The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Chance
Somewhere over the Pacific, I catch Sierra studying me, her head tilted as if I’m a puzzle, and I pause the movie and pop out my earbud. “What? Do I have pineapple in my beard?”
“No, I was just wondering—at the risk of asking you the question you’ve been dreading—are you still hung up on Natasha?”
Whoa. That came out of nowhere. “Do I not seem over her? I’m definitely over her.”
I’m over her so much I’m way into you, gorgeous.
The pretty blonde lounging by the window levels me with a direct stare. “You did ask me to be your wedding date in case people asked about her. I thought maybe the relationship was still a sore spot, which would be understandable because you were together for a long time.” Her voice softens, along with her brown eyes. It’s only the two of us in this row, but with her gentle tone and the hum of the plane, it almost feels like we’re all alone in the cocoon of this conversation. “And I’m asking you as your friend.”
I take a beat, weighing her question. I want to answer her honestly, as a friend, but also as a man who’s interested in her.
“I asked you to be my date because I’m definitely over her, but people have a way of not believing that. Know what I mean?”
“I do.”
“And having you there will help them believe. I’ll still answer all the how are you doing and are you okay questions people will ask because they’re concerned. My mom’s cousin, and her sisters. And Blake, since he worries about everyone’s happiness. My dad might. My mom won’t, since she’s been endlessly asking me how I’m doing and trusts me when I say I’m good. But she’s always been open about it, and we’ve talked frankly about my split.”
“That’s good, to be able to talk to her.”
“Yeah, she’s sort of insistent on talking. It’s her thing. Along with people using her first name. So, call her Penny.”
Sierra taps her temple. “Noted.”
“But as for others . . . eh, I don’t want to deal with it. Sort of like when we lost the playoffs, and TJ pretended to be me at The Lucky Spot so I wouldn’t have to field the fan sympathy.”
She gapes. Her hand flies to her mouth. When she lowers it, she asks in a hushed whisper, “You guys did that?”
I wiggle a brow, playing up my devilish side. “Sometimes, we misbehave badly. It’s a twin thing.”
“Have you ever done that with dates?”
I meet her gaze dead on. “You do know TJ and I have different tastes? I’m pretty sure you and I have already had that whole hey, we both like plants, have gay brothers, and enjoy bingeing on British comedies talk, right?”
She gives me a duh look. “Yes, I’m aware we have lots in common, baseball allegiances notwithstanding. But my point is, identical twins can pull off all sorts of shenanigans. And it’s not like you or he would be kissing one of your dates. But if you missed a date because of a game, or if he missed one because he was on deadline . . . you could pretend,” she suggests with a twinkle in her eyes. A twinkle that does make me wonder if Sierra has a naughty side. One that likes bedroom games.
I go along with the vibe. “I don’t mind a little make-believe. Under the right circumstances.”
The corner of her lip twitches. “Is that so?”
“I’m pretty open-minded. To all sorts of things.” Like taking you against the wall.
“Good to know,” she says, her voice a little breathy.
“But to answer your question, I never pretended to be TJ on a date or vice versa. But if he ever needed me to dump some dude who’d been a total douche to him, I’d be all over that in a heartbeat.”
She laughs lightly. “Okay, it’s seriously adorable that you’d do that for him.”
“We’re pretty tight. He actually offered to play me this weekend at the wedding if I really wanted to get out of it.”
“He did? I love that, how you look out for each other.”
“Me too,” I say, then I tap her arm. A friendly bit of affection. Well, mostly friendly. “But I’m stoked to be going with you. It’ll be a blast. And, yeah, I also don’t want to be seen as a bridesmaid’s ex. I’m in a new era of my life, if you will, and . . .” I stop, breathe out hard, laugh at myself. “Whoa. Did I just sound like a social media douche or what?”
“Like you have an Instagram feed where you spout platitudes about life phases and stuff,” she says, laughing.
I drag a hand down my face, making light of it all. “That’s it. You can’t take me anywhere.”
“I’ll tell the pilot to turn this jet around. I’ll let him know you’re retiring from all social interaction. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“It’s the only recourse for what I just said.”
She’s quiet for a few seconds, then drums her unpolished nails against the console between us. “Seriously, though, I get it. You want to go as Chance Ashford, not as Chance who was once part of Chance and Natasha. But can I ask you a question?”
“Isn’t that kind of what you’ve been doing all along? Why stop now?”
Sierra takes a deep breath, gearing up for something. “How are you doing, Chance? In all seriousness.”
