The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Sierra
There’s one hour till I leave for the city of sin, so as I prep food and cat litter in my apartment, I give my main man some love.
“Lynn will pop by tonight, so behave. Be a gentleman for the cat sitter,” I tell Tom as I set his favorite kibble on the counter.
He purrs louder, rubbing his side against my legs.
“I know it’s hard for you to be good with the ladies, but do your best. Maybe she’ll introduce you to her new foster cat. I met her—and Lady Cat is gorgeous.”
His rumbles intensify.
“But she’ll probably find a home soon,” I tell him. Lynn lives down the hall and fosters for a local rescue. Her newest is a gorgeous Siamese kitty. “I bet you wouldn’t be able to keep your paws off her if you saw her,” I coo.
He presses his side against my calf, which is cat for, You’re soooo right.
I bend to scratch his chin. “Of course I’ll miss you. But I’ll be back soon and”—I drop my voice to a conspiratorial whisper—“I got you a new catnip mouse.”
Tom cranks up the purr-o-meter. I kiss his head, sighing happily. “You’re a good boy. And thank you for understanding I need a little downtime.”
He lifts his front paws, setting them on my legs, asking for me to pick him up. I give in, naturally, nuzzling him for a few minutes. “Okay, love. Soon it’ll be you and me. For now, I’m going to pack.”
Zoey is in charge of the bar while I’m gone, like we planned when I scheduled the trip. Last night at The Spotted Zebra, she grabbed me by the shoulders, pushed me out the door, and said, “Don’t come back until after Vegas. And I mean that lovingly.”
As I grab my suitcase, now empty of bikinis and sundresses, my phone trills. Chance’s name flashes on the screen. A spark of heat zips through me.
“Hey there.”
“Hey. Want to pack together?”
“On the phone?” I ask.
“Yes. On the phone.”
My heart thunders. He is too sweet. “Let’s do it,” I say, delighted over this invitation to do such a pedestrian thing together.
As I move through my apartment, setting teddies and bras, little dresses, and sexy boots into my luggage, I cradle the phone against my ear, talking to him. “I’m almost done,” I say, a little sassy.
“Beat ya! I tossed in another Henley. I’m done. Packed.”
“Show-off,” I say with a huff. “Also, I didn’t know it was a packing race, and I’m still loading up my bag with little lacy numbers.”
“Keep going. Add more,” he says intensely, like a coach encouraging me.
I yank open a drawer and grab a red bra. I snap a pic and send it to him. “Check your texts, handsome.”
A few seconds later, a groan comes my way. “Pack. That. Now.”
“I. Will.” I drop the lace into my carry-on. “Have you talked to your bullpen? Sung lullabies to the jades and the aloes before you take off for a couple of days?”
Maybe prepping like this is risky, since it makes me feel so couple-y with him. That’s dangerous. But he sure seems like he can’t stay away from me, and I can’t stay away from him. We texted all day long yesterday and saw each other last night. He came over when I closed up The Spotted Zebra, bringing Chinese food and condoms. Once inside my place, he bent me over the kitchen table and fucked the long day straight out of my mind. Then we curled up on the couch and ate cold noodles and moo shu pancakes while scrolling through Webflix as Tom stretched across Chance’s legs, purring.
We never watched a show though. Sleep won over, and in the morning, Chance took off early to work out with Crosby and Harlan.
Now, here we are again.
Talking, like we do this on the reg.
I add another pair of heels as he answers me about the plants. “I reassured them all that I won’t be gone any longer than I normally am during the season,” he says. “They’re very hardy. They don’t need that much from me,” he says. “But I did remind them I’m going to New York straight from Vegas so they aren’t surprised when I don’t return right away.”
The morning I leave Vegas to return home, he jets off to New York for an event with a watchmaker. We’ll spend two nights together then say goodbye.
But what happens after Vegas?
No idea.
I focus on the here and now. “You sound like me talking to my cat, giving him all the details of my life. Who needs more reassurance though? Dennis, Trevor or Mariano?”
He laughs. “Actually, Sandy does.”
As I zip up my bag, I cycle through famous closing pitchers. I don’t want to be baseball illiterate, but I come up short. “Fine. I’ll just admit it. I can’t think of any closers named Sandy.”
“Aha. That’s because Sandy isn’t a closer.”
Wait. Does he mean the greatest pitcher ever? “Sandy Koufax? The one and only? You named a plant after a starter? You tricked me.”
“I hope you’ll forgive me and that you’ll understand I had to ease you into my plant collection slowly.” He takes a deep breath, making an audible show of girding himself to say something hard. “But now you should know, I also have an entire starting pitcher lineup,” he confesses.
I laugh, my hand flying to my mouth. “That’s seriously even cuter.”
“So I’m cute and I’m adorable. Hmm.”
“The cutest and the most adorable.”
He sighs happily. “Some men might be bothered by those adjectives, but I asked Google if it’s a compliment that a beautiful, brilliant babe calls you cute and it said yes.”
“Did you really ask Google?”
“I did.”
Okay, that’s even more adorable. He’s almost too delicious. “Tell me more about your starting lineup right now. I need to know everything. Who is in it?”
