The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Chance
As we walk through the hotel, possibilities for tonight unfold in my mind.
After the party. Coming together. Crashing into each other.
That moment when you both look at each other and you just know that all the tension between the two of you is about to snap in the most delicious way.
I can’t wait.
But I have to, so we chat about surfing—she wants to go, I’m prohibited by my contract—as we cross along the pool to the garden area, filled with tables and servers and family members. As we walk over the grass, I reach for her hand, thread my fingers through hers, and squeeze.
Sierra smiles, and as we hold hands, the temptation intensifies.
The only thing saving me from acting on it is that we’re here at the rehearsal party.
And it’s a crush of people.
Including my mom.
When her gaze catches mine, she rushes past palm trees and picnic tables to toss her arms around me. “My baby boy. I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Hmm. Then was it my other mother I saw last month right before the playoff game we lost?” I ask, teasing her when I disentangle myself.
Mom peers at me through her cherry-red glasses. “Well, it feels like ages. That’s just how it goes for a mom. Also, next year, your team needs to remember to hit the ball, dear. I’ve told you that. You can’t record those saves if there’s nothing to save.”
I laugh. “I know. Trust me, I know.”
She pats my head, something she’s good at since TJ and I got our height from her—she’s six feet tall, and our dad is two inches shorter.
“Want me to remind them?” Mom says it playfully, but the truth is, she’d do it—issue orders to the Cougars lineup. Mom is a fixer—she runs a business consultancy and tells other businesses how to fix their shit. She’s just that way.
She was direct with us growing up. She didn’t tell TJ his stories were perfect—she challenged him to make every word better. Same for me with baseball. She rooted for me every step of the way, and also urged me to improve when I needed to, to give it my all when I wasn’t doing that.
She’s a straight shooter, and I always know where I stand with her.
Mom smiles, swings her gaze to Sierra. “Hello there. You must be Sierra. I love your ink. And your little pink streak.”
“Thank you so much,” Sierra says, patting her hair. “Pleasure to meet you . . . Penny.”
Mom’s green eyes twinkle as they snap to me. “Well done, Chance.”
“You only beat it into my head a million times . . . Penny.”
Mom waves a dismissive hand at me as she addresses Sierra. “My sons are full of sass, especially this one. Now, are you liking Hawaii? Did you know there are sea turtles right along the edge of the property?”
“I didn’t but I’d love to see them.”
“I’ll show you,” she says, and tugs my date away from the crowd. And I already miss her.
A hand comes down on my shoulder. “Shocking. Mom making friends with people right away.”
It’s TJ.
I turn to my brother, then heave an aggrieved sigh, flapping my hand at his get-up. Shorts and a blue shirt. “Are you kidding me? You’re wearing the same color. We look like fucking twins.”
His eyebrows wiggle. “Newsflash—we are. Also, I hate to break it to you, but these are not even remotely the same color.” He wags a finger at his shirt, then at mine. “You’re wearing a sky blue, solid color shirt, and it fits like a sack. Translation—boring.” He plucks at his shirt. “This is teal and it’s form-fitting.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe my fashion mistake. “Plus, do you not see the tiny mini skulls with daisies in the eyes? My shirt has a badass pattern.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “I can’t keep up with you and your clothes.”
TJ eyes me up and down dubiously. “I gathered that. Just remember this—I’m the height of understated, thrifted, fashion fun. It’s a thing. You, baby boy, are . . . Target. Just Target.”
“I like Target.”
“That’s coming through loud and clear. But hey, it works for you. Just didn’t want you to worry we look alike, because I assure you, we do not.”
“I’ll trust you on this.”
“Yes. Yes, you will.” TJ tips his gaze to Mom, pointing out sea turtles as she walks along the grounds with Sierra. “What’s the story? Is this a real date now? It was fake when we last talked, but seeing you together makes me think you leveled up. You looked cozy.”
I breathe heavily, pinch the bridge of my nose, try to sort through the zing of emotion and sensation. “It felt cozy to me too.”
TJ has always understood relationship nuances and complexities. They’re his stock and trade. He’s exactly who I need to talk to right now.
I scrub a hand across my beard and motion for him to step a few feet away from the crowd, where Hawaiian music plays softly from the speakers on the ground.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask quietly.
