And then sent it to beta readers.
Oh, then we wrote a blurb and made a cover.
Guess what's next in the process?? You got it. Our book... DIZZY will release November 20, 2012.
This story is all FUN. Yes there is romance and there is kissing and maybe a little drama and emotional stuff too, but it's also FUN. AND, one of my favorite lines I've ever written is in this book. So..... here you go. Cover, blurb, and chapter one!
Dylan doesn’t do relationships. He and his older brother watched their dad go through hell and back, so they made a pact years ago—no girl would come between the Gibson boys. But his brother sells out. He's getting married anyway. To the sister of a chick Dylan met at a party, who's probably the angriest girl he's ever met. Unfortunately, she happens to be hot, too.
Ziah’s life is upside down—her safe boyfriend turns out to be not-so-safe, and now her sister’s getting married before college is over to the older brother of a spoiled, party boy who drives her crazy. And also makes her heart beat too fast.
There’s no denying the attraction, but there's also no denying how much they irritate each other. When they’re thrown together as forced wedding planners, they find an ally in each other--neither wants this wedding to happen.
But instead of putting a stop to the crazy nuptials they find themselves at fittings and cake testing. And maybe even…a few dates?
Dizzy is a novel about what happens when two people who are determined not to fall in love, maybe do anyway. Maybe.
I wrote Dylan's chapters and Jolene wrote Ziah's. I can't wait for you guys to get a chance to read it. And because we're feeling happy, here's chapter one of Dizzy (still going through edits!)
Dad picked the perfect time to go out of town. Of course, I know he chose this night on purpose. Every year since Mom’s been gone, he’s bailed on the anniversary. It works for me though. What am I saying? It more than works. Dad’s not the only one who knows how to find a distraction.
He’s not the only one who needs it either.
Party. My house. Beer. Girls.
Yeah, I’m definitely down with that.
I hike across our kitchen and start opening bags of ice and packing them around the keg. My brother Derrick taught me the trick of putting a keg in an old trashcan and it works perfectly. As ice rattles against the thick plastic, I let myself wonder what Derrick’s doing today. I mean, I’m sure he’s partying because that’s what the Gibson Boys do. I learned from the best, but I can’t help but wonder if he remembers what today is. If he plans on having an extra beer, to wash the memory down like I will.
Or maybe college has changed him enough that he’ll drown himself in work like Dad does.
I shake my head. Nah, this is Derrick. My brother isn’t a sellout.
I jump when something slams into my kitchen door. “Open up! It’s the Po-lice.”
My heart only skips one beat before I realize who it is. Dumbass. I open the kitchen door and shake my head at my best friend, Paul. “The cops don’t say, ‘po-lice’.” His lame attempt at a joke slips my mind when I spot the brown paper bags in his hand. “Nice. Your hookup came through? What’d you get?”
He pushes his way into the kitchen, setting the bags down on the marble counter. “Two bottles of Tequila, two of Vodka and a couple of Rum. That’s all I could score.”
My lips stretch into a smile. “That’s all we’ll need. Cooler’s in the corner. Put ‘em in there. I don’t want anyone in the fridge. My dad’s only anal about certain stuff, but the fridge is one of them. He’ll notice if the humus is scooted over a quarter of an inch.”
“He may notice, but he won’t say anything.”
Which is true. Dad’s always been pretty laid back when it comes to me and Derrick. “Still, it’s his thing so I don’t want anyone to screw it up.” My brother and I may have always known how to get our way with Dad, but we’re also a team—the three of us. The Gibson Boys against the world. I don’t know. Dad used to joke around like that when we were younger. I used to think it was cool, but now I know what’s up. He’s trying to focus on the good. He just doesn’t want us to realize what we’re missing. Or maybe it’s really that he needs to forget what he’s missing, too.
Or maybe I’m over-thinking stuff way too much today. I need to chill. “The flyers went out?”
Paul nods his buzzed head. “You doubt me? Of course. This museum you call a house will be packed. Tonight’s going to go down in history as the best No-Costumes-Allowed Halloween party Portland has ever seen.” Everyone has costume parties for Halloween. This year we decided costumes would be an automatic ticket out of here.
Paul pops his knuckles. “Museum. Mansion. Castle. Mall. Whatever the hell you want to call it.”
Okay, so my house is big. All Dad does is work, remember? “I don’t care what you call my house, but I do want to call you a dumbass.” The rich-jokes get old after a while. Plus, it’s not like his mom isn’t loaded.
Paul walks back over to me. “Come on, Dylan. Stop your whining and get’cha ass ready. We’re partying in T-minus one hour and I have it on good authority that Chastity Edwards is coming just for you and that girl is anything but—chase? Chaste. Whatever the hell the word is, she’s not that.”
With the rumbled laughter rolling off me because of Paul and his lame sayings, I almost forget what today is. Forget Dad’s off doing God knows what and stop wondering what my brother, who’s pulled a disappearing act lately, is up to. All I want to do tonight is have a good time.
