You know what that means—fall is nearly upon those of you in the Northern Hemisphere (jealous. so jealous.), pumpkin spice lattes are going to be available in a matter of days, and Breaking Tackles comes out in a measly 22 days.
Speaking of, it’s Tuesday! Teaser Tuesday! The day that I post a teaser from my newest book!
Today’s gives you a dose of excitement: Adam, his family, including both NFL playing brothers, Michael and Jason, and Courtney are at the NFL Draft, where Adam is anxiously awaiting to find out his football career fate. This passage was super fun to write and I hope you all have a super fun time reading it!
“Who’s supposed to be the third pick again?” Mrs. Kistler asks.
“The receiver from Alabama,” I say automatically.
“That’s right,” Mr. Kistler says, as Jason gives me a thumbs-up and Michael nods approvingly.
“You know you’ve got a rare one, right, little bro?” Jason asks. “Women who know football the way she does are few and far between.”
“Stop dating models and maybe you’ll find one,” I say before thinking. Once I realize what I said, I cover my mouth, but Mike and Adam both crack up and Jason says, “Okay, Court. I see how it is.”
We have to stifle our laughter as the commissioner finally gets to the microphone.
“For the third pick in the NFL Draft, the New Orleans Saints choose,” he says, pausing as per usual, “Adam Kistler.”
It takes me a moment to realize what just happened. When my brain finally registers that Adam was picked, Mr. Kistler has already jumped to his feet, Jason and Mike are getting out of their chairs, and Mrs. Kistler is, quite literally, clutching her pearls.
“Adam,” I say, as he stands and lifts me out of my seat as if I weigh nothing before smothering my mouth with his.
“Oh my God,” I say, a little breathless from the kiss and what just happened.
“Oh my God,” Adam echoes, his eyes bright, the shock evident on his face.
“Son, you need to get on stage,” Mr. Kistler says, and Adam nods, kisses me one more time, and then heads that way.
We watch as he crosses the stage, looking extremely dapper in his navy suit, takes the Saints hat, and poses for a photo with the commissioner. Then he’s ushered to the other side of the stage and whisked away to the press room.
“New Orleans,” Mike says, shaking his head.
“Third pick,” Jason says, also shaking his head.
Suddenly, a pretty reporter is in front of me and the bright light from the camera following her around blinds me momentarily. I try my best to not squint into the camera as she says, “Courtney, that was quite a kiss. How are you feeling right now?”
Why this woman is talking to me and not to one of the three Kistlers standing near me who are or have been NFL players, I don’t know, but I do my best to sound intelligent.
“I’m thrilled for Adam,” I say, smiling. I open my mouth to elaborate, but the reporter says, “So will you be joining him in New Orleans?”
“Oh,” I say, shocked by the question. What the hell kind of question is that? “I’m sure I’ll visit.”
“I’m sure you will,” she says, sounding amused, before looking at the camera and saying, “Back to you, Pete.
The light on the camera goes off and she says, “Thanks for that. This is fun!” Before I’m able to ask her what the hell she was thinking, she walks away. I look toward the Kistlers, who are all staring at me, and shrug.
“Welcome to our world, Court,” Jason says.
“That was bizarre, right?” I ask. Mike and Jason give me sympathetic looks while a different, probably more experienced, reporter approaches the elder Kistlers.
“I can’t even tell you how often Ashton is asked if she’s pregnant,” Michael says.
“What?” I shriek. “You got married, like, not even a year ago, right?”
“It’s been nine months. Which means that reporters are on baby bump watch.”
“That is insane.”
“It is what it is,” he says. “You’ll get used to it.”
I see a third reporter approaching our group, and excuse myself to the restroom. This one can have Mike and Jason for comment.
When I get to the bathroom, I lock the stall and lean my back against the door, doing my best to breathe evenly.
Adam is moving to New Orleans.
My boyfriend is moving to New Orleans. He’s the first round, third draft pick of the NFL.
Oh my God, my boyfriend is probably a millionaire.
A twenty-year-old millionaire who is moving to New Orleans.