The Virgin Game Plan by Lauren Blakely

Author:Lauren Blakely [Blakely, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lauren Blakely Books

18

Reese

We both sip our drinks and then turn back into the building. Walking past the Imperial Tea Court, I slide into business. “I checked out some of your press clippings. And I know this is going to sound strange, but I think the problem is you’re almost too honest and too forthright.”

His brow furrows. “This reminds me of a job interview where they ask what your flaw is, and you give them a flaw that’s actually an asset, like ‘I’m too meticulous.’ Or ‘I pay too much attention to detail.’”

I arch a skeptical brow. “When have you ever had a traditional job interview?”

“Hey now. My parents made me practice in case this baseball thing didn’t work out.”

Laughing, I toss my head back. “Looks like ‘this baseball thing’ did work out. Which means now you have to talk to the press about baseball,” I say lightly, then turn serious, getting to the heart of the matter. “The trouble is, Holden, it’s not just that you don’t enjoy talking to the press. It’s clear from how you talk that you actively dislike them.”

“Ouch,” he says, and he winces too.

I pat his shoulder in sympathy—his very strong and muscular shoulder. “So I think we have to deal with whether it makes sense to be that straightforward. That honest.”

He stops in front of a bakery, leveling me with an intense stare. “I don’t want to be a liar, Reese. That’s not who I want to be.”

His green eyes are etched with strength, with certainty. This matters to him. The kind of person he is is important to him. That is so damn sexy.

“It’s a balancing act. You want to be yourself, but you want to present your best self,” I say.

He bristles. “I feel like honesty is part of my best self.”

“But it might not be the best approach with the media.”

He’s quick to answer with “That’s why I’ve been so focused on ‘No comment.’ Because I don’t want to pretend to be someone else. I don’t want to talk to the media then have it be twisted. And I don’t want to talk to them and spout platitudes that feel like lies.”

His concerns seem legitimate given what happened to him with that reporter. And I want him to know I understand where he’s coming from. “So, you want to present a better image to the press, but you also don’t want to feel like a liar?” I ask.

“Exactly. That’s not who I want to be,” he says with a new intensity, like he’s delivering an impassioned speech, as we resume our pace through the terminal. “I wasn’t raised that way by my parents. I was raised to be open and honest and forthright.”

“And those are all good things,” I reassure him, touching his shoulder again.

His gaze drifts down to my hand on him. “Are you going to keep doing that?”

“Should I stop?”

“No. Please don’t,” he says in a low voice. “But fair warning—that makes me want to do the same to you.”

“I wouldn’t object.

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