Music is pumping through the speakers, vibrating my heart and probably the walls of my house, too. It’s The Black Keys—and I can practically feel every beat as it thumps through Paul’s cousin’s sound system. He’s nineteen, I think, and wants to be a DJ. All I know is, he’s the guy we always go to when we need someone to man the music. There’s not a lot of people I would trust with that job because the last thing I want when I’m drinking is music that makes me feel like I’m going to puke. Jeremy knows his shit when it comes to good tunes.
I down the rest of the beer in my cup. I’m short two things that are vital for making this night kick the kind of ass I need it to kick—my drink and a girl. So it’s time I find them both. Stat.
“Hey, Dylan. What’s up?”
“Awesome party, D.”
“Dude, your parties kick ass,” people toss at me.
As I weave my way through what I know has to be 99% of our senior class, half the rest of the school, and probably public school kids too, I yell my responses. “Nothing. Thanks and thanks.” I have that happy-buzz, tingling feeling coursing through my body.
There’s a fine art to drinking that a lot of people don’t understand. I don’t want to make it sound like I’m a lush or anything. Sure I party every once in a while, but who doesn’t? I just happen to be one of the smarter ones who knows what I’m doing so I don’t end up drinking so much I’m even more depressed than I was going into the night, or I’m praying to the porcelain god.
Once I get my happy buzz, I slow down, not enough to lose said buzz, but just enough that I don’t turn into a drunk, teenage girl. Have you seen drunk girls? It always starts with a girly argument. Then it shifts to crying, hugging and lands in the bizzaro-land with confessions of BFF love.
Yeah, I never claimed to understand girls. But I like them. A lot. Even if I don’t trust them.
Which leaves me with the tough part of hopefully finding one who, like me, only does the happy buzz thing.
Pushing through the kitchen doors, I hear, “D! Come ear.”
Come ear? Oh, here. Paul’s still learning how to keep the happy buzz. He’s in the corner of my kitchen, Becky sitting on our expensive-ass table, and Paul standing between her legs. Bingo. Chastity is next to them, a pair of pants painted onto her long legs and a shirt that shows her belly button ring. Damn. That’s new. And hot. I definitely would have known about the piercing sooner if it wasn’t a recent add on.
Her blond hair is all curly today, like she did something different to it and she’s got tons of make-up on. I fight a groan. I’m not really into the whole make up thing. Makes girls look too fake, but how do you say that without sounding like a dick?
“Hey, Dylan,” Chastity says as I walk up to her. “You look good.”
Now, this is the part where I know I’m going to come off sounding too cocky, because I know I look good. I’m wearing my favorite jeans, my new shoes and a black button up shirt, left open. Underneath is a nice, white shirt that left on its own, wouldn’t do the trick. Simple, but effective. “Thanks. You, too.”
I step up beside her, showing her I want close to her, but waiting for her to give me some kind of clue she wants the same thing. Even though, according to Paul she’s here for me, he’s been known to get his lines crossed from time to time, and I don’t want to assume anything.
Chastity steps closer, nudging my arm with hers. Her mouth is next to my ear, so close I feel her breath. “Thanks for inviting me. It’s good to see you.”
Paul did not cross lines tonight. He had it dead on and before I know it, my cup is full again, and I have my arm draped over Chastity’s shoulder. Paul’s doing what he does best, which is perform, making fun of this dance he saw, and we’re all laughing at him. All the thoughts from earlier are so gone from my head now. I’ve let them all find their way to the back of my brain to think about another day.
All of a sudden, Paul slips mid-dance in some beer on the floor. My head falls back, and I bust up when he almost falls. When my eyes are forward again, I see her. I’m going to fully blame it on the alcohol, because what else can it be—but I suddenly get a little dizzy. My breath speeds up. She has long blond hair. Not super blond, kind of a dark blond and big green eyes. She’s curvy and I can’t help but stare.
I don’t know who this girl is, but she’s freaking gorgeous, in a totally natural way.
She takes a step, and then another one, heading our way. And she’s scowling at me. Maybe not at me in particular, but the whole scene. She’s mastered what I like to call, “the look.” It’s when girls crinkle their nose, tighten their mouths and raise their eyebrows in a holier than thou way. I’m not even sure they know they do it, but every. Single. Girl. I’ve ever met has “the look” in their arsenal.
It shouldn’t look good on her, but even through the scowl she’s hot. She keeps walking forward and soon she’s standing in front of us, arms crossed and giving me “the look” face to face.
Forget that I’m standing next to the beer. Forget that the door to outside is right next to us. For some reason, I feel like she came over here for me. And according to “the look,” she hates me. I will some witty comment to come out of my mouth. I’m usually good in a clinch. I can pull a comeback or a sarcastic comment out of thin air. Right now, I have nothing. All I can say is, “What?”
Another surprise! You can read chapter two on Jolene's blog HERE
Add DIZZY on Goodreads HERE
I hope you enjoyed it!