Page 181 of Beautiful Collide

My brain’s been spinning since the press conference earlier. All I can think about is Dane’s pissed-off face.

Honestly, in Dane’s mind, I’m the worst thing that can ever happen to his sister.

It pisses me the fuck off, because none of that shit is true. I’m not a player. I’m an asshole. I let everyone think one way about me because it was easier, and now, I’m feeling the consequences of that decision, and it hurts.

Real bad.

Today has sucked.

Between Dane and the reporter’s smug smirk, as he dropped the wife bomb, I can’t catch a break.

Wife.

Shit. Every time I hear the word, I like it more and more. Something I can’t admit to Molly.

I’m married.That word feels both ridiculous and . . . not so ridiculous when I think about the fact that it’s to her.

It doesn’t feel wrong.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, leaning back into the plush leather couch. The room is quiet, empty except for me and the sound of my phone vibrating against the wood.

How is it still ringing?

Can’t they take a hint?

Welp, apparently not. Since it’s ringing again. Now for the third time. Something tells me this is going to be a bad day.

Finally, when it’s obvious the person isn’t giving up, I grab the phone and glance at the screen.

It’s my agent. What the hell does Travis want? Something tells me I already know.

I let it ring a few more times, not wanting to get reamed out again for my drunken Vegas antics.

It’s bad enough that I lived through the press conference, and I really don’t want to have part two.

“Travis,” I say, trying to sound unfazed. “If this is about that reporter, I already got the PR lecture.”

“Not about that,” Travis says. His voice is lighter than I would expect for this type of situation. “Though I did get an earful from the team’s PR team. Apparently, you and Dane are on media lockdown for a week?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Lucky me.”

“Good timing, actually,” he says, his tone shifting. “It gives us a chance to talk about something big.”

“Big?” I sit up a little. Now I’m curious.

“You’ve got an offer.” His voice rises. I’ve heard him like this before, and it’s usually followed by a substantial cash value.

“An offer? You mean like an endorsement?”

“That’s right.”

“Let me guess.” I sigh, frustration bubbling up. “Another condom company? Oh, I got it, it’s a new tequila company, and they want me to pose with their stuff? Or maybe it’s an energy drink this time. Something to keep the ‘bad boy’ image alive.”

Travis chuckles. “Not this time, Hudson. This one’s different. It’s a cereal brand.”

I pause, my mind short-circuiting like an old computer that needs updating. “A cereal brand?”

“Yep. They want you to be the face of their new campaign.”

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