Page 1 of Hot Route
PROLOGUE
MADS
“What does it say?”
My best friend Dia hovers over my shoulder as I try to bargain with my Jurassic Era laptop.
“Hold on. I can’t get the email app to load,” I tell her, debating on setting the entire apartment ablaze so I can use the insurance check for an upgrade. I’m fresh out of college with a mountain of student loans, so barring any acts of blatant vandalism and fraud, I’m stuck with this piece of junk for a little while longer.
“Aha!” I yell excitedly as the app loads fully, showing me exactly what I’m looking for. “Oh my God, I’ve never been so nervous. This email has the power to crush my dreams.”
“What an amazingly positive attitude you have. It’s simply contagious,” Dia deadpans. “Just open it and read, bitch. I have a dick appointment in twenty minutes, and I need to know if I can bang Trent without the guilt that comes with leaving you here heartbroken.”
“Wow. If I was sitting here crying my eyes out, you’d still go?” I say, feigning offense.
“A girl has needs,” she replies. “And his eggplant is literally the size of an eggplant. Now read.”
I open the email and take a deep breath beforerelaying it to her aloud.
“Dear Miss Rodgers, I hope this email finds you well. I’d like to congratulate you on being accepted to our internship program. You are one of four interns that will be coming to work for us in the Journalism and Content Creation department here at Tailgate Media’s Boston location. Over the next year, you will learn the valuable tools needed for an opportunity to interview for a full-time position with us. This is a paid internship. We have discussed those figures previously, so you should have everything you need. Please contact my assistant Dani at the phone number below for the details on the job. I look forward to working with you. Sincerely, Jacob Shane.”
I take about three seconds to gather myself before I scream excitedly. Dia launches herself at me, hugging me tightly.
“I knew you’d get it! Nobody knows all that boring sports shit the way you do! Plus, you’re hot as fuck and the male viewers are going to jizz in their pants when they hear you talk about all of it!” Her smile fades slightly. “I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you, too,” I tell her, not wanting to think about how I’ll survive without my other half. “But bitch…I’m fucking chasing my dreams in Boston!”
ONE
MADS
“Is that everything?”my mom says as I carry the last of my bags down the stairs.
“Sure as shit hope so,” grumbles my dad as he not-so-gracefully jams a suitcase into the non-existent space in the back of my mid-sized SUV. “One more grain of rice and this car is going to bust like a can of biscuits.”
“Calm down, Dad. It’s not that much stuff. Just the necessities for a one-year trip across the globe.” I wink.
Dia shoots me a glare. “Stop saying shit like that! You’re not going across the globe. You’re not even going across the country. It’s not that far.” I know she’s trying to convince herself of that more than me, so I wrap her in a tight hug, inhaling her minty shampoo, hoping I can burn it into my memory for those days when I’m missing her.
“I’m only a FaceTime away.” I pull back slightly, dropping my forehead to hers. “Call me anytime. Day or night.” I try my best to hold back my tears, but it’s no use. Dia has been my other half since we were in diapers. We’ve never spent more than a week apart.
“This mascara was thirty-six dollars and your selfish ass has me ruining it,” she jokes, sniffling. I do my best to wipe the black from under her eyes, but I’m just making it worse. She smiles through her tears and playfully shoves me away.
“Okay,” she takes a breath and smooths out the non-existent wrinkles from her black tank top. “Time to go do big girl things.”
I hug both of my parents once more and smile when my dad hands me a wad of cash.
“For snacks or whatever,” he shrugs, acting tough but I can see the unshed tears in his eyes. I’ve only seen him cry a handful of times in my life and the look on his face right now is making me feel so many different things. I’m sad that I’m leaving them behind, but I’m chasing this dream that I’ve had since the first time he took me to a pro football game when I was eight years old. I fell in love that day.
“Wow! It’s so big!” I squealed, my eyes bouncing from one thing to another as my father led me by my hand to our seats. We made our way to the bottom of the stairs, him ushering me to the middle of the very first row on the thirty-yard line.
Directly in front of us stood a woman in a black pencil skirt, her white silk button up tucked into her waistband. She settled a small device into her ear before taking a microphone from a younger man standing by her side. Just then, players began trickling out from the tunnel in their uniform pants and t-shirts, taking places on the field to stretch and warm up.
“Excuse me! Jonathan!” the woman said loudly to a player jogging by. He stopped abruptly, smiling as he made his way to her side. “Can I have a quick minute? Just a few questions,” she asked, her confidence radiating from her small frame as she looked up at him.
“My pleasure, Molly,” he replied, standing close enough to hear her, but far enough to look her in the eye as they spoke.Even though he was at least a foot taller, I could see that he respected her.
“You’ve been looking strong this season, coming back from an ACL tear. How has your recovery affected your ability to run those precise routes you’re known for?” she asked before turning the microphone to him.
