The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Chance
As I lock the door to my home and head out, the sweet soprano voice of a six-year-old floats up from the street. “Silver! We can do silver this time, Daddy.”
“We?We, sweetheart? There was no we about that. That was a sleep sneak attack by you,” Harlan says to his daughter.
“And you loved it. You left the color on all week.”
“Because it looked darn fine,” he says proudly.
As I bound down the steps, I lift a hand to say hi to my friend and his kid. They live a block away, so I run into them often. “How about gold, Abby? Do you think your dad’s toes would look good in gold?”
Her bright eyes light up. “Gold. And silver, and bronze, and rose gold,” she adds, counting off.
Harlan just shrugs easily, gesturing to the end of the street. “We’re going shopping for nail polish now.”
Abby squares her tiny shoulders. “So I can give Daddy a manicure too,” she declares.
I bend to get eye-level with the curly-haired brunette. “Be sure to buy scissors. Cut his hair next,” I whisper.
She claps. “Ooh, that’s such a good idea. Daddy, I’m going to cut your hair today.”
Harlan shoots me a searing stare. “Thanks, man. Thanks a lot.” His gaze drifts to my overnight bag. “You out of town again?”
“Off to Vegas for a couple nights. And then to New York straight from there.”
“Ooh, can I water your plants while you’re gone?” Abby offers as a red Nissan turns onto the block. My Spidey senses tingle—I have a feeling that’s Sierra’s Lyft.
I’ll only be gone for five days, but Abby loves to take care of the pitching corps. “That would be fantastic. Can you do that on Wednesday? Is she with you on Wednesday?” I ask Harlan.
He nods. “Indeed she is. I have a game this weekend, so she’ll be with her mom after that. But Wednesday is good.”
I turn back to Abby. “You still have the door code from last time?”
She recites her personal code.
“Brilliant,” I say, then tap her code into the Nest to activate it for the next week. “But don’t polish their leaves.”
She laughs. “You’re so silly. I’d never do that.”
“Thanks for helping out.”
“I can’t wait,” she says with so much spirit she could run a cheer squad.
“Good luck with the hair and nails,” I say as the Lyft slows to a stop. I turn my gaze to the woman in the back seat and a smile spreads on my face. Hey there, I mouth.
Harlan’s eyes drift to the car, then to me. “Does Grant know you’re seeing his sister?”
Talk about direct. A kernel of tension tightens in my gut. “Yes,” I say, but that’s not entirely true. “Mostly, I mean.”
Harlan chuckles, scratching his chin. “Mostly isn’t yes, my friend.”
“Trust me, I know. But Grant’s on vacay and . . .”
He nods a few times. “I hear ya. And hey, you like who you like. Just, maybe, tell him when you can.”
That knot twists my stomach. “It’s just a getaway trip. Nothing more.”
With a doubtful expression, Harlan pats my shoulder. “Didn’t look like just a getaway trip when you stared stupidly at her two seconds ago like you were falling for her,” he says, then wheels around, picks up his daughter, and lifts her onto his shoulders. “And now, we’re off to the store.”
“Yay! It’s a Daddy-back ride,” Abby declares, then blows me a kiss as she’s carried off.
I take a few seconds to collect my thoughts. To process that word he flung my way.
Falling.
Yes, I like Sierra. Yes, maybe I’m thinking about more than a fling. But falling? No way can that be happening so quickly.
Just no way.
I’m not that kind of guy. She’s not that kind of woman. That just won’t happen to us, no matter how stupidly I stare or how fast my heart hammers when I see her.
I slide into the back seat, kiss her soft cheek, and head to the airport.
* * *
Tight black jeans.
Short gray boots.
A slinky silver top that slopes off her shoulder.
Mmm. I am living my best life here in Vegas as I admire my date. I retrieve my credit card from the bill at the sushi joint as she returns from the restroom, gloss reapplied, her lips all pink and even more kissable.
“Stop being so distracting, woman. I can’t concentrate on anything but you,” I say as I fill in the tip amount then stand.
“Maybe I don’t want you to concentrate on anything else,” she says, stopping in front of me, then letting her fingers travel along the buttons of my shirt.
I clasp her hand and we leave the restaurant. “And now let’s see Lulu.”
“I can’t wait to check her out. And I definitely want your opinion, okay?” Sierra asks, and it makes me happy, too, to be a part of her professional life. “I trust your judgement.”
“We will do a thorough post-mortem,” I say as we head through the concourse of The Extravagant, soundtracked by the cha-ching of slot machines, the clink of glasses, and the whir of the roulette wheel.
“Do you want to play later?” I ask.
“Slots? Blackjack? Poker?”
“Any of the above. Though, honestly, you don’t strike me as a gambler,” I say as we weave past the craps tables.
“I’m not really. You might have noticed—I’m not the most impulsive person,” she says in a stage whisper.
“Yeah, I might have noticed. You like to take your time. Noodle on things. Contemplate them.”
“That’s me to a T.” She lets out a long exhale then meets my gaze even as we walk. “That’s why I waited so long to have sex.”
I never asked why she’d waited. Asking would imply there was something wrong with her taking her time. Some people just wait. Sometimes you’re not ready. Sometimes circumstances hold you back. Sometimes you simply don’t meet the right person at the right time.
But I do want to know.
