The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Chance
I shower that evening. I want to look my best when I make my be-my-date-with-a-twist request, so I tug on a gray Henley, since that’s what the guys in TJ’s books usually wear.
The one universal theme in the books—well, besides love conquers all and everyone likes big cocks—seems to be that dudes look best in Henleys, so I am decked out in my finest.
I leave my place with enough time to make a pitstop at the Cougars team store. I don’t need Google to tell me to show up with a gift. That’s just common sense. I grab something that makes me think of Sierra, catch a Lyft to Hayes Valley, then get out at The Spotted Zebra.
I’m a man on a mission.
But as I push open the door, I’m greeted by an upbeat love song and…the quickening of my pulse. Sure, it’s been a long ass time since I’ve been on the market. But I’ve got this, so I talk back to doubt.
Dude, you threw the final pitch in the World Series a year ago. That can’t be tougher than asking a woman to be your wedding date.
Gift in hand, I make my way to the bar, catching Sierra’s gaze as I go. Her brown eyes laser in on me, flickering with mischief. Like something is on her mind too.
She gestures to the stool in front of her. “The best seat in the house.”
“It definitely is,” I say as I grab the stool, flash her a grin, and set down the gift. A pink Cougars cap with the big cat logo in sparkles.
“A Cougars hat. And it is fine.”
“It matches your streak, and the sparkles are badass like you.”
She dons the hat and models it like a pro. “Don’t you just know the way to my heart—calling me a badass.”
I pump a virtual fist. Yes, I can do this. “What can I say? I call ’em, like I see ’em, and I’m pretty sure you’re a badass babe.”
“Oh, stop, stop. I won’t switch allegiance so easily.”
I lean closer, lower my voice. “Have I mentioned we have the best closing pitcher in all of baseball? A team needs a man who can seal the deal.”
And I’m gonna be that guy tonight too.
Her breath catches. “So does a woman.”
Oh yes. I like that response a lot. “So, I’ve convinced you to root for the Cougars?”
She leans in close too, her voice feathery. “You’re getting there.”
“Excellent. And I hope I’m not breaking the rules by showing up without my teammates,” I say, my tone making it clear that I’m enjoying their absence.
The fiery blonde behind the bar arches a brow, slaps a napkin in front of me, then says, “Depends on whether you like breaking rules, Chance Ashford.”
“Maybe I like bending them too,” I say.
“Do you now?” Sierra parks her palms on the bar, a move that has the fortunate effect of pushing up her tits. Mmm. Tits. The ultimate distraction, but hey, so’s a runner on second base.
I maintain my flirting focus. “But breaking them can be fun too,” I add.
“Then, you can be a rule bender or breaker at The Spotted Zebra anytime. Now, what can I get for you? Lager? Gin and tonic? The Best Mojito in the City?”
She just rattled off my last three drink orders. That has to be a good sign she’ll say yes to my request. “Someone remembers what I order.”
Her lips curve into a grin. “Well, I am a bartender. There’s also my new drink to consider. Wild Chemistry,” she says, sounding even flirtier when she names that cocktail.
“What would you recommend?”
“Whatever you like.”
Your company in Hawaii for a couple days. That’s what I’d like.
But I’ve got to ease into my unconventional request, and a drink would smooth the way. Drumming my fingers on the bar, I flash back to TJ’s last book. What did the hero drink? Ah, yes. He asked for scotch, naturally. As a hero does—Scotch, Henleys, and big cocks.
“Scotch please,” I say, then add smoothly, “Macallan.”
Her grin widens. She leans even closer, so damn close I catch a faint whiff of her body lotion or shampoo—blackberry. “Has someone been reading Come Again?”
Busted. And I like it.
“C’mon. Easton Ford can’t be the only man who asks for a Macallan,” I say, naming the hero from that book.
She smiles, sets a hand on my arm. “I’m just giving you a hard time.”
I’d like to give her a hard time.
Except…This is a fake date request. You don’t hookup with a teammate’s sister. A teammate’s sister is the kind of woman you take home to meet your mom. Time to settle the fuck down.
“Hard times are good,” I say, and that feels like just the right amount of flirt for our…situation.
“One Macallan coming right up,” she says, then pours a couple fingers worth.
A quick scan of the bar tells me it’s now or never. The place isn’t too crowded yet. She has other servers handling other patrons.
When she sets the glass in front of me, I whip out my conversation starter. “So, Sierra, word on the street says napping is your favorite hobby,” I say playfully.
She tilts her head, puzzled, then awareness flickers in her eyes. “Oh my God, did my brother tell you what happened?”
I shoot her a grin. “Grant did indeed. He just can’t keep secrets.”
“I can’t believe he told you that. But I also can’t believe I fell asleep here. It was so embarrassing.” She points to the couch by the window. “I woke up at seven with a little girl and her mom pointing at me like I was an animal at the zoo.”
“I’m a big believer in naps. Relaxation is a very good thing.”
“It wasn’t a nap, Chance. It was a full-on Rip Van Winkle session,” she says, then she takes a beat, flicks some blonde strands off her shoulder, and seems to shift gears. Her voice even goes a little smoky. “And, for the record, I’d much prefer to have been sleeping soundly on satin sheets wearing a lace teddy.”
Hello! Did she just say what I think she said? “A lace teddy?” I ask, a little gravelly. Or maybe a lot gravelly.
“Or a nightie,” she says, with a coquettish shrug.
