I didn’t even need lucky socks to make this fantastic season happen.
I still wear my chipmunks, only they’re not the be-all and end-all anymore. They’re just fun, something I enjoy.
Chipmunk socks, flamingo socks, donkey-wearing-glasses (aka the “smart-ass”) socks . . . Nadia gives me a new pair every month. I give her gifts too.
Every time we go to an event, I give her a new wrap.
Other occasions call for lacy lingerie.
And sometimes she opens a box of shoes from me, since I’m pretty damn good at picking out sexy-as-fuck heels for my woman to wear.
Like, say, when I bend her over the bed, the couch, or the table.
Life is good. We make ample use of her toys, her furniture, and all my tuxes—because we have lots of events to attend.
We’re one of those well-known couples. The billionaire team owner and her all-star boyfriend. I don’t mind playing second fiddle to this power broker. I happen to find power in a woman an aphrodisiac.
Other men might be intimidated by the size of her . . . wallet.
Other men are not me.
Besides, I know what I do to her in the bedroom—and out of it. She lets me take care of her in every way, and that’s all I want.
Tonight, I don the chipmunks with my tux for the awards ceremony where Nadia’s general manager will be honored. Nadia couldn’t be prouder. Kim has accomplished a ton in the past year—logging a terrific season, snagging wonderful players, and winning back tons of old fans while gaining new ones.
I drop my phone into my jacket pocket and head to the front door of her place, picking up her purse for her as she scurries to join me.
I stop in the doorway, then smack my forehead, like I forgot something.
“We can’t leave without me giving you the gift I picked up for you for the awards event,” I tell her, all bossy.
She’s frazzled, rushing, wanting to get out of here. “Okay. But can I open it in the car?”
I shake my head. “Nope. You’ve got to open it now because you’re going to want to wear it to the event.”
She laughs. “You’re right,” she says, glancing at her bare shoulders. “It’s cold in San Francisco, and you always give me the best wraps.”
“I do indeed.”
But I don’t have a wrap for her tonight.
Instead, in her doorway, the same place where I kissed her ravenously the night we set the rules, I drop down to one knee, take her hand in mine, and speak from the heart. “Nadia, do you remember that night a year ago when we went to the Sports Network Awards?”
She blinks, whispering, “I do.” Her voice trembles, and I love that sound, love the way she wears her emotions so visibly.
“That was the night we really came together,” I say, vulnerability in my tone. But certainty too. “That night we started to acknowledge everything that was happening between the two of us,” I say, my chest filling with warmth, with clarity. “That was the night we admitted we felt something for each other, and we didn’t stop. We didn’t let things like rules or guidelines get in the way. We made our own rules every single day.”
With a smile that could light up the city, she squeezes my hand. “We sure did make our own rules.”
I draw a steadying breath. “I want to keep making up rules and breaking them with you. I want to keep loving you and making you happy. I want you to be my plus-one, my partner, my friend, my lover, and my wife. Will you marry me?”
With tears already streaming down her gorgeous face, she falls to her knees, wraps her arms around me, and says, “Yes. I have been so ready to marry you for a long, long time.”
“Good,” I say, glowing, joy filling every cell as I take out the box from my pocket, flip it open, and enjoy the hell out of the way she gawks.
It’s quite a ring.
It’s big, bright, and contains all kinds of carats.
It fits her.
She’s a woman of the city. When she goes to meetings, to conferences, to dinners, doing her badass thing, I want everyone to know she’s taken in a big way.
The way I’m taken too.
With her.
I slide the ring on her finger, and she stares at it, awestruck. “So now I’ll be plus-oneing with my groom? Is that the romantic comedy that Hollywood is going to make about us?”
“They are,” I say. “And spoiler alert—it has a happy ending. Every day and every night, it has a very happy ending.”
Just like us.
Who is Holden’s what if woman? And just how off-limits will she be? Find out in his wildly forbidden romance in The Virgin Game Plan.
What happened with Grant’s spring training romance from five years ago? You’ll be shocked to read all the juicy details of his first time in a secret romance with a teammate in Scoring with Him. That emotional, angsty and sexy-as-sin romance kicks off Grant and Declan’s epic love story in the “Men of Summer” duet. And finally, Chance’s romance with Grant’s sister Sierra comes in The Virgin Replay.
And now I’m thrilled to share as promised your bonus story for preordering! Here is Matthew's swoony romance, The Rules of Blind Dates. This will only be available till April 30!
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Plus, here’s a sneak preview of Holden’s sexy romance in THE VIRGIN GAME PLAN!
I follow her up the steps to her third-floor apartment, savoring the view with each step.
Her ass is spectacular. Round, firm, and incredibly squeezable. Highly spankable.
I could stare at her ass for ten flights, twenty, make it one hundred.
But then, I need to devote ample attention to those legs too. Lean, strong, and so long. I bet they’d look terrific wrapped around my face.
Wait. Can’t forget her hair—all those blonde waves. I’ll be tugging, stroking, getting that hair all messed up.
She flicks her gaze back to me. “I don’t do hookups either,” she says, lifting her chin, her voice firm as she returns to the topic from dinner. “I should have said something at the diner, but I was sort of in shock.”
“Glad to hear this isn’t the norm for you.”
“It’s the opposite of the norm,” she says when we reach the landing. Fishing around in her purse, she grabs her keys, opens the door, then shuts it behind us, spinning around to meet my eyes. “Tell me something, Holden.”
“Something,” I answer playfully, stepping into her home. It’s small but cozy, with pillows everywhere.
With a laugh, she tugs at my shirt, jerking me closer. “How are you not a hookup guy?”
“Does that mean you think all athletes have hookups?”
“No. I just think . . . many do, and many guys do. I was surprised.”
“Ah, you said you were shocked.”
“I was. Let’s be honest. It’s unusual.”
“A bad unusual?” I ask, hoping she says no, hoping she’s good with this score.
“A very good unusual,” she says, dropping her purse on a table.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
She moves closer to me, pressing her body against mine.
“I like that you like unusual a whole helluva lot,” I murmur as I loop a hand around her waist, moaning softly at the lush feel of her body, the hint of her delicate flesh under her blouse. My fingers tease along her back right above her jeans.
“You didn’t answer the question,” she says, sliding her hands up my chest, spreading them over the fabric of my shirt.
I groan from her touch, from the curious and eager way she explores my body. “You love to ask questions.”
“I do,” she whispers, all sultry and enticing as she covers my pecs with those hands. “So, why are you not a hookup guy?”
The Virgin Game Plan is available everywhere!
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The Virgin Rule Book (Rules of Love 1) Page 22