“You waited because you’re not impulsive?” I ask.
“Yes, and that’s because of my parents. They did what they wanted when they wanted. They didn’t care about consequences. They had Grant when they were sixteen and me when they were eighteen, and they weren’t interested in us,” she says, matter-of-factly, but I bet it took her a long time to get to the place where she could be so direct about that.
“And your grandparents mostly raised you then? Grant’s talked about them, introduced me to them. But I never knew the details.”
“Our parents fought a ton when we were growing up. They were hotheaded and foul-mouthed. It was really hard on Grant since he’s a couple years older, and he bore the brunt of it,” she says as we walk past a man in a suit who shouts Jackpot, one fist in the air. Seems I’m not the only one getting lucky in Vegas.
We follow the signs for the comedy club as she shares: “They were so focused on their own things. My mom’s a singer; Dad’s a guitar player. They were interested in club gigs way more than raising us, so they were barely even around, but when they were around, they fought. We were afterthoughts.”
That hurts my heart. I wish she hadn’t gone through that pain. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” I say, squeezing her hand.
She squeezes back. “Thanks. But I’m lucky. My grandparents pretty much raised me, and I love them like crazy.” Her soft smile spreads as her eyes flicker with happiness, perhaps inspired by memories of those two. “But still, I didn’t want to be distracted from my goals. I wanted to go to college, do well, save money. So I put sex on the back burner until after I finished studying.”
This speaks volumes about Sierra—her work ethic, her focus, hell, even her matching panties.
“You want to live life on your own terms,” I say, as we reach the club. We stop outside the entrance, and I tug her into a quiet corner of the hallway to chat more. “And for sex, that meant you wanted to wait. Those were your terms.”
Her shoulders seem to lighten, like she’s relieved to share her reason. “I needed the right man, the right time. I wanted to be an adult. That’s what I needed,” she says, laying bare her wishes for me, and I love being let in so deeply. It’s a rush to get to know her more. To hear what’s going on in her mind.
“And how are you handling it?” I ask.
She shoots me a shy smile. “Pretty damn well,” she says, then runs a hand down my shirt again. “I’m glad I waited. Glad I wasn’t impulsive. But . . . that also means I kind of want to be that way this weekend. I’ve spent so many nights focused on the bar, building it to be one of the best in the city. I’ve been lasered in on work responsibilities and paying off loans. But now? On this trip? I kind of want to let loose and forget my bar baby. It’s safe with Zoey babysitting, so I can go out and have all the fun. Gamble. Take chances. Dance, stay out late, play blackjack. I feel like I can be impulsive with you.”
She sounds delighted with the prospect of doing it up in the city of sin, and hell, I am too. But what I like even more is that what she’s really saying is that she trusts me. Proof that we can return to the way we were when Vegas ends. “Count me in for all that.”
“I will,” she promises, and we make our way to the club door.
A throat clears, and I turn. A young woman with lush brown hair and olive skin flashes me a tentative grin. “Excuse me. Are you Last Chance Train?” She squeezes her shoulders like she’s on pins and needles for my answer.
“That’s me,” I say.
“Ah! I thought it might be you. I’m a huge Cougars fan, and I was at the ballpark when you threw the final pitch of the World Series last year. It was amazing.” She presses her hand to her heart as if the memory lives there, then turns to Sierra. “Wasn’t it?”
“It was incredible,” Sierra agrees.
The woman bounces in her Converse sneakers. “Can I take a pic?”
“Of course,” I say.
“Do you want me to take it?” Sierra offers.
“Oh my God, that would be amazing,” she says. “By the way, I’m Bianca.”
“Nice to meet you, Bianca,” I say as I line up next to her.
Sierra snaps a picture. Bianca looks on the back of the camera, then thanks us before she practically skips down the hall.
My date shoots me an approving grin. “Look at you with your baller lifestyle, getting recognized and all.”
That’s the trouble, though.
I’m not wildly famous, but I’m known well enough that someone else might spot us, might take another picture.
A shot with a fan is one thing. But a candid snap of Sierra and me? Is that how I want Grant to find out I’m here with her?
Hell, no.
There are loopholes in the bro code, and then there’s flagrant disregard, and I need to be on the right side of that line.
“I should tell Grant we’re here. Just in case someone else sees us,” I say.
Worry flickers in Sierra’s eyes, then she nods. “Of course.”
Once inside the club, we grab a table, and I tap out a note to Grant on my phone.
Chance:Hey. Just wanted you to know I’m hanging out with your sister in Vegas for a few days. We had a great time in Hawaii, so we’re spending more time together.
I show it to her. “Straightforward,” she says diplomatically.
Yeah, the text is direct. It covers the facts, not the feelings. But at least I’ve said something to my friend. I probably should say more, but not tonight.
I turn the phone on silent, slip it into my front pocket, and wrap my arm around Sierra’s shoulder, pulling her close. “By the way, this is not hanging out. This is a helluva lot more.”
She nestles closer, something like a shudder moving through her. “It is for me too, Chance.”
We settle in and watch the show, enjoying the show, enjoying each other.
The trouble is, I’m pretty sure Harlan was dead right, and I have no clue what that means for the code, for my rules, and for the man I want to be.
All I know is this—I want to be with Sierra well beyond Las Vegas, whatever that may look like.
However that might play out.
