Page 71 of The Game Plan

It is a sad truth that, yes, I do kill time on social media during work hours. A little lookie-loo over a coffee break, alittle web surf at lunch. It’s a bad habit. I’m trying to nix it. But I don’t feel too guilty since I’ve caught Felix doingthe same many times now.

Who are we kidding? Our world is one of online addicts.

At lunch on the next Friday, I sit back with my chai tea and go to one of my favorite gossip accounts, a total rag—my shame,my addiction.

My hand pauses over my tracking pad when Dex’s picture pops up in the headline.

At first, it doesn’t compute. Dex is in profile; his mouth—so nicely framed by his lush beard—is stern. Why the hell is heon a gossip site?

Leaning closer to my laptop, my heart pounding, I peer at the story. And the spiced tea I just sipped nearly chokes me.

“Mother fuck...”

The headline is large and ugly:

Pippa Bloom offers 1 Million Dollars for

Proof of taking NFL Offensive Lineman

Ethan Dexter’s Virginity.

Heat prickles my cheeks and tingles the tips of my fingers. I can’t believe it. I read the article, a brief piece discussinghow this private club called Pippa Bloom doesn’t believe a prime bachelor such as Dex is still a virgin. They want to takehim down.

Why? There’s no explanation except for the fact that they’ve just gotten tons of free publicity by putting the public eyeon my man.

I’m so angry, I can’t move my eyes from the screen. My fingers shake as I hit post after post discussing the offer, discussingDex as if he’s some sort of sad case.

My first instinct is to call him. But no, I’ll be all screechy, and that won’t help the situation. I could call Ivy, but I’mguessingshe’llbe all screechy, and I can’t handle that right now. I call my friend Violet.

Violet and I were roommates freshman year, and though I quickly moved out to live in my dad’s guesthouse from sophomore yearon—because, despite being social, I loved my privacy—we remained close friends.

“What up, Fi-Fi?” she answers in her best bro imitation.

I roll my eyes but smile. “Ms. Day.” Yes, her parents named her Violet Day. Then again, her mother’s name is Sunny, so I’mthinking they were aiming for a theme.

“What can I do you for, Fi?”

“You know you really need to stop talking like your brother. It’s getting uncomfortable.” I laugh when she curses, but theugly headline still on my screen sobers me. “I met a guy.”

“Ooh, tell me all.”

I can imagine her now, legs pulled up on her massive office chair, her gray eyes wide as she twists a strand of her honey-brownhair around her finger.

“His name is Ethan. He’s a friend of Gray’s. They used to play together in college. He’s a center in the NFL now.”

“A football player? Get the fuck out.”

“I know. I’m surprised too.”

Violet knows my thou-shall-not-date-an-athlete vow well.

“But he’s kind of different. Unexpected. I just... I really like him.”

“I can tell by your voice,” she says softly.

“Yeah. Thing is...” I turn and scroll through the hideous article. “Have you read the news today?”

“Yeah...” Vi sucks in an audible breath. “Holy shit, are you talking about Ethan Dexter?”