Page 73 of The Game Plan

“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.

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 takes me five steps to realize I’mnota virgin. I’m so fucking blindsided that for a second, I forgot about Fi. Jesus. I’m not a virgin. But obviously the worldthinks 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 toothygrin 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.” He’s only halfkidding. 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’ma marked virgin? With a fucking bounty on my dick?

I could almost laugh, but my stomach turns instead. I 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.”

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