“My agent can’t handle the mounting requests and has to hire another assistant just to screen the calls.As I walk down the street, swimsuit models attempt to tear the fur coat from my bronzed bod. Several babes in wet T-shirts yank at my purple Stetson to try and run their fingers through my emerald locks.They’re all shouting, “Cooper!” “Cooper Redmond!” “Cooper James Redmond!”The yelling is so loud it actually jolts me from sleep.“Cooperrrr! Bathroom! Now!” That’s not the voice of any swimsuit ...model. It’s Mom. And she sounds pissed.I turn my head on the pillow. Squint at the digital clock on the bedside table, trying to focus my groggy eyes. 10:35. Jesus. What’s going on? It’s the weekend.At least . . . I think it is.Ew, my mouth tastes funny. What the hell are all these white marks on my pillowcase? I must have drooled like a basset hound last night.“Don’t make me have to come into your room!” Mom hollers.Ugh.I drag myself out of bed, still half-zonked and punch-drunk.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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