“Fucking ass stain,” Johnson mutters. “I hated that guy.”
“He was drafted by New Orleans this year,” I add. “But Coach cut him during the last round of training camp. Rumor was Coach didn’t like Norris’s attitude.”
“Because it sucked,” Rolondo mutters. “Nearly snapped Finn’s head off during a light practice.”
Putting the health of the starting QB in danger because you’re showing off in practice isn’t a smart move. Thank Christ Idon’t have him on my team anymore.
“He’s bitter and clearly hates Dex,” Drew says. “He had loads to say—about how Dex never went out with any women, or dudes.How our college called him the patron saint of football. How people took bets on when he’d lose his V card.”
“Did they?” I ask.
They all give me hesitant glances. I guess so. I’m not really pissed at them, but it fucking irks to realize people have beentalking about me this whole time.
And now the public is too.
I sit back with a sigh. “Put it away. I’m going to get indigestion before I even have a chance to eat.”
“And we all know you do not come between Dex and his meals.” Johnson wags a finger.
“No, that’s you,” I say.
“True that.” Rolondo grins wide.
“Man, you should, like, star inThe Bachelor,” Johnson says. “I can see it now.” His voice drops. “This season, on a very specialNFL Bachelor...”
“That’s your favorite show, isn’t it?” Drew asks with a grin. “I bet you watch it at night and just cry when he sends somepoor girl home.”
We all laugh as Johnson turns red, his fair skin unable to hide his flush. “Do not.”
“Excellent comeback,” I tell him.
“Anyway,” Drew says. “Dex can’t go on that show. He’s already got a girl.”
“No shit?” Johnson looks at me like I’ve grown two heads.
“Yep,” Drew answers for me. “Fiona Mackenzie. Ivy’s little sister.”
“The cute blonde who took her dress off at the wedding?” Johnson’s expression borders on a leer.
“Hey,” I warn. “Just wipe that right the fuck out of your memory.”
Drew shakes his head. “See? Gone on her already.”
I drink my water and endure a round of kissing noises. “You kids done?”
Johnson wags his tongue in a lewd manner. “Now I’m done.”
“Bunch of juveniles,” I mutter. But I’m not mad. I’ve missed this. I missed my guys.
Rolondo frowns. “If you’re with Fiona now, this whole virgin-hunt thing goes out the door.”
“No,” I say with force. “I don’t want Fi anywhere near this. The press does not get a piece of her.”
“I respect that,” Rolondo says. “But you know that what you want and what the public takes are two different things, my friend.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. I hate the fear creeping over my shoulders. There are things I can’t protect Fiona from, and itfrustrates the hell out of me.
We eat dinner and gossip. I’m not afraid to admit it’s pure gossip: who’s done what knuckle-headed thing, which coaches suck,which don’t.
