The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Sierra
We step off the plane as a warm, ocean breeze drifts gently by. Hawaiian music plays overhead in the open walkways of the terminal.
Tropical air warms my skin, and my heart.
We are not in San Francisco anymore, and I love it.
After we grab our luggage, the car Chance ordered arrives at the curb. I give the sleek black vehicle a once-over, adding an appreciative whistle. “Ooh la-la, traveling in style.”
Chance winks. “Told you I’d convince you.”
“That you travel well? Consider me convinced,” I say as the driver hoists our bags into the trunk and Chance thanks him.
“Hey, I want you to be convinced to be a fan too. So consider this part of me being a Cougars ambassador.”
“Well, Mister Ambassador,” I say as I slide into the back seat, “I enjoy first-class travel. A fancy town car with leather seats. I love it.”
Chance gets in next to me. “Good. Because I want my date to enjoy every second of this weekend.”
You have no idea how much your date wants to enjoy this weekend.
“I intend to,” I say, keeping it light.
We chat about the view and the island as we cruise along the highway, the ocean unfurling as we go. Waves crest as surfers ride them, and families play on the sand.
Everything about this island relaxes me.
It’s a far cry from my bar, the chores, and all the things I need to do as I expand. But I don’t mind this getaway, and I’m so glad I flew in earlier than planned.
I wish Chance and I were here for real, enjoying each other in every way on this tropical escape, and for a moment, I thought maybe we might have been. Playing sexy make-believe on the plane here was fun.
But when he spoke about Natasha, he reminded me what I really am—his cover, and what we really have—a blossoming friendship that I’m starting to treasure.
* * *
At the hotel, my date heads to the VIP check-in. I gesture to the regular line. “I should go to the other one. I’m not a VIP.”
Chance laughs, tips his forehead toward his line. “Sierra, of course you are.”
“I’m not. I just have a regular room.”
“It’s cool. You’re with me. You can check in with the VIP too.”
Who am I to turn down his baller lifestyle? I go along with the man, loving the perks. A few seconds later, a perky Hawaiian woman at the concierge desk calls us over. With crisp efficiency, she checks Chance into the Luau Suite.
“That comes complete with a king-size bed, a mini fridge, a terrace balcony, an ocean view, a living room with a pullout couch, and complimentary coffee, tea, and fruit for breakfast,” she says.
He turns to me, gives a shrug. “What can I say? I do like my comforts.”
I raise a finger. “Never apologize for that.”
“Then I never will.”
When it’s my turn, I give her my name. “Sierra Blackwood. I just have a regular room.”
“Fantastic. I’ll check you in too.” She taps away on the keyboard, peering intently at the computer screen, her glasses sliding down her nose. “Ohhhh.” Her brow knits as she pushes the glasses back up.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She taps some more. Clears her throat. Looks up from the screen. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Blackwood. It appears there’s been a mix-up.”
That doesn’t sound good. “What sort of mix-up?”
“The extra room. We don’t actually have one anymore. It looks like it went back into the room block and was then booked to someone else.”
No big deal. That can’t be the only room in the hotel. “I’ll just take another room. Whatever you have available will be fine.”
The woman winces, her kind eyes revealing her disappointment. “That’s the issue.”
Tension slides down my spine. “What do you mean?”
“I’m so sorry but we’re fully booked.”
Frustration kicks in. I don’t want to search for another hotel. Or hunt for an Airbnb. I just want to get in a hammock and relax.
But I can’t.
Chin up, Sierra. Deal like you deal with every little thing at the bar.
“I’ll just find another hotel,” I say with forced cheer, grabbing my phone from my pocket and tapping away. Chance sets a hand on my arm. “I have a suite. You take the bed. I’ll take the pullout couch.”
My gaze meets his. His brown eyes are serious, his expression intense. “Let me do this for you. I want to,” he adds, brooking no argument.
That’s all. No pile of reasons. No long explanations. Just an I want to.
And sometimes, that’s enough.
Part of me thinks I should decline. Insist on finding another room come hell or high water. Staying with Chance is playing with fire—he’s already made it clear that his guy code rules apply to me.
Rules I respect.
But the way he’s looking at me makes my heart beat faster. It warms my skin.
And makes me suspect the code might be crumbling a bit for him.
I want to say yes so badly.
So, I do.