My throat is the Sahara right now. Lifting my glass, I knock back some of the liquor. Setting the glass down, I clear my throat. “So I have a proposition for you. About the wedding.”
Her soft-brown eyes flicker with excitement. “Oh good, because I have one for you. Also about the wedding.”
I gesture to the floor so she knows it’s hers. “Ladies first, after all.”
She straightens her shoulders, then removes her hat, setting it behind the bar. Taking a glance around the room, she seems to assess the situation, then swings her gaze back to me. She parts her lips, like she’s about to say something, but seems to reconsider it. “Actually, you go first.”
That seems fair enough. A gentleman should ask, especially since she seems nervous. Squaring my shoulders, I dive into the deep end. “So, Trish and Blake’s wedding. How would you feel about going as my date?”
A smile lights up her face as she says, “I would feel great.” She nibbles on the corner of her lips, and I take that as a sign to serve up the rest of the details.
“But like a pretend date. No pressure or anything like that,” I finish, wishing Google had better instructions for this request, but I’m winging it, and hoping for the best.
She’s quiet for several long seconds. “Ah, we’d fake date.”
“It’s sort of an ex emergency,” I explain. “I thought since I’m going and you’re going, maybe we could go together. Natasha is one of the bridesmaids, and I would love to be with . . . a friendly face. The divorce was pretty brutal online—at least, the way she painted it on her feed. Everyone’s going to ask me a ton of questions, and if I’m with you, they won’t.”
Doesn’t hurt that Sierra is gorgeous, successful, and also fun as hell, but I’m not sure if I should say that yet. Google didn’t shed any light on the nuances of pretend romance.
“Ohhhhh. You need a fake date,” Sierra says.
“We can pretend to be together for the night. Maybe take a few pics. You’d help my social cred, which took a beating in the last year.”
“Through no fault of your own,” she says, crossing her arms, a tough girl vibe radiating off her.
That’s just . . . hot.
“Thank you for saying that.”
“Well, I don’t like that she tried to portray you as a callous ex-husband,” Sierra says, and I bet she’s wearing black leather boots to match her fiery attitude. A quick peek behind the bar confirms my suspicions, and damn, she looks good. “When we all know what really happened.”
I tap my nose. “Bingo. That was not fun, smiling and waving like nothing bothered me.”
But that was what my agent told me to do. Best not to engage with Natasha. Keep your chin up and stay out of it, Haven said.
I listened. I didn’t engage.
Online, I kept my focus on baseball, volunteer work, my sponsors, and my friendships. And it worked. Staying out of the mess online helped me keep my sponsorships.
Sierra hisses, narrowing her eyes. “I wanted to punch every stupid Instagram post of hers, especially that one where she slapped up a shot of herself without makeup. This is what starting over looks like. Being brave. Showing the world who you are.” She gags dramatically.
I laugh, a little bitterly. “I distinctly recall Crosby telling me we were going to post a pic that day of the baseball game we played with kids for charity.”
“Smart counter-strategy.” She takes a deep breath. “So, the wedding is kind of the same.”
“In a way, yes. Since I can’t ask you out for real since you’re Grant’s sister,” I add.
One pretty brow arches. “That’s the issue? My brother?”
Well, the other issue is I have zero interest in relationships. Only good times. But I’d be a dick if I asked her to bang, especially since I need her help. “Bro code rules. Gotta follow them,” I say.
“And the rules say you can’t ask me out for real, but you can for pretend?”
“Bro code is a strange beast. It operates by its own rules. We could also just go as friends since we are friends.”
She shoots me a look of fierce determination. “Damn straight we are. And so, as your friend, I say, fuck your ex-wife. You’ve got yourself a wedding date.” She extends her hand.
“Great,” I say, grinning wildly as we shake.
She lets go of my hand. “But the Blackwood code says I’m going to tell my brother we’re pretend dates. Otherwise, he might hear, and then you’d have the bro code to answer to.”
It comes out a little saucy, like maybe she’s mocking the dude rules.
Honestly, the guy guidelines may deserve mocking, but without them, I’m pretty sure the Cougars would fall to pieces. After all, Grant is the guy I’m closest to on the team. He’s the one who catches every single pitch I throw.
“Fair enough,” I say. “No one wants that.”
So, why do I feel unsettled? Maybe because she had something to ask me. I return to that. “By the way, what was your proposition?”
She takes a beat like she’s trying to remember. “What do you know? I was going to ask the same thing. If you wanted to go as friends. Just friends. Nothing more. So, this whole pretend date works out perfectly.”
And we’re officially on the same page. Except it doesn’t entirely feel that way and I’m not sure why.
I pick up my glass, drain it, and set it down.
“Want another?”
Scanning the board, I consider the options. Should I try the new drink she mentioned? “How’s the Wild Chemistry?”
“Try it and find out,” she says.
“I’ll take a Wild Chemistry.”
She spins around and whips up a cocktail, then sets it in front of me. I lift it and take a drink. “Mmm. It’s a little tropical, and the tequila is just right. And is it crazy to say it tastes a bit sexy?”
Her lips twitch with the hint of a smile, then the smile disappears. “Not crazy at all.”
“Is there a story behind the drink?”
She shakes her head. “Sometimes a drink is just a drink.”
Sierra turns and heads the other way to help other customers, and soon I leave. I’m feeling both excited for our fake date, but also a little frustrated that it’s not real.
Imagine that.
