Page 6 of Biggest Player

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“Easy foryouto say,” I grumble. “Some of these people look as if they’re going to eat me alive.”

I scroll on, wishing like hell I had a bag of, like, cheddar puffs to munch on as I stand here, shifting on the heels of my feet.

Give my chest a scratch.

Then, I stand up straighter.

“Whoa.” I stop swiping. “Who areyou?”

Amid the sea of selfies and cheesy pickup lines, a profile catches my eye. His name is Dex, and he is ridiculously good looking.

Like.

Super hot.

So hot I gaze at his bio with my mouth gaping.

“Stuff a chip in your mouth and get a grip, Margot,” I mutter, still staring at his photo.

Dex, 25

Professional Football Player

Nice young man in search of a serious relationship.

Tall, dark, and handsome.

Funny. Sarcasm is my second language.

Loves eating but not cooking, unless you include frozen pizza.

Still discovering what it is I want.

No cat people. Dogs only (big dogs preferable).

Several alarm bells go off when I read what he has written:still discovering what it is I want?

“Dude, you’re twenty-five, shouldn’t you have it figured out by now?”

My daughter will be a teenager in three years, for heaven’s sake.

Got pregnant at nineteen, had her when I was in college—and, well, here we are.

Single mother of one at twenty-nine.

Good times.

My eyes home in on the career shout-out: Professional football player? He can’t be serious—this must be a joke, yeah? Perhaps he plays football in the park on weekends. Pickup games, I believe they’re called?

No way is he for real.

These photographs of a big dude in a uniform couldn’t possibly be his.

I should report the account as being fake.

I should . . .

But I don’t.

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