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 he on 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 discussing how this private club called Pippa Bloom doesn’t believe a prime bachelor such as Dex is still a virgin. They want to take him down.
Why? There’s no explanation except for the fact that they’ve just gotten tons of free publicity by putting the public eye on my man.
I’m so angry, I can’t move my eyes from the screen. My fingers shake as I hit link after link discussing the offer, discussing Dex 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’m guessing she’ll be all screechy, and I can’t handle that right now. So 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 year on—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 actually named her Violet Day. Then again, her mother’s name is Sunny, so I’m thinking 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 the ugly headline still on my screen sobers me. “So 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 brown hair 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?”
I hate the scandal in her tone. I know she doesn’t mean it, but my cheeks prickle in irritation. Not at her, but the whole ugly situation. “That’s him.”
“You’re dating a virgin?” she almost shrieks.
So much for avoiding high-pitched conversations.
“You know what,” I snap. “I’m going hang up—”
“Sorry!” Violet interrupts. “That was totally rude. And not my business.”
“No.”
“But are you?” She rushes on as if she can’t stop herself.
I make a face at the ceiling as my head rests on my chair. “Let’s just say they’re a little late in their hunt.”
She snickers, but it’s a happy sound. “Go you, because I’m looking at his picture and holy Moses, he’s hot. Not your usual type. But hot. Much hotter, actually.”
I can’t help but smile. “Yes, he is. But right now I’m worried about this offer. And who the hell is Pippa Bloom?”
There’s a moment of silence, and I know Violet’s calmed down enough to actually get to the real point of the article.
“Pippa Bloom—” Violet all but sneers the words. “—is both the name of a club, and the scummy little shit who created it.”
“Tell me more.”