The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Sierra
Staring is not acceptable at most social gatherings, but it’s required at weddings.
I gawk happily at the bride as Trish sways with Blake on the dance floor under the tent by the edge of the Pacific.
In her flowy wedding dress, with hibiscuses in her hair, the bride laughs, then presses a kiss to Blake’s lips.
My heart patters. Hell, maybe it pitters too. From my spot at the bar, I sigh happily, drinking a glass of wine while Chance chats with his parents and his brother on the lawn. I can’t imagine my parents behaving well with each other at someone else’s wedding.
But then, my parents are the epitome of behaving badly. Always fighting. Shouting insults.
They didn’t get along with each other when Grant and I were growing up. I doubt they could be in the same venue now without hissing at each other like two alley cats. Meanwhile, the past and present Ashfords are laughing and toasting. They’re all good guys and good women.
Maybe that’s why Chance is so focused on his code. That’s all he knows, all he’s seen. He could teach a class in how to get along with everyone.
But then, he sure as hell tossed out that code in sinful style last night.
And I am damn glad we exercised the bro code loophole.
Slivers of the two of us coming together flash before my eyes—skin, bodies, moans. Names whispered at the edge of passion.
I draw a sharp breath, heating up.
“Busted!” a bright voice chirps in my ear.
Startled, I turn to the platinum-haired maid of honor, all big green eyes and a yellow dress. I flap my hand at Clementine’s attire. “You’re the only person in the universe who can wear yellow and look good.”
“It’s almost a fashion injustice,” another voice chimes in, smooth and alto. That’s Skyler, another one of our crew from San Francisco who flew down for the wedding. I haven’t seen her in a while, so I pull her close for a hug.
“Good to see you,” I say to the personal stylist. Skyler shops for people who hate shopping. Translation—she has a long client list.
“You too. And you look fabulous, as well, in your sexy pink dress,” she says, taking in the dusty-rose sundress that swirls just below my knees.
Clementine steps closer. “And I think I know why our Sierra looks so good,” she says in a cat-ate-the-canary tone.
I grin, since it’s useless to hide my smile, though I play it coy as I ask, “And why’s that, Clem?”
My dog-loving friend nudges my elbow. “Is someone getting some?”
A wiggle of Skyler’s brows comes next. “Tell us everything.”
I grab their arms, pull them away from the bar and toward a hammock at the edge of the grounds. “Yes, is it obvious?”
Skyler studies my face and nods sagely. “You have a very just-been-fucked look about you,” she deadpans.
A dirty thrill rushes through me, and I touch my cheek. “And what is that exactly?”
Clementine grins like a naughty kid. “You’re all glowy. Dewy. Shiny.”
I crack up. “You sound like a face cream commercial.”
“Sex is good for the skin,” Skyler deadpans.
“Then I better have an amazing complexion,” I whisper.
“Get it, girl,” Clementine says, then makes a rolling gesture with her hands. “Spill the tea. How was it?”
A zip of pleasure rushes through me from the memory of last night and this afternoon. I’m bursting to tell my girlfriends. “It was amazing. I never knew sex could be so incredible. It’s basically better than . . . well, music, food, drinks, and even cats.”
Clementine throws her arms around me and we all squeal.
“Sex is the best,” Skyler says when Clementine and I separate. “Fine, it’s been a year for me, but if memory serves, it was something I rather enjoyed . . .”
“It’s something I want to enjoy,” Clementine puts in.
I meet her gaze and deliver the best advice a recently deflowered gal can give. “And you should enjoy it to the fullest. And find a man who wants to give you what you ask for. I basically told Chance what I wanted, and he delivered. Sex is awesome with a man you like. A man who listens. A man who wants to please you.”
Clementine dances a jig. “A man who listens? He’s a keeper for sure.”
I tense at that word. Keeper cuts the moment in half, slicing away the lightness, hitting pause on my happy-go-horny mood. “He’s not a keeper. I didn’t mean it like that. He’s not interested in anything long-term,” I say, my voice a little wobblier than I’d like.
But why is it hard to speak the truth? I shouldn’t be bothered to voice the backbone of our arrangement. Neither one of us wants more than a quick fling. That’s what we agreed to.
Except I’m starting to wonder what more would look like.
Skyler sighs, gives a sympathetic look. “Bummer.”
I shake my head, dismissing her worries. “Oh, it’s totally fine. I don’t want anything long-term either,” I say, though I wouldn’t mind more days with Chance, more time with him. Last night was everything I imagined. But today? The time with him wandering along the hiking trail, checking out flowers and plants, was even better. I never knew it was possible to make love like that, and then to laugh, tease, and play so easily.
My heart warms as my gaze wanders to Chance once again, standing at the edge of the tent. He tosses his head back, laughing at something his mom says. A smile takes over my whole being, unbidden. He’s just so good with people. He’s good with me. He’s the sexiest, funniest, sweetest guy I know.
I tear my gaze away and turn back to my friends so I don’t get lost in this new haze of longing. “Anyway, it’s all good. Chance and I have an arrangement, and we agreed on it,” I say, as chipper as I can be and focused on the facts. Just the facts.
Not these flutters of feelings.
“Good thing you agree,” Skyler says, going along with it. “Yay you then!”
