Page 33 of A Whole New Play

So what if I look at Carter’s profile? It’s just pictures. Besides, Carter is a pretty private guy. I doubt there’s anything on the account that wouldn’t be public knowledge. Looking at it will be like reading an article about him in a sports magazine.

Using that logic, I say screw it and tap Carter’s picture to open up his profile.

This account is private.

Because of course it is…

What do I do now?

Chances are the app has registered that I’ve clicked this profile.

It might not be today or tomorrow but it’s eventually going to serve Carter’s profile to me again.

Will I be forced to endure this intense overreaction every time I’m tempted to view his social media?

Will it eventually escalate into something ridiculous like me making a fake account just so I can follow Carter and see what he’s hiding behind that privacy setting?

Because I’ve already considered that option… and that makes me feel like a lunatic.

I shake my head.

Enough.

I’m a confident, educated woman with a good head on my shoulders. I’m letting myself get worked up over nothing. Carter and I aren’t friends, but we aren’t strangers. I work for him. It isn’t like I’m trying to follow him as a fan. We know each other. People who know each other follow each other on social media all the time. Heck, my bosses from my internships in college follow my account.

I ignore the thought that they only followed me after I no longer worked for them. Things between me and Carter are different.

Yeah, because you’ve both seen each other naked.

I ignore the lewd thought and inhale a determined breath, holding it as I tap the “follow” button and then quickly exit the app.

I exhale. My ears burn and my cheeks heat.

Was that a good idea?

I consider opening the app and hitting “unfollow”, but acknowledge there’s no point. Carter will get a notification of my follow request no matter what. If I take it back now, it will just look weird.

No, I made my decision. Now, I need to own it.

“Everything all right, sweetheart?”

My eyes fly to Dad. He’s back to watching me over the edge of his ceramic mug. This time, I swear there’s a glint of amusement in his gaze.

“Yeah.” I force a smile that I’m sure looks awkward. “Everything is great.”

I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I think the corner of his lip twitches before he hides it behind his mug once more. “I’m glad to hear it.”

9

CARTER

You played like shit.

I scowl at Corey’s text and a string of expletives flow past my lips. Leave it to my best friend to tell me how bad I sucked when I didn’t need the reminder.

I’d seen my coaches exchange loaded looks when I failed to sack the quarterback despite the fact I had a clear shot at him. The bastard had slipped right through my gloves before tossing the ball for a touchdown. And I’d heard my fellow teammates grumble when I unsuccessfully blocked a pass that gave our opponent a much-needed first down. But at least none of them openly criticized me for shitting the bed. Whether it was out of respect or fear, I don’t know.

Clearly, Corey doesn’t have the same reservations.

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