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.”

“Pippa Bloom, the woman, started off as a matchmaker for the rich and powerful. But it soon became clear that these gentlemen really wanted an easy hookup without all the stickiness of a relationship or the illegality of paying for sex.”

“Isn’t that how it’s always been?”

“Yeah, but she’s the one who made the connection and found a way to provide this easy, high-class hookup service. So she formed a club. It’s like Tinder for the wealthy. Members are vetted; attractive men and women are procured. They all know the score.”

“I don’t really want to side with anyone who’s out to hurt Dex, but I still don’t see what’s so bad about that.”

Violet makes an annoyed sound. “The club promotes cheating. They play up the taboo of fucking around on your spouse, marketing mostly to men. And they do cheap shit like this stunt with Dex to get publicity.”

“Fine, Pippa Bloom is cockwomble—

“What?” Violet laughs.

My lips twitch. “A very bad person. A twat.”

“I love when you break out the Brit.”

I acquired quite the cursing education during my summers in London.

“It happens when I’m hella pissed. But to speak in good ol’ American, she’s a punk, sleezoid, insert rage-filled adjective here.”

“Name-calling is well and good, but I’m going to bring that bitch and her club down.” Violet’s tone is hard and determined.

“I don’t see how.” I tap my pen on my desk and stare off. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Dex matters. I need to talk to him.”

“It matters to me. This shit tore my parents apart. Now your man is a target? Hell no. Enough is enough. She’s going down.”

The thing with Violet is, I know she could do it. Behind her sunny smiles and foul mouth, Vi is a computer genius. From an early age she’s lived and breathed computers. Now, at age twenty-one, she’s a highly paid network securities consultant. Which means she also has the knowledge to go dark.

“Fine, go scorched-earth on her. Just be careful. I don’t want to see your ass wearing orange. I don’t care if it’s the new black.”

“I’d find a way out.”

Her confidence is not comforting. I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “I gotta go…”

“Find your man and give him comfort, Fi-Fi. Let me worry about damage control.”

I really don’t want to imagine Violet’s version of damage control. Better to remain ignorant in case of criminal proceedings. And right now, I have to concentrate on my own version of damage control.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Dex

Having never been in the limelight before, I can say that it flat-out sucks to suddenly be thrust under its glare. At first, I don’t know what’s going on. Why are cameras aimed at me? I get the occasional picture taken, but I’m a center. I’m not news. I do my job and support the team.

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.