AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Single no more! Everyone’s favorite NFL coach is finally off the market.
Caught on camera! A scorching display of public affection at a sporting event—and we are here for it.
“Fuck,” I say. “Fuck.”
“Lacey,” my mother admonishes. “Language.”
“Sorry.” I press the pads of my fingers to the space between my eyebrows as pressure pulses across my forehead. “We’re not… it’s not like that, Mom. Shawn and I are friends.Justfriends.”
“That sure doesn’t look likejust friendsto me,” she says with a laugh. “I need more friends like yours.”
“Oh, my god. This is all a misunderstanding. It was just a stupid thing that happened at his game.”
“Well, someone better tell the media that,” my mom says. “They talked about you onGood Morning America. You were the pop culture moment of the day.”
“Pop culture—you’ve got to be shitting me.” I grab a pillow and put it over my face, screaming into the silk cover until I’m hoarse. “I have to go, Mom. I have to fix this.”
“Are you sure you don’t like him, Lace? The pictures of you two were very cute. And kissing in the snow? It’s like those Hallmark movies I love so much.”
“Of course I like him. He’s one of my favorite people in the world. I just don’t like him likethat,” I say.
My mom hums. “Okay. Call me later. I love you.”
“Love you too,” I say.
I end the call and pull up my Instagram, nearly dropping my phone when I see I have three hundred thousand new followers. A full inbox. Comments and likes on photos from ten years ago, back when I wore skinny jeans and had a temporary tattoo of a butterfly on my left shoulder.
My profile has always been public, easily searchable by anyone who has my first and last name. There’s nothing incriminating on it, no glorification of illegal activities that would get me in trouble with the state medical board or have my patients’ parents not trust me.
I love my job, and I’ve worked hard to earn the accolades I’ve achieved over the course of my career. I would never act like an idiot then post it on social media.
But this sudden influx of attention means people I don’t know are finding these snapshots of my life. People who have never met me are flocking to cherished personal moments. Commenting on images of loved ones—onMaven—and criticizing her appearance.
“Goddammit,” I curse, and a knock on my apartment door has me flying out of bed.
I’m close to being sick. Acid churns in my stomach and bile sits in my throat. I stand on my tiptoes and peer through the peephole, breathing out a sigh of relief when I see Maggie’s anxious face on the other side. I turn the knob and fling the door open, and she wraps me in a hug.
“Are you okay?” she whispers in my ear, her hand stroking my hair and her arms around my shoulders.
“I don’t know what’s going on, Mags.”
It’s my apartment, but she’s the one to guide me to the couch. The one who sits me down and kisses the top of my head. She disappears for a minute or ten, returning to the living room with two mugs in her hands.
“Talk,” she says, and she thrusts a cup of tea in my direction.
“I went to sleep last night thinking whatever happened at the game was behind us. Shawn and I made a couple of jokes at the diner. He ruffled my hair and told me I use too much teeth when I kiss. I elbowed him in the stomach and said his tongue is too slippery. It wasfine. This morning, I wake up to this massive shit storm and headlines saying I’m dating the NFL’s most eligible bachelor. How did we gethere?” I ask.
“A video of the kiss got posted online,” she says slowly. She brings the chipped mug to her lips and takes a sip. “On TikTok. It has fifteen million views.”
I almost spill my tea. It sloshes dangerously close to the rim of the cup and a few rogue drops fall onto my fingers as I gape at her. “Fifteen million?” I repeat. There’s no way I heard her correctly. “How is that possible?”
“Social media.” She shrugs and sets her saucer and teacup down next to the photo of us at medical school graduation over ten years ago. We’re both in our black robes and doctoral tams, smiling proudly on a warm spring day. “It can be a blessing and a curse.”
“Right now, I’d say it’s a curse.”
“Why, exactly?” she asks. “Everyone thinks you’re dating the hot football coach. Is that really that bad?”
“I don’t want to date the hot football coach,” I argue. “I don’t want to date anyone, and certainly not my friend who’s seen me puke in a toilet after a tequila shot too many.”