“Can I stop you?” TJ jokes, then turns serious. “You know you can. Anytime.”
I’ve mostly worked this out for myself, but if I’m going to step over a big, fat line, I want a second opinion. Validation that I’m doing the right thing, or least not doing a wrong one. “Am I breaking the rule if she’s not interested in a relationship either?”
His brow knits. “Which rule?”
“The ‘Don’t hook up with a teammate’s sister’rule.”
“That’s a thing?” he asks, confusion knitting his brow.
“It’s the ballplayer’s bro code. If you fall for a teammate’s sister, you damn well better want to put a ring on it . . . They’re like best-friend’s sisters, or the coach’s daughter—off-limits unless you’re serious. Unless they’re women you bring home to mom.”
TJ clears his throat, then subtly points to Mom and Sierra. “Mom, as in, the person Sierra is talking to right now?”
I shoot him a look. “You know what I mean.”
He nods, indicating he does. “I do, but does Grant give a shit about those rules?”
Good question. Grant is very much a live-free-and-be-happy kind of guy. Hell, he’s probably happier than he’s ever been over in Kauai right now with Declan. “He’s very protective of the ladies in his life. He doesn’t want to see them with guys who’ll break their hearts. But regardless, I care about the rules. I don’t want to rock the boat at all. So I want to make sure I’m not doing something stupid.”
“This is like your pre-ward thing! It’s a pre-check. No, wait, you’re getting pre-approval for a sex procedure from your insurance company, aka your brother, fount of wisdom on all life issues,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Let’s hope it doesn’t feel like a procedure. If we do that.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he says, lifting an imaginary glass. “May sex be spontaneous, passionate and procedure-free.” TJ wraps an arm around my shoulders. “But seriously, Chance, you like to make sure everyone’s going to be okay before you do something. You’ve always wanted everyone to be happy. That’s how you were when Mom and Dad got divorced—making sure Mom was happy, that Dad was doing okay.”
I flash back to age fourteen, to the night they told us. They were straightforward, open and supportive of each other. The epitome of an amicable divorce.
“Yes, that sounds like me,” I admit with a shrug. “But weren’t you like that then? Wanting to make sure everyone was all good?”
TJ scoffs. “No. I was too caught up in what was happening to me. Maybe that makes me selfish, but it’s true.”
“I never once thought you were selfish,” I tell him.
TJ came out to me when we were fifteen. We were on the hunt for a new burger joint in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle, our hometown. As we walked, his gaze strayed to a guy maybe a year or two older than us.
“You know him?” I asked.
TJ shook his head. He met my eyes for a weighty beat, then said, “No, but I want to.”
“Oh,” I said as I processed his meaning. I was only taken aback for the briefest moment, maybe because of the ease with which he’d said it. “You think he’s cute?”
TJ gave a small smile, a little embarrassed. “I do.”
“That’s cool,” I said, smiling too. I was psyched for him, that he knew who he was and what he wanted. “Does anyone else know?”
“You’re the first person I’ve told.” He blew out a long, relieved breath. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long.”
I was grateful to be trusted. “I’m glad you said it, and I’m glad you told me.” Then I stopped walking and dragged him in for a hug. When I let go, I asked, “Will you tell Mom and Dad soon?”
“Definitely.” He swallowed, looking a little nervous. “I’d appreciate it if you were there. Will you be?”
I clapped his back, reassuring him, happy that we had this kind of relationship. Teachers, coaches, and friends have always been fascinated by our twin connection—do we have twin telepathy? A special bond where we feel each other’s pain or joy?
Nah.
Nothing like that. We do have a deep bond, but I don’t think it’s a twin thing. We’re connected because we give a shit about each other.
I shake off the memory, returning to here and now. “But do you think I just want people to get along? And that I’m doing that here—smoothing the way before I pursue what I want?”
TJ gives a sharp nod. “You want others around you to be good with your choices. Dad’s the same. I mean, c’mon, even when they divorced, he tried to do the whole co-living thing. He wanted Mom to like him even as his ex. That’s just his thing.”
A dentist with a pediatric practice, our father’s job is literally to win over people who want to run from him.
Maybe I’ve always been trying to be like him—the guy who can hold it together for everyone.
But is that who I want to be?