As her brown eyes lock with mine again, the rest of the plane seems to disappear, like it’s just us two in this metal tube traveling across the sky.
Her question is a good one.
How am I doing?
At the moment, I’m flying over the ocean in first class with a gorgeous woman I’ve been insanely interested in for a year—the only woman who’s caught my eye since I’ve been single. A woman I want. A woman I can’t have, but even so, I’m doing great. “I feel fantastic. Especially right now.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Good. That’s good.”
“And listen,” I say, preemptively, since I want to share this too. “You know I was married for a while. And yes, you know how it ended. It was public and frustrating, and it sucked like losing the playoffs suck. But the truth is…the end of my marriage didn’t surprise me. Was I hurt? Yes. But we’d been growing apart for some time.”
“It’s sad when that happens.” She squeezes my arm and it feels a whole lot of nice having her soft hand on me.
“She wasn’t happy with my job and hadn’t been for a long time. She didn’t care for how often I was gone.”
Sierra flinches. “Really? She didn’t like the baseball-wife lifestyle?”
“She hated me being on the road. She said I was married to the game.”
“Do you think you were?” The question comes out earnestly, not as an accusation. That makes it easy to answer truthfully.
“To some degree, yes. It’s hard to compete at the top level without being married to the sport. So, I probably was. I probably still am. And since Natasha and I were together in college, it’s easy to say that’s what she signed up for. But that’s not entirely fair either. At the time we got married, she was fine with it, or said she was. But then she changed, and she wanted different things. She wanted more of me. And I couldn’t give that to her.”
“Do you wish you’d been able to? Do you regret anything?”
“No, but I believe in quality of time, not quantity. If you devote your whole heart to something, like a romance, you can make it work. You might not be able to see each other every day, but you can talk on the phone, you can text, and you can stay in touch.”
“Exactly. You can be close to each other even if you aren’t in the same house every second.” Her eyes spark with intensity. “Grant is like that with Declan. They’re both constantly traveling, as you know, and they don’t see each other that often, but they’re so connected even when they’re apart. Then when they’re together, it’s . . . magic.”
Her smile is fucking magic. A wide, genuine one for her brother.
Grant and his boyfriend are obviously happy. They aren’t together too frequently during the season, but when they are, everyone can tell how much they care for each other. “They make the best of it when they’re together. Those two guys are couple goals.”
“Definitely.” Sierra sinks back into the leather chair, like she’s basking both in the comfort of the plane and in the happiness her brother has found. “Seeing them together—it makes me feel like anything is possible. They make the best of everything. That’s what I would want in a relationship.”
Who wouldn’t?
Except, not me, and not now.
Too bad it seems Sierra’s on a different path at the moment. “You’re looking for something serious? Like they have?”
A cough seems to burst from her chest. “No way. Well, not now. Maybe at some point down the road, but at the moment I’m not looking for a relationship at all.”
Shut the front door.
All the lights flash bright at once.
The buzzers ring.
Is she saying she wants fun without strings? “You’re not looking for a boyfriend?” I ask, full of a new, wild hope.
She scoffs. “I got out of a long-term one a year ago. I’m kind of married to The Spotted Zebra. All I want is to enjoy myself while I can.”
And I want to enjoy her.All night long.
“Nothing wrong with that,” I say, with a big smile and perhaps a new goal.
For now, I’m just going to let her enticing words—enjoy myself—marinate for a little longer in my mind. Figure out what to do with them. That’s my new mission for the rest of the day. Understand her even more.
And since we’re on the topic of relationships and exes, there’s something I’ve been wondering about. “What about Joe?”
She gives a confused look. “Joe who?”
“Really? That’s it? Joe who? Your ex.”
“Oh. Him. He’s ancient history.” She flaps a hand dismissively behind her. “He’s eons and eras and entire epochs away.”
That’s very good to know too. She’s not on the rebound. She’s just doing what she wants. Like me. The same-page-ness of us makes me very, very happy. “Good. I like that.”
She smiles softly. “Me too.”
I feel this moment tipping into something more than friends or flirting, imagine the heat turning from simmering to scorching.
But then Sierra yawns, a reminder that the woman needs to relax. “Put your feet up. Lie back. Rest.”
“Mmm. That sounds perfect.” She lowers the seat, turns her head to the side, and closes her eyes. Then, she stretches her arm lazily across the console, rests her hand on my bicep, and snoozes just like that.
She sleeps the rest of the way to Hawaii, and something about it feels a lot like a real date and only a little like a fake one.
