The Virgin Game Plan
The Virgin Game Plan
Lauren Blakely
Lauren Blakely Books
Contents
Also by Lauren Blakely
About
The Virgin Game Plan
Present Day
Prelude
1. Reese
2. Holden
3. Reese
4. Holden
5. Reese
6. Holden
Interlude
7. Holden
8. Holden
9. Reese
Present Day
10. Reese
11. Reese
12. Holden
13. Holden
14. Reese
15. Holden
16. Reese
17. Reese
18. Reese
19. Holden
20. Reese
21. Reese
22. Holden
23. Reese
24. Holden
25. Reese
26. Holden
27. Reese
28. Holden
29. Reese
30. Reese
31. Holden
32. Holden
33. Holden
Epilogue
Epilogue
Another Epilogue
Another Epilogue
The Final Epilogue
Also by Lauren Blakely
Contact
Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Blakely
Cover Design by Helen Williams.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This book is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy sexy romance novels with alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Also by Lauren Blakely
Big Rock Series
Big Rock
Mister O
Well Hung
Full Package
Joy Ride
Hard Wood
* * *
Rules of Love Series
The Rules of Friends with Benefits (A Prequel Novella)
The Virgin Rule Book
The Virgin Game Plan
The Virgin Replay
The Player’s Scorecard
* * *
Men of Summer Series
Scoring With Him
Winning With Him
* * *
The Guys Who Got Away Series
Dear Sexy Ex-Boyfriend
The What If Guy
Thanks for Last Night
The Dream Guy Next Door
* * *
The Gift Series
The Engagement Gift
The Virgin Gift
The Decadent Gift
* * *
The Extravagant Series
One Night Only
One Exquisite Touch
My One-Week Husband
* * *
MM Standalone Novels
A Guy Walks Into My Bar
One Time Only
* * *
The Heartbreakers Series
Once Upon a Real Good Time
Once Upon a Sure Thing
Once Upon a Wild Fling
* * *
Boyfriend Material
Asking For a Friend
Sex and Other Shiny Objects
One Night Stand-In
* * *
Lucky In Love Series
Best Laid Plans
The Feel Good Factor
Nobody Does It Better
Unzipped
* * *
Always Satisfied Series
Satisfaction Guaranteed
Instant Gratification
Overnight Service
Never Have I Ever
PS It’s Always Been You
Special Delivery
* * *
The Sexy Suit Series
Lucky Suit
Birthday Suit
* * *
From Paris With Love
Wanderlust
Part-Time Lover
* * *
One Love Series
The Sexy One
The Only One
The Hot One
The Knocked Up Plan
Come As You Are
* * *
Sports Romance
Most Valuable Playboy
Most Likely to Score
* * *
Standalones
Stud Finder
The V Card
The Real Deal
Unbreak My Heart
The Break-Up Album
* * *
The Caught Up in Love Series
The Pretending Plot (previously called Pretending He’s Mine)
The Dating Proposal
The Second Chance Plan (previously called Caught Up In Us)
The Private Rehearsal (previously called Playing With Her Heart)
* * *
Seductive Nights Series
Night After Night
After This Night
One More Night
A Wildly Seductive Night
About
A sexy standalone forbidden sports romance from #1 NYT Bestseller Lauren Blakely!
* * *
The woman I want is as off-limits as they come.
* * *
I had an excuse two years ago when I met her on campus. She interviewed me for a story on major league baseball's rising stars, and we shared a hot, passionate night that ended far too soon, and without a mention of who her father was.
* * *
Now I know the innocent but sexy woman I can’t stop thinking about is the coach's daughter.
* * *
That means her dad is the guy who determines if I bat fourth in the starting lineup in every game, or ride the bench.
* * *
All the more reason to resist alluring, confident, brainy Reese every time I run into the reporter-turned-sports publicist.
* * *
That ought to be easy enough, until the time she confesses she's still carrying her V card, and she’s been wanting me to cash it in since the day we met.
* * *
Staying away from her is going to be harder than resisting a fastball down the middle.
* * *
Especially since I'm pretty sure she's the one who got away, and letting her slip through my fingers again would be a rookie mistake.
The Virgin Game Plan
By Lauren Blakely
* * *
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Present Day
His Prologue
* * *
I’m the guy with a plan.
I know what my days look like, what my nights have in store.
I have a road map for every practice, an agenda for every game, and a strategy for every at bat. I know dates of each home stand and out-of-town series of the season and can tell you where we’re playing in July and what’s on the schedule for September.
When it comes to sports, I leave nothing to chance. I’m the guy who does the research, who hits the hay by eleven, gets up at six, and logs four miles while the sun is rising.
It’s made me who I am today, and I’m pretty damn happy about that.
Games, seasons, championships—those are won with determination, discipline, and heart, for sure.
But never without a plan.
Dating is kind of like that too. It’s good to know where you’re going for dinner, or how to get to your seats at a concert, or who serves the best cocktails in town. Why wing it and worry when, with a little bit of homework, you can show up confident of a good evening?
The way I see it, preparation is about respect. Respect for the game, respect for the woman, and respect for yourself.
My father instilled that philosophy, my mother reinforced it, and so far, that principle has served me well in every aspect of my life.
Nearly every aspect.
There’s one glaring exception.
Chemistry.
Not the kind that adheres to rules and gives predictable results, the kind you can study in a lab and shows you what to expect in life. I mean the other kind, which doesn’t repeat patterns or generate statistics to analyze. The kind that defies your careful plans and laughs at any strategy.
That chemistry doesn’t give a flying fuck about schedules. It happens when you have something else entirely on your agenda.