As I wheel my suitcase to the door, he rattles off the details. “I’ve got a hens-and-chicks named Don Drysdale. I have a burro’s tail named Nolan Ryan. And the aloe vera is Pedro Martinez.”
“And do you talk to them as well? Ask them to watch over you on the mound?” I ask, hoping he says yes. That’d be another thing we have in common—I talk to my cat, he talks to his plants.
“Actually, I ask them to help me be a good teammate. Something I strive to do every day.” His tone is serious, a marked shift from seconds ago.
That’s so sweet that I murmur an aww. “That’s lovely, Chance. And I suspect you’re a great teammate,” I say, my heart beating a little faster as he opens up to me about his career.
I flash back to the comments he made about Natasha on the plane. How she didn’t support his job. But I do, and I want him to know that. “I bet all the guys see you that way too. They rely on you. You bring so much to the team.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds. “I hope so. I hope what’s happening between you and me doesn’t change things.”
What’s happening.
I want to clutch those words, hold them close to my heart. They seem to mean so much more than a fling. They seem to suggest something special is what’s happening.
But those aren’t the words I key in on first.
A knot of tension winds tighter in me. “Change things with my brother? Is that what you mean? Change things with all the Cougars?”
“Yes,” he says heavily. “I don’t want to be the guy who rocks the boat, you know? Who messes with the team chemistry?”
“We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re still on the same page, Chance. And really, what changed? Grant already knows we went to the wedding together on a fake date,” I say, but I don’t feel convinced from my words.
This isn’t fake dating with Chance.
This is real dating. And we both know it.
“But it’s not fake anymore, Sierra,” he says, calling me on that. “That’s why I worry.”
If he’s looking to me for reassurance that this fling is okay, I don’t know that I can give it to him. I do my best, though. “But we both know the score, right? Just a few more nights together,” I say, but can’t bring myself to add since neither one of us wants more.
Since, well, I want more.
Another pause. Another heavy breath. “Of course we do,” he says, like he’s injecting cheer into his voice. “And we’re going to have a great time in Vegas.”
“We’re going to have the best time. And speaking of, I’ll swing by in the Lyft and pick you up on the way,” I say.
“Can’t wait to see you.”
After I hang up, I return to his comments about the team and how he wants to do right by the guys. Wants to follow his code. Should I let my brother know that his teammate and I are taking a trip? I certainly don’t need to disclose we slept together. That’s private and none of Grant’s business. But am I keeping a secret if I don’t tell my brother we’re heading out of town for a few days?
I hover my thumb over my text thread with Grant. He’s still in Hawaii on his first vacation with Declan. I don’t want to bother him with my stuff.
And really, does Grant need to know about Vegas?
No. I’m a grown woman. I’m allowed to take a trip with his teammate.
Besides, Chance and I have an expiration date. Surely, this situationship will end of its own accord when we return from Vegas.
Ugh.
The thought is a punch in the gut, and I need a friend to soothe the pain. I switch over to my texts with Clementine.
Sierra: Hey . . . I need to talk to you.
Clementine:Uh-oh. What’s up?
I close my eyes, set a hand on my heart, try to calm it down. Then I open my eyes and type.
Sierra:I think I really like Chance.
Two seconds later, my phone rings. In the background, a warbly voice announces the next flight is leaving Maui in twenty minutes. She must be on her way home from the wedding.
“Hey,” I say. “Sorry to bug you while you’re at the airport.”
“Nonsense. I always have time for you. So you really like him,” she repeats.
“I do, and we’re about to go to Vegas,” I say, swallowing past the knot in my throat.
“And it makes you sad? You sound really sad, sweetie.”
“I feel that way right now,” I say, but I also feel foolish. I shouldn’t have any fluttery feelings about a sex getaway. That’s all this is. Yet it hardly seems like one now.
“You can still have fun with him. Just focus on that. But are you sure he doesn’t want anything more?”
“That’s what he said. That’s what I said too. So, I’ve got to take him at his word.”
She sighs heavily. “Just guard your heart then. But you’ve always been good at that. It’s second nature for you.”
“Is it?” I ask, surprised by her swift assessment.
She scoffs. “Sierra, you’ve been like that ever since I’ve known you. You learned early how to keep your guard up. And you use it wisely. I never worry about you getting hurt. You’re so tough.”
I’ve had to be tough because of my parents. Because of the way I grew up. They’re the reason I’m not impulsive. They’re the reason I work my ass off. They’re the reason I’m always looking out for myself.
Going away with Chance is impulsive, though, and I like this impulsive part of me.
I like this part of me that cares about another person. I like the part of me that’s starting to have feelings for him.
Because I do want a little more.
I want more than sex.
I want him.
My throat tightens with emotion. This was supposed to be a crush, but after only a few short days in Hawaii, I’m already longing for something deeper.
Trouble is, I’m not sure he’ll let himself move beyond a fling with me.
So, I’ll go to Vegas and do my best to live in the here and now. If Chance and I won’t last beyond this tryst, I’ll make sure to savor every last second with him.
I wipe away my emotions.
I am in the Vegas zone.