Or do I want to be the man who walks up to Sierra Blackwood, spins her around, and tells her I’m dying to spend the night with her? We’re both adults. We don’t need to be in love. We don’t need to be anything. We can just . . . be.
“Should I—”
But before I can finish the question, I spot Blake, all broad shoulders and wide grin. He closes the distance to us in seconds, brings TJ and I both in for a hug. “My favorite cousins,” he says, then lets us go. “Can you believe it? I’m getting hitched. Me! The guy who was terrified to ask a girl to the high school prom.”
“Pretty sure we were all terrified of that,” I say.
“Seconded,” TJ says. Then he pats our cousin’s chest. “But you have come into your own, Blake. Happy for you.”
“So happy you’ll buy a hot tub?” Blake asks playfully.
I roll my eyes. “This again, Hot Tub King?”
Blake holds out his hands wide. “C’mon. I’m a salesman. I can’t not try to get you to buy a hot tub of love.”
“You’re hardly the salesman,” I point out as I scratch my head. “More like, gee, what’s it called? The CEO of A Hot Tub for Everyone.”
“It’s my motto and my mission. Hot tubs are like a lubricant for love. You guys both need them,” Blake says. “I’m like a love salesman.”
“Sorry, Mr. Love Salesman, I don’t have room for hot tubs or love in my one-bedroom in Chelsea,” TJ says, not sounding a bit sorry.
“Someday you will.” Blake laughs, then turns to me, his twinkle disappearing, replaced with concern. “Enough about bubbles. How the hell are you doing, Chance? Is it hard being here? I made sure you’re not at her table.”
And here we go.
Dread tightens my neck and shoulders . . . but then I let it go. Who cares about Natasha?
TJ clears his throat, points subtly at our mom, next to Sierra. “Blake, my little bro is here with Trish’s friend Sierra. Just make sure Chance is next to the gorgeous, friendly, badass babe he brought with him. Can you do that?”
Yup. This is the twin connection—looking out for each other.
Blake beams. “I can do that.” He raps his knuckles on my sternum. “And you’re next, Chance. You better be next. And then you,” he says to TJ. “And then everyone!” The Hot Tub King raises his arms with this royal decree, then spots someone in the distance and waves. “I gotta chat with Marie and Stephanie.”
He takes off, and when he’s out of earshot, TJ laughs. “He’s not even married yet and he’s preaching the gospel of love.”
“He’s high on life,” I say, my eyes returning to Sierra.
As I drink in the view, all thoughts of others fade away.
I feel good.
So damn good that I don’t push TJ again for his opinion. I don’t need to double-check the decision. I know what I want—to explore this loophole tonight with my date, and I’m pretty sure she does too.
We won’t rock the boat either.
We’ll rock the bed instead.
Can it be the end of the party now, please?
TJ nudges me. “I’m going to catch up with Dad. You good?”
“Very good,” I say as I stare lustfully at Sierra, enjoying the sight of her silhouetted against the Pacific Ocean, her dress blowing gently around her legs, her hair swishing in the light wind.
Then I spot a flash of scarlet, an alert that the redhead I used to call my wife is striding in my direction.
I wait for annoyance to kick in.
Frustration.
Something.
But it turns out . . . I feel nothing, even when I see sympathy and purpose in Natasha’s green eyes.
She stops in front of me. “Hello, Chance. You look . . . well.”
“Yeah? I feel well,” I tell her, and it’s the goddamn truth.
And it has everything to do with someone very much not-her.
She cocks her head, wearing her concern written large on her features. She’s “Notes to Self” Natasha through and through as she says, “Glad to hear. But are you sure? You seem distracted.”
She probably thinks this is about her. But I don’t care. “I’m great,” I say.
Then an arm wraps around my waist, a gorgeous body presses to mine, and I feel Sierra’s soft lips on my cheek, catch a whiff of her blackberry scent.
It drives me wild.
Natasha’s eyes pop to saucer size.
But I don’t care one bit about my ex or her reaction. I’m indulging in the attention from Sierra and the soft, sweet feel of her close to me.
I only care about the rightness of this moment.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I say to her. Then to Natasha, I add, “This is Sierra. My date.” Sierra waggles her fingertips, says hello, then brushes a sexy, seductive kiss along my jawline.
She lingers, then murmurs against my face.
And right then and there, I have the final clue to the puzzle.
Neither one of us believes that this date is fake.