At least, it did the day I met Reese.
I got up that morning with one goal. But then I met her, ditched my plans for the afternoon, and spent it with her instead. When I kissed her at the edge of campus, beneath the twilit sky, under a canopy of trees, the night felt young and possible.
Even though we weren’t. We were worlds apart, absolutely impossible.
That’s how she became my what-if girl.
Not the one who got away, or the one where I fucked up a good thing. We were never a thing to fuck up. We only had one day—hell, less than that.
It was one afternoon. One moment that stays lodged in my mind.
What if I met her at a different time, a different place? What if our paths hadn’t crossed going in opposite directions?
Even almost two years later, I still sometimes wondered what she was doing, where she was, and what the odds were I’d ever meet her again.
Then, incredibly, I do.
And I learn there’s a bigger obstacle between us.
So I have to plan to keep her in the “what-if” category.
Then, Reese reveals a deliciously dirty secret, and all my plans where she’s concerned fall apart in filthy, spectacular style.
Her Prologue
* * *
I didn’t go to the party looking for that guy. The one I couldn’t forget. The one whose kisses ruined me for all other kisses.
I went there for work, to make some contacts. See some new people, forge connections and all that.
Most of all, to do some good, since that’s kind of my thing—why I do what I do.
But then I spotted that guy. Watching, observing, listening. There’s a curve to his lips and an intensity in his dark-green eyes, mixed with some of the vulnerability he showed me that day.
A day I’ve longed to recapture.
Except days aren’t driver’s tests—you can’t retake them. They aren’t video games where you can play again from the save point.
But some guys deserve a retake, are worth a do-over.
That’s certainly the case with Holden Kingsley, the guy who showed me exactly what a knee-weakening, bone-melting kiss could be like. Should be like.
The night I meet him again, I want to think we’re getting a fresh start. That we get a magical do-over, maybe with better timing, a different outcome.
Maybe that guy doesn’t have to be simply a fantastic memory.
He can be my present. We can give in to the lust and the longing, the rabid desire that electrifies us both when we’re together.
We can explore the intense connection, the irresistible pull his heart has on me.
I have big plans for Holden Kingsley. Indeed, I do.
At least, I did.
But there’s more than bad timing standing between us now, and I don’t know if any strategy will be enough to keep us together.
Prelude
Nearly Two Years Ago
1
Reese
This is the biggest score ever.
So big, so good, so cool that I could squeal.
But I don’t.
Squealing would draw good-natured shaming from my girlfriends, and no one wants their picture taken with a sign saying, “I turn into Minnie Mouse at good news.” Certainly not more than once.
I’m not a Disney character on helium.
I’m a twenty-two-year-old almost graduate with honors from a prestigious university.
So, no squealing, just a centering breath before I tug on my pink V-neck tee and twist my mostly dry blonde hair into a messy bun on top of my head, vibrating with quiet excitement the whole time.
Yup.
This is happening.
It is on.
I grab my jeans from the locker, pull them on, then retrieve my cell and reread the email to make sure it hasn’t changed. But there it is, the same words imprinted on my memory.
Yes. Hell yes. Absolutely yes.
It delights me wildly that major league second baseman Holden Kingsley replied to my email request with not just a yes, but a jet-fueled quad-shot-latte of a confirmation.
Grinning privately, I set the phone on the bench beside me, staring at the message as I lace up my Converse sneakers. I don’t realize how absorbed I am in spinning out the possibilities until I hear Layla deadpan, “From your rapt attention, there must be some breaking news rocking the sports world. Let me guess—the LA Bandits star pitcher has a hangnail? Some minor league prospect was called up to the majors?”
The pure sass comes from our volleyball team’s star spiker. She could host a master class in sarcasm, and her resting bitch face is top-shelf. I swear she can cut glass with her stare.
“Or is your favorite retro clothing store having a flash sale?” our teammate and friend Tia teases me as she ties a paisley bandana around her sleek black hair, arching a brow. “Because it can’t be a Tinder hookup that has you all giddy.”
Layla nudges her. “You know what would? A professor who wants Reese to do extra credit.”
“You know me so well,” I say. Any of those things would rev my engine—Tinder hookups excepted. But their teasing can’t dampen my enthusiasm for this score.
An interview with a Major League Baseball rising star.
Excitement buzzes inside me like I swallowed Diet Coke and Mentos. I want to crow in victory until it reverberates throughout the locker room. But the rest of my college volleyball team wouldn’t appreciate that, and bragging is best shared with a friend or two, who will add their congratulations to your own.
So, I tuck my phone—and the news—into my pocket, shut my locker, and redirect. “Maybe I’m just excited about half-price fries at the new Mediterranean café on the edge of campus. But only for the next fifteen minutes. So, c’mon, women. Skedaddle,” I say, waving them along.
Tia snorts, yanking a tunic over her yoga pants. “I’m down, but I don’t think fries make you grin like that.”
“I dunno. Fries make me pretty happy,” I say.
“Fries make everyone happy.” Layla slides her feet into flats, then shuts her locker. “So it’s not fries.”
“Exactly,” Tia agrees, mischief in her eyes. “I think Reese has got something more exciting on her phone than sports stats, extra credit, or cute clothes.”
She’s right—on my phone is t
he equivalent of a winning lottery ticket for a woman with my aspirations.
I wiggle an eyebrow at Layla. She arches one of her own in an intrigued Is that so?
My sharp nod says That is so.
Tia glances between us in avid curiosity, stopping on me with a silent Really?
The three of us have been friends long enough to master communication through a code of raised brows, expressive side-eyes, and telling quirks of the lips.