Just don’t fall in love, Sugar.
~ Until the next sugar rush
I reread it, then smirk and hitSave. I’m gonna sleep on it before sending it to Lorna. Maybe tweak the call-to-action tomorrow. But the bones are there. And if she approves then I’ll post it for my subscribers to salivate over.
The idea’s out now. Alive and real.
Someone’s about to win the sweetest ride of their life.
I have no idea who they are…but I already can’t wait to meet them.
The next morning, I wake up with sugar in my blood and trouble in my brain.
I barely slept. My body might’ve been curled up under my weighted blanket, but my mind was throwing glitter and screamingThe Sweetest Rideon loop. Cotton Candy Day. A carnival. A random sub. It all still feels like fate.
So I do what I always do when I get an idea I can't shake.
I write.
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, mug of coffee balanced on my thigh, I open my laptop and draft the pitch email to Lorna. Keep it casual but not careless. Sweet but not soft. I even hyperlink the article about Cotton Candy Day, just in case she thinks I made that shit up.
By the time I hit send, my stomach is in knots. It’s either going to be ahell yes… or ahave you lost your fucking mind, Cove.
I don’t have to wait long.
My phone starts ringing five minutes later. LORNA in bold caps, no emoji.
I answer on the first ring.
“Cove,” she says in that voice that sounds like money and Marlboro Reds, “I just read your email.”
“Too much?” I ask, nerves flaring.
“It’s insane,” she replies. “It's a liability wrapped in lingerie.”
My heart sinks a little.
Then she laughs. “I fucking love it.”
I let out a sharp breath. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. It’s batshit enough to work. You’re already known for the name-calling gimmick. You’ve built hype around it without us even having to script a damn thing. Fans are throwing money just to hear you breathe their name. Now you’re offering them a chance to actuallybe therewhen you do it?” She exhales. “You’re a marketing money shot.”
A slow grin spreads across my face. “So I can really do it?”
“You can do it,” she confirms.
“I’ll make sure everything’s cleared before they ever step on set.” I say immediately, grabbing the nearest pen like I need to write it in blood.
“And Cove?”
“Yeah?”
“This isn’t a romance novel. This is a fan fuck fantasy, and you’re still the one driving the candy-colored bus. Don’t let them fall in love or vice versa.”
I snort. “Noted.”
“But also,” she says, her tone softening just a touch, “have fun with it. You’ve earned it.”
