Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I’m the first to admit the article was way less sensational than I expected it to be, but it still feels incredibly invasive. They mention my child and her age? And the fact that I’m a teacher? My relationship with Dex isn’t meant to be fodder for gossip columns. It’s private!
What if reporters show up and are standing outside school Monday morning when I arrive for work? Then what? Will I get fired for dating an athlete and putting my job in the spotlight?
Am I in jeopardy of getting fired for drawing attention to myself?
I bite my fingernail nervously.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit!
Before I can dwell on it any longer, the doorbell rings, and my pulse quickens as I walk to the door, not knowing who’s on the other side of it.
Thank God it’s you.
Dex stands there with a concerned expression.
“Dex.” I can’t keep the shock off my face. “What are you doing here?” He’s only been gone a short time. Twenty minutes maybe?
“I never actually left,” he admits, stepping back over my threshold and pulling me into a hug. “I was outside googling shit and thinking. And I texted my buddy Landon, so I didn’t get very far.” He chuckles, and I love the sound of his voice. His explanation is perfect and exactly what I need right now.
The tension seeps out of me, and I relax. “Well, now that we’re confessing things . . . I hadn’t actually wanted you to leave. I’m glad you came back.”
“Did you look at your phone?” He wants to know.
“If you’re asking if I read any articles and went on the internet, the answer is yes.”
“What’d you think?”
“Er. I guess I’ve seen far shittier, more sensational articles.”
He nods his agreement. “You should see some of the articles that have been written about me—there have been some doozies. Do you know how many times I’ve been called a piece-of-shit womanizer?”
My eyes get wide. “Are you a piece-of-shit womanizer?”
He laughs. “No. Not at all.”
My head hangs as I walk toward my bedroom. He trails along after me as I explain, “I was seriously hoping our relationship wasn’t going to become tabloid fodder.”
“It’s not.” He pauses. “We could have gotten ahead of the story and leaked some information, but that would be like jumping the gun, yeah? And we didn’t exactly disguise ourselves when we were rock climbing. Or when we went to eat.”
Dex sits on the edge of my bed, watching me, when I go into my bathroom so I can remove my makeup. “Know what I discovered tonight?”
“What?”
“Your last name is Mahoney.” His chuckle makes me shiver. “Never would have guessed.”
“We’ve been out how many times and you didn’t know my last name?”
“You didn’t tell me. It never came up.” He shrugs. “It suits you though. It’s cute.”
“You think my last name is cute?” That’s a new one. I turn back to the mirror, dabbing at the last traces of mascara. “Well, I guess I can live with cute.”
“Good,” he says, his voice suddenly serious. “Because I like it. And I like you, Mahoney.”
“Do not start calling me by my last name. I’m not one of your bros.”
“Bros before hoes.” He grins when I scowl at his ridiculous mantra, and I gawk at his reflection in the mirror.
His phone rings, and he looks at the screen, then glances up at me. “It’s my agent. He wants to video chat—is it okay if I take this call?”
“Of course! This is work, you can’t ignore the call.”
Dex stays in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed as he answers the call. I can hear his agent faintly through the phone.
“Hey, Dex. You have a second?” His agent’s voice is deep and direct. “I want to go over this situation with your new girlfriend.”
Situation? New girlfriend?
This perks me up—his agent didn’t mention my name, but he’s obviously speaking about me. That’s a good thing, yeah? His agent knows I exist! Yay, me!
“What about it?”
“I ran a short focus group with some fans who were touring the stadium today, and the survey came back favorable. Seventy-five percent of the results show you in a more positive light than they did before it was released that you’re dating a single mom.”
What’s this now?
I stop running a toner-soaked cotton ball across my face so I can listen, not wanting to be noticeably eavesdropping.
“Uh-huh.” Dex’s finger taps the side of his phone as if he’s futzing with the volume button.
“Case in point,” his agent is saying. “According to the numbers, everything we discussed is working. Good job.”
“Thanks,” Dex deadpans, no expression on his face.
His eyes dart and meet mine in the mirror.
“I say you give it another few weeks, then pull the plug on your fun. Tamryn Clarke’s people followed up about the Daytime Goldie Awards and wanted to circle back around to see if you were still interested in being her date.”