But Clementine seems suspicious, tilting her head as she peers at me. “You’re truly fine with it, Sierra? I always thought you had a big crush on him. And that’s risky in these situationships.”
“Well, I did have a crush,” I say, then backpedal, trying to make sense of this new bloom of emotions. “I mean, I do. Wait. Is it still a crush if you’re sleeping with him in said situationship?”
We’re all quiet, the three of us looking back and forth at each other, then drifting off to the ocean for answers.
Is this still a crush?
Has it already turned into something else? My rushing pulse and squishy heart suggest it has.
But what?
I don’t know what this is, or what it should be. I have no answers to the question of what to do with my runaway feelings.
Clementine clears her throat, more solemn than usual as she says, “You’ll know it was a crush if it doesn’t truly hurt when it ends.”
Skyler nods immediately, her tone a little heavy too. “Truer words.”
Great. Just great. Now I’m thinking of endings and hurting rather than good times and pleasure. The goddamn point of this no-strings fling is that we won’t hurt each other. “Then it’s simply a crush,” I say, chin up, brave face on, trying to remember the rules of engagement. “Let’s go back.”
I gesture to the tent, and we return to the party. When I reach the dance floor, a hand touches my arm, feeling familiar, but not quite.
I spin around—the face of the man is familiar too. The face of the man I slept with. But I meet his eyes and, though almost identical, I spot the difference.
But it’s not Chance. It’s TJ.
“Hey, Sierra,” he says with only a sliver of a smile. “Want to dance?”
“Sure,” I say, but the truth is . . . I’m unsure. He looks more intense than I’d expect.
We head out to the dance floor, shaking it to a fast song, making small talk about one of his books. “My favorite scene in Come Again is the one in the bakery—when he takes her to Piece of Cake, and she’s moaning and groaning around the mouthful like it’s foreplay.”
“She wasn’t wrong,” he deadpans.
“Nor were you. I love that you can get inside the mind of both a man and a woman.”
“Thank you,” he says, clearly sincere. “That means a lot to me. Truly it does.”
I screw up the corner of my lips. “Funny—you and Chance sound a lot alike, but I can tell your voices apart by the way you speak, how the sentences come together. Yours are almost more . . . observational. Which sort of makes sense, since that’s what you do.”
He smiles for a second. “That does make sense.” But then his humor vanishes as the song winds down. TJ locks his eyes with mine like I’m in his crosshairs. “So listen, Sierra . . .”
Nerves prickle through me from the intensity that’s purely TJ. “Yes?”
“You seem great. I like you. So does Chance.”
“I like him too,” I say. Where is he going with this?
“Good.” He takes a beat. “Don’t break his heart, then.” It’s an order, crisp and clear from the minutes-older brother. Then TJ brushes a kiss onto my cheek. “Good dancing with you and chatting books. I look forward to grabbing a drink at your bar when I’m in the city.”
He walks away.
What was the deal with that warning? Is he simply being a big brother? Or is there something more at play? I don’t have much time to contemplate, because his twin heads my way, smiling like he has a secret. This is whiplash, even though I’m wildly happy to see Chance. My bones hum as he nears me. My chest flips. I am so into him, it’s crazy.
This feeling is wild and wonderful, and I want to embrace it.
Chance reaches me as the music shifts to a slow song. “May I have this dance?”
“You may,” I say, feeling fluttery and warm.
I let TJ’s warning fade away as Chance wraps his hands around my waist. We dance to the love song under the Hawaiian sky. His eyes twinkle, and he sure looks like he has an ace up his sleeve.
I’m about to ask what’s up when Chance spins me around, dips me, then says, “I have a proposition for you.”
Color me intrigued. “Hit me up,” I say, my hair spilling toward the floor.
He yanks me up, running a hand along the cherry tattoo on my arm. “You said you were going to Las Vegas when you return.”
“Yes, I did,” I say, curious as to why he’s asking.
“At the risk of inviting myself along, I’d love to invite myself along. I could spend more time with you as you check out your bartender and comic. Get us a luxury suite at The Extravagant if you’d like. Treat you to another few days of the vacation you deserve. Go to clubs if you want. Soak in the jacuzzi. Order room service and then lavish you in orgasms all night long.” He takes a beat, twirls me, then drags me in close, his big body pressed to mine.
My skin tingles. My heart trips along.
That invitation sounds like we’re zooming well past the crush zone. We’re racing into more than a fling.
Every single thing he’s suggesting tantalizes me. I do need a vacation. A few more days treating myself—or really, being treated—would be good for me.
But that’s not why I want to take him up on his offer.
I want as much of Chance as I can get. I want to gobble up all the time he’s offering. To indulge in as much of my crush as possible.
Even if it’ll hurt when it ends.
“I’d say that’s the best self-invitation I’ve ever heard. I will RSVP right now.”
A rumble coasts across his lips as I grab the collar of his shirt and bring him close for a tropical kiss. A kiss that makes me want to drag him away from the wedding right now. But we can’t escape till later.
So after the cake and more toasts and more dancing, I seize the opportunity I desperately want to be alone with him. “Want to get out of here?”
Chance’s eyes flicker. “More than I’ve ever wanted any chocolate-covered strawberry in my life.”
High praise, indeed.
