Page 53

This fucking flash-blitz that blinds me as I leave practice? Never happened before.
And then come the shouts.
“Dexter? Dexter? This way!”
“Dexter! What do you think about the virgin hunt?”
“Dexter! Are you really a virgin?”
For a long moment, I can only blink, try to get my sight back. One word hammers through all the ringing in my skull: virgin. It’s like a hit to the ribs. I can’t breathe.
They’re talking about me being a virgin.
Shame surges hot over my skin, like I’ve been stripped of my clothes and placed in the desert. I duck my head and shoulder through the crowd, aware of my teammates at my back, looking at me. And then comes rage. I shouldn’t be ashamed. My life is my own business.
It actually takes me five steps to realize I’m not a virgin. I’m so fucking blindsided that for a second, I forgot about Fi. Jesus. I’m not a virgin. But obviously the world thinks I am. And why?
“Dex.” Someone touches my elbow. I flinch, ready to throw the guy off. But it’s Rolondo, his dark eyes serious.
“Come on, man. I’ll drive to dinner.”
Dinner? People are still shouting, crowding. Cameras still in my face.
‘Londo grips my upper arm and gives me a nudge toward his SUV. Right. We’re supposed to go out to dinner with Drew and Johnson. We play their team tomorrow. Dinner. I don’t think I can eat. I kind of want to throw up instead.
Numbly, I get in Rolondo’s ride. The thud of the door shutting is a relief. It muffles the sounds from outside.
‘Londo hops in the driver’s seat. “We’ll hang at my place until it’s time to go. You don’t need this shit.”
He turns the ignition, and the car explodes into ear-ringing rap, his system set so loud my ass vibrates. He gives me a toothy grin and swerves out of the parking lot, leaving the press behind.
We drive a block before he turns the stereo down. “Damn, I didn’t roll over any of those punk-ass fuckers.” I know he’s only half kidding. His expression turns grim as he reaches into his jeans pocket and finds his phone.
“Google yourself and find out what the fuck’s going on, D.”
Part of me doesn’t want to. But knowledge is power, and I can’t fight what I don’t understand.
The headline immediately hits the top of the search page, and it’s a punch to the gut all over again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m a marked virgin? With a fucking bounty on my dick?
I could almost laugh, but my stomach turns instead. I have to choke out the story to Rolondo, who just whistles long and low.
“Shit, man. That’s some…” He winces, rubs a hand over the short dreads he’s wearing. “That’s some shit, Dex.”
“Who the fuck is Pippa Bloom?”
He gives me a look. “You never heard of it?”
“It? Sounds like a woman to me.”
“Pippa Bloom is one of those hookup sites. Only they cater to rich dudes. You know, specialize in eccentric shit. Truth, I think there’s much more to them than just sex. Their slogan is ‘What’s your pleasure?’ It means anything. And I do mean anything.”
“How do you know about them?”
Rolondo squirms in his seat. “It…uh… It isn’t just guys looking for women.”
“God, you’re a member?”
“Not after this,” he snaps. “Not after they messed with my boy.”
“Thanks.” I run a hand through my hair. “No judgment, by the way.”
“Right, man. I didn’t hear any judgment in your tone.”
I can practically feel him rolling his eyes. I look over at him. When we graduated, Rolondo told our inner circle he was gay. I’d suspected it, but never said a thing. It’s been hard for him, but we have his back. Always. He’s yet to tell the media, which I know wears on him.
“I’m serious,” I tell him. “Live and let live. But, yeah, okay, I’m judging the shit out this site now. The fucking bounty on my ass kind of killed my good will.”
Rolondo laughs. “But, hey, you’re gonna be infamous after this.”
I know he’s joking. It doesn’t help, though. I can just hear the spew on ESPN now. The jokes. I’m stuck sitting here, feeling exposed, pissed, humiliated, then pissed again.
“Why the fuck did they decide to target me?” I’m not even aware that I’ve spoken until Rolondo shrugs.
“You got this whole man-bun, tattooed, broody big-guy thing going on. You know how many chicks dig that shit? And being a virgin on top of that? Fuck. It’s like catnip.”
My brows raise as I look at him. “Man-bun? You sound like an eighteen-year-old girl, you know that?”
I swear he blushes. But he shakes his head as if I’m the crazy one. “Man, I got younger sisters. It’s impossible not to know this shit.”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose. I feel a headache coming on.
“The real question is how did they figure out you were a virgin?”
“I’m not.”
I know he gets what I’m saying. I shouldn’t even mention it. But it fucking irritates me that this dating site has labeled me primary objective number one because they think I still am. “I mean, I was. Before… Shit, never mind.”
“Well,” Rolondo drawls, “at some point we all were virgins, D.”
I don’t want to smile. “You know what I mean. I’m saying it isn’t out of left field that they assumed I was. I never hid it. But I didn’t advertise it either. Doesn’t matter because—”