The Daunted Dastard (The Destin Dastards #1)
Chapter 1 A Viral Moment
A Viral Moment
A video clip from five years ago
“It’s a beautiful day here in the sunshine state, wouldn’t you say, Marshall?” a man in a plaid suit jacket asked, nudging the gentleman next to him in the announcer's booth. Marshall smiled tightly, a strand of dark brown hair falling over his face.
“Yeah, it’s great to be here in …” Marshall chewed his lip for the briefest of moments before forcing out the word, “Florida.”
“Ah, come on, Marshall.” The older gentleman nudged him again. “You might not be able to play anymore, but it happens to the best of us.”
“I know,” Marshall grumbled. “I just thought that when it happened to me, I’d be closer to … well, your age, Lowery.”
“Ha!” Lowery threw his head back, long gray hair flopping over his shoulders. “Well, I was lucky. But don’t focus on that, you’ll drive yourself insane.”
“I mean, I’m already in Florida, what’s more insane than that?” Marshall huffed and Lowery patted his shoulder sympathetically.
“Forgive our dreary friend, folks,” Lowery said, focusing on the camera set in the corner of the booth. “He’s a little down about his early retirement.”
“Down is one way to put it.”
“But what isn’t down,” Lowery pushed on, “is our Destin Dastards crowd! Let’s take a look at them. I think I saw a few signs welcoming you to the Okaloosa Stadium.”
The big screens on the sides of the stadium went from a full shot of the two announcers, to them in the corner of the screen while the rest was filled with shots of the crowd. There were several signs welcoming the recently retired player to the Dastards team.
“See, you’re more than welcome here,” Lowery said, nudging Marshall again. The younger man let out a huff that was half a laugh and half a sigh. Though the corner of his lips did tilt up slightly.
The camera shifted to a group of college-aged white girls, all wearing Marshall’s jersey.
Once they noticed the camera was on them, they jumped around, screaming, and grabbing on to each other.
One girl with long brown hair at the center of the group waved her hands and screamed something at the cameras before bending over to pick up a sign that read, “Marry me, Kiran Marshall” in red letters.
“See, you’re already getting proposals. Isn’t it great to be in Destin?”
“Ha, it is flattering but —”
The announcers' laughter died as the woman lifted her shirt to expose her breasts, both covered in black and white paint to look like soccer balls, bouncing as she jumped and screamed, her friends dying from laughter beside her.
“Oh sh—”
The display screens cut out and the crowd roared in a mixture of disgust and disappointment.