Twitter Girl. Nic Tatano

then Ripley blows her cover as she jumps up and yells, “Yay, they won!”

      The guys start laughing and I’m biting my lip. “Ripley, it’s just halftime,” says Vinnie.

      She sits down. “Oh, right. I knew that.”

      But the men aren’t buying it.

      “Ripley,” says Becker, turning to face her as he tries to hold back a grin. “Look at me.”

      She turns to face him and smiles.

      “Who are the Giants playing? And don’t look at the scoreboard.” He puts up his hand to block her view.

      Her smile slowly fades. “They’re… obviously playing a team that isn’t worth a damn.”

      “Who are they playing? Name the team.”

      “Thuuhhhhhh… Red Sox?”

      We all double over in laughter as her face turns red. “Sweetie, the Red Sox play baseball,” I say.

      “Oh.”

      “You’ve never watched a football game?” asks Becker.

      She thrusts out her lower lip in a pout and extends her arms like she’s waiting to be handcuffed. “Guilty as charged.” (Of course, when she uses this bad little girl look it turns men into quivering globs of flesh.)

      “Not a problem,” says Becker, now smiling at her, obviously charmed by this.

      Another eye roll from me.

      “Thought I’d try something new and get to know everyone a little better,” she says, doing some damage control. (The girl is in advertising, after all.)

      “I think this might be a good time for a trip to the ladies room,” I say as I squeeze by Becker, grab Ripley’s hand and lead her up the stairs. When we’re out of earshot I stop and turn to face her. “I thought you were gonna read that book?”

      “I did, but it was confusing. I mean, a fly pattern is in a Simplicity catalog, what’s it doing in football?”

      “What’s even more bizarre is the guys think it’s so cute.”

      “Part of my charm, as you like to say.”

      ***

      Ten minutes later we return to our seats and find two of the guys have played musical chairs. Andrew and Vinnie have switched seats.

      “Excuse me, Sir, may I see your ticket stub,” I say to Vinnie as I sit down.

      “Hey, not fair for Andrew to hog you the whole game. Besides, he needed to get to know Ripley and I wanted to spend some time with you.” He locks those dark eyes with me and my heart flutters.

      Day-umm.

      I glance over at Ripley and she’s beaming. And after being her best friend for so long, I know what she’s thinking.

      Can this get any better?

      And after the game, it does.

      ***

      We’re in good spirits after the Giants win, and need some real spirits because we’re all frozen. A limo is waiting outside the stadium, exhaust coming out of the tailpipe and a chauffeur standing by the door. He smiles and holds the door as Ripley and I quickly get inside. We take seats on opposite sides as the guys slide in next to us. Thankfully the thing is toasty warm with the heat blowing full blast and we both whip off our gloves and hold our hands next to the vents while I eye the fully stocked bar. Becker and Andrew are on my side with the Senator next to me while Vinnie grabs a seat next to Ripley.

      “Little cramped on this side,” says Andrew, the only guy stuck not sitting next to a woman. He moves across the compartment and sits on the other side of Ripley, leaving her between two cute guys while I share my side with Becker, who starts taking drink orders. He leans over to play bartender as the limo pulls away. Ripley and I lock eyes for a moment, exchanging non-verbal best friend communication as we both do our best not to beam.

      Three hot guys, two girls. Do the math.

       CHAPTER SIX

       @TwitterGirl

       Air Becker off to frozen New Hampshire this week. Will try to convince Marvin Hensler to stick his tongue to a flagpole.

      There’s a definite spring in my step on this Monday morning. The Giants won, Ripley and I had a great dinner and drinks with three very eligible men last night. (Vinnie and Andrew helped pour us out of the limo when they dropped us off at my place. Becker couldn’t exactly do it, as he didn’t need to take a chance of ending up on the Page Six of The Post helping a couple of drunken staffers to the door.) Vinnie, whose body did not disappoint when he removed his parka at the restaurant, asked for my phone number while Andrew got Ripley’s. So even though we’re still in the Becker sweepstakes, our dance cards are not empty.

      However, this semi-intoxicated conversation after we got inside had Sam howling:

      Ripley: “So, you got a date with Vinnie?”

      Me: “And you got a date with Andrew.”

      Ripley: “Who do you like the best?”

      Me: “Of the three guys? All of ’em.”

      Ripley: “Yeah. I like them all too.”

      Me: “And I think they all like both of us.”

      At this point Sam interrupted by saying, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to America’s newest dating show… Caligula’s Palace!”

      While this three guys and two girls romance polygon sounds like some sort of sixties commune, right now it makes for a very pleasant working environment.

      Ah yes, back to the task of getting Becker elected president. This job, as you may have noticed, could seriously play havoc with my social life.

      Frank wants me to check in first thing every Monday with Tyler, so I bounce into the conference room where I find him slumped in a chair yawning. “Late night?”

      “Yeah, T.G. Didn’t get done watching the game till one. Wedding went on forever.”

      “How was it?”

      “The over and under is two years. Though I personally give it nine months.”

      “That bad of a couple, huh?”

      “Well, not many people know it but she got herself knocked up to trap him into marrying her.”

      “I thought women were past that.”

      “Most are, the bride was not. If you knew her, you’d understand.”

      “Let me guess… bitchy and unattractive?”

      “Correct on both points. One of her cousins was at my table and referred to her as Hannibal Lecter with boobs.”

      “Why do men put up with that?”

      He smiles, flicks his wrist and makes a whip noise.

      “Oh, that.”

      “And, as you would say, she has a good face for radio. You oughta see her complexion. Had to apply makeup with a paint roller. I think she was goalie on her high school dart team.”

      I crack up at that line as he offers a soft smile. His eyes are a little droopy, and I can tell he’s not his usual upbeat self. “If you don’t feel well I can come back after lunch—”

      “Nah, I’m okay. I’ll just pace myself today. I’ve been through this before. But I always remind myself it’s a blessing.”

      “What’s