Page 67 of Never Pucking Ending

“I was thinking about it since Jesse agreed to do the commercial,” he admits. “I still have the portfolio and was looking through some of our notes. You insisted that we needed to make a storyline that would get people to buy our product, not hire a face.”

I scoff. “That’s because Marcus wanted to use the entire budget on hiring Christina Hendricks as a spokesperson which was dumb. We created a fake dating website for our business, and she was married at the time. It wouldn’t have made sense to make her the spokesperson.”

“Pretty sure there were rumors that she was getting divorced back then,” he counters causally, “but that’s beside the point. Marcus was an idiot. He just liked her boobs. Anyway, you won out in the end. We went with spending it on a narrative that made people want to download the app.”

It was the first time I felt victorious. Marcus had grumbled over being turned down for his idea, and we went with mine. We were spending our fake money on shooting three different television advertisements featuring three different couples who weren’t some perfect Hollywood actresses or actors. They would be real people. Relatable.

We even had to film one of them to show the professor how it would be fleshed out. Isaac and I, since we were briefly together at that point, acted as one of the couples. According to Marcus, who was clearly mad that he didn’t get his way, I was the perfect woman to play the lead because I was…plain. A little curvier than some girls. Average. At least compared to Christina Hendricks. And as much of a dick as he was pointing that out, he wasn’t wrong.

We’d gotten an A on that project, and I’m pretty sure Marcus went on to try creating his own dating app. It failed, last I checked. He probably only wanted Hollywood elite-type people on it. The failed Raya.

“I want to use that method for our commercial,” he explains, bringing me back to our current conversation. “And I’d love it if you were involved. We’ll bring the old gang back together. Well, minus Marcus.”

If he could see the face I’m making he’d probably laugh again. “What method exactly are you wanting to use for this? You’re selling a sports drink.”

His chuckle is lighthearted. “We are, and we technically have a face for it in your stepbrother.”

I really hate that he keeps referring to Jesse as my stepbrother given the different positions that I let him put me in last night. But I’m not about to correct Isaac and draw attention to the matter.

“Right…” I draw out, waiting for him to elaborate on how I come into play. “I’m not exactly seeing how I can be part of this, Isaac. My version of working out hasn’t changed that much from when you knew me. I go to the gym when I can, but I’m not built like a professional hockey player.”

Oh. Oh. Is that the point? We wanted to get real-life people to buy our product because real people were selling it. It wasn’t just for the rich or the fit or the tens of the world. It was for everybody.

“You’ve always been real about that,” he goes on. “I’ve appreciated it. A lot, actually. I’m not exactly in the best of shape these days either. Sitting behind a desk has added a few pounds.”

Oh please. The last photo on Instagram I saw of him he looked exactly like the last time I’d seen him. He may not be as lean as he was in college, but he’s grown into his adult body perfectly fine. “I appreciate you saying that, but you don’t need to. I know you’re not calling me ugly or fat or anything like that.”

He chokes. “No! Definitely not. Christ, I’ve always found you attractive.” There’s a pause, and I wonder if he winces. “That isn’t why I want you to do this. This product isn’t supposed to be just for the athletes of the world. It’s for everybody. You’ve always been on the go since I’ve known you. You’ve always had big aspirations and used to joke that you’d hook yourself up to a coffee drip if it meant streamlining caffeine right to your veins and having the energy to get it all done.”

I can’t help but crack a smile. I did say that. I’d still do it if it were an option.

Isaac blows out a breath. “I’m not trying to say that…” He pauses again, cussing under his breath. It’s entertaining, making this man squirm.

“You’re not trying to make me feel like an undesirable pig like Marcus did in college,” I finish for him.

The man on the other side of the phone sighs heavily. “I wouldn’t put it that way, but yeah. I want somebody real. You’ve always been that. Your stepbrother is too, but he definitely brings in a wider audience.”

Playfully, I say, “Yeah, I’m no Christina Hendricks.”

Isaac snickers again. “Well, I’m no Jesse Clarkson. Never have been.”

No. No he is not.

“So…” Isaac clears his throat. “Would you be interested in doing it? We could pay you, of course. But I think it would be good to show people that this drink isn’t just for the pro athlete. It’s for the people.”

“Very American of you,” I joke lightheartedly.

He doesn’t answer.

I think about it. It couldn’t hurt, I suppose. It’s not anything I was expecting, but it wouldn’t do me any harm. Maybe I could even get deals on stocking it at the café. That’s something I’ll have to talk to him about another day. “So you’ll do separate ads like our project proposal? I’m pretty flexible right now.”

Isaac’s hesitation makes my brows pinch. “I won’t do separate ones. I’ll do joint. You and Jesse. Together.”

Me and Jesse.

Together.

In the same ad.