They zoom in on abs and ice cream, pouring different toppings on each one.
Because why settle for one when you can have three?
Some disembodied hand with red lacquered nails dips a signature red spoon into the ice creams one at a time, presumably taking a bite and loving it.
“Get it how you like it. No holding back. The Triple Threat. Only at Dairy Queen.”
I shake my head in amazement when the commercial is finally over. I still can’t believe they did it, Tyus especially. He was hesitant at first, but when he saw Trey get in there with his shirt off, he wasn’t about to be shown up. I don’t know what we all thought the spot would look like, but it wasn’t that. Trey’s mom called me the day it aired in Hawaii and I was glad that I got to be the girlfriend instead of the agent on that one. We commiserated on the ridiculousness of it. I felt like with that one phone call I was forgiven for all of my sins at the Draft.
Luckily other people think it’s funny, like we meant it to be hilarious. No one takes it seriously. That’s our saving grace. Dairy Queen has ordered two more commercials similar to this one and all three of the boys are signed on for it. The publicity has gotten Trey a meeting with Outback steakhouse, Tyus is talking to Dolce and Gabana about doing a print ad for their men’s cologne, and Colt has already signed a deal with Snickers. Apparently he has a pregame ritual where he gorges himself on sugar, and the candy company ate that shit up. He does it on the sidelines right before he heads out to play. He swears up and down that it gives him an energy boost and makes him run faster. Announcers jokingly call his big plays ‘sugar rushes’. I call it diabetes waiting to happen, but he’s my client and he can do what he wants. I’m here to support him.
Even if it kills me.
A horn blows down on the field, signaling the end of halftime. I groan inside, wishing I was a bitch because at least I’d be warm. If I was less supportive, less committed to my job, if I loved Trey even a tiny bit less than I do, I wouldn’t be here right now. But I’m not and I don’t. I’m supportive as shit, my job is my life, and I’d die for that Spandex clad gladiator running out onto the field right now. So I’m here and I’ll shut up and I’ll drink my coffee, and when the Kodiaks kick the hell out of these Seahawk sons of bitches I’ll stand in the fray and shout for joy at the top of my lungs because we’re one win away. One more victory to put the first half of the season to bed, then it’s on to the next. On to the downhill run with the big show in our sights.
Super Bowl, baby.
Here we go.
Thank you for reading ROOKIE MISTAKE!
SUGAR RUSH, the second book in the series, is coming April 7th, 2016.
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Keep reading for a preview of LAWLESS.
Lawson Daniel is good at a lot of things. He can show you the best places to surf, the perfect time of day to ride the tide. He knows the best bars, the best bands, he has the best weed, and if you’re looking to get laid, he’ll show you the best time.
No girl in her right mind should speak to him. She definitely shouldn’t have sex with him, and only a blind, self-loathing idiot would fall in love with him.
I’ve done all three.
All in the span of one sweltering, suffering summer that nearly cost me everything down to the blood in my body and the beat of my heart.
No one walked away from that season unscathed.
Not even Lawson Daniel.
Chapter One
My skin feels tight. It’s sticky from the dried salt water of the sea, burning from the heat of the afternoon sun that touches on every inch of bare skin it can find. My swimsuit will smell like the ocean for days. I won’t wash it. I’ll take it with me to Boston and I’ll let it smell like California. I’ll let it remind me of today. Of my last day.
“They’re setting up a bonfire,” Katy comments.
I roll my head to the side, squinting one eye open to see the group of six guys gathering firewood down the beach. It’s the surfer crowd. The ones who get here at dawn and don’t leave until well after dark. They live here because they live for the ocean. For the waves and the crash and the ride. Their bodies are toned from the sport, browned by the sun, their hair bleached out with natural highlights that most of the girls out here would pay a fortune in the salon for. There’s a handful of them, all hot and smiling, but one stands out. One always stands out, no matter where he goes.
“Do you wanna stay?”
I close my eye and point my face up to the fading sun. “I don’t know,” I mumble to Katy.
“Do you still need to pack?”
“I’ve been packed for over a week.”
“That eager to leave, huh?” she chuckles, but she doesn’t think it’s funny.
Neither do I.