped away, and emotions are dealing the deck now.

That man just does something to me.

Something that’s not only physical.

That’s why I want to see him tonight, why I want to have sex with him. Not because I’m horny, not because I’m friends with him, not because I’m attracted to him.

I’m attracted to him because I like him.

The phone slips from my hand, clattering to the floor with a bang.

With a loud sigh, I stumble back, grab hold of the wall, and proceed to freak the hell out.

For about ten seconds. Then I get my act together, pick up my phone, turn down the music, and dial Scarlett.

“Emergency,” I say the second she answers.

“What is it?”

“This,” I say, then send her the image. “Check your texts.”

A few seconds later, she says, “Ohhhh. That looks complicated.”

“I know,” I say, pacing to the tub, sitting on the edge, and dropping my head in my hand. “I think something is brewing . . . No, that’s wrong,” I say, quickly correcting myself.

I lift my face, inhale deeply, and lean on the boardroom side of me. The woman who speaks up.

“I don’t think—I know. I like him so very much.”

The admission is both a relief and a brand-new burden.

Scarlett’s words and tone are kind. “So, what are you going to do about this friends-with-benefits thing, then?”

It’s a great question. As I picture tonight, him coming over, us connecting, I can’t see a path to resistance. Not one I want to take. Once more, I go with the full truth. “I suppose I’m going to sleep with him, and deal with whether it’ll hurt my heart later.”

I can hear a sympathetic smile on her face when she says, “At least you have your eyes wide open.”

I suppose I do.

I say goodbye as a new text lands on my phone.

Mom: Looks like you had a great time last night.

Nadia: I did. I absolutely did.

Mom: Is that someday coming soon?

I close my texts, because how can I answer whether the someday of us dating—the someday she envisions—is coming?

I have no idea.

I finish getting dressed, then head to a nearby café for breakfast with Declan, where we catch up about life and love in New York.

“So, what’s the latest? Any new, hot, brainy men in your life who rock your world?” I ask as I lift my cinnamon latte and waggle a brow.

He shakes his head. “I’ve kind of been taking a break.”

That surprises me. He’s always seemed like such a serial monogamist. “A break? Like, from dating in general?”

“Yep. Last time I even saw someone was more than a year ago.”

I can’t not ask. “Is there a reason for the break?”

“Just trying to make some changes in my life.”

Well, now I really have to know. “Good changes?”

“Let’s just say if I was a superstitious guy I’d be wearing lucky socks,” he says with a hopeful glint in his expression.

I laugh. “Funny, I know someone just like that.” I take a beat, study my friend, try to read his eyes, and see what’s going on behind them. “So these hypothetical lucky socks. Would you be wearing them, if you were wearing them, in the hopes of finding that someone special?”

He smiles. “You’re getting warmer.”

And I think I know why. “Wasn’t there once someone special?” I ask. I had the sense once upon a time that he’d fallen hard for someone. He’d never shared the details though, and I hadn’t pried. Maybe that’s the reason he’s taking a break?

“Yes.” His answer is emphatic. For a moment he seems lost in time, then he returns to the here and now. “Someone very special. Maybe he will be again.”

A smile takes over my face. “There’s nothing quite like finding your someone special, is there?”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He lifts his coffee, takes a drink, then asks thoughtfully. “And you?”

“I haven’t had anyone special before.”

“And do you now?”

A grin dances across my lips. “Maybe,” I say into the latte.

“Elaborate,” he instructs.

I don’t give him the sordid details. I don’t divulge name, batting average, or uniform number. Declan’s a ballplayer too, but even if he weren’t, I wouldn’t serve up the personal intel.

But I give him enough.

“I hope he’s your someone special,” he says as he knocks back the rest of his coffee.

“We’ll see,” I say, trying to hide the smile that won’t go away.

After breakfast, I head to the stadium and bury myself in work. Matthew and I interview the fantastic woman named Kim who’s been an assistant GM for two other teams. She’s sharp, smart, and confident, and she knows her way around arbitration,