NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR, ELLE CASEY brings readers Book 1 of 3 in the New Adult Romance Series, REBEL WHEELS.
Teagan Cross, college senior, rebel, and wiseass extraordinaire, goes from princess to pauper in a single phone call.
Published: October 29th, 2013
NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR, ELLE CASEY brings readers Book 1 of 3 in the New Adult Romance Series, REBEL WHEELS.
Teagan Cross, college senior, rebel, and wiseass extraordinaire, goes from princess to pauper in a single phone call. Overnight, her life of privilege becomes one of survival, and no matter where she turns, it seems like the world is out to get her. She’s not going to fall apart, though. She’s a rebel and she’s strong … determined to live life on her own terms … and nothing’s going to stop her from getting things done and making things right. But when a twist of fate brings her to the doorstep of a different kind of Rebel, she’s forced to figure out when something’s worth fighting for and when something’s worth letting go.
Content Warning: Contains sexy adult situations, creative foul language, and some mild violence. May not be appropriate for younger readers.
"Elle Casey has not failed me yet. Don't be fooled by the cover of this book 'Rebel' was everything I could have wanted from a hilariously entertaining new adult romance and I'm delighted that I finally read this novel and fell page over spine in love with everything about this book. You want funny, sexy and entertainment? Then you don't want to miss out, here are the rest of my thoughts ..." - Goodreads, Lisa Jayne
EXCERPT
Chapter 1
My
name’s Teagan. I know, I know … the
name. Twenty-two years ago, my mother
thought a Welsh name for her only child would be beautiful. Teagan means pretty, so it should have
fit perfectly. Who has an ugly baby,
right? I guess I did okay in the looks
department. I’m not too short, not too
tall. Eating chips and gummy bears every
day has no effect on my somewhat athletic frame, and I’ve been told my green
eyes compliment my pale complexion. The
problem with the name Teagan is my mom never considered the creative names kids
would morph it into.
“Yo,
Teabag, what’s up?”
I flip
Perry Spitler off, but he just laughs as he passes on by.
He and
I have an understanding; when we see each other on campus, he insults me, I
flip him off, and we never actually talk.
It suits us both just fine.
Making out with him and then ralphing on his shoes in freshman year was
one of the best moves I’ve ever made in my climb up the social ladder at UCLA.
“Why
do you even talk to that douche canoe?” asks my friend Quin as she brushes out
her long, black hair. Quinlan is her
real name, but she refuses to answer to it.
We both have a thing with names, which is only one of the many reasons
we get along so well. “I hear he puts
toy cars in dark places on weekends.”
She puts away her brush and takes a bite of an energy bar, chewing it
like a cow and waiting for my reaction.
I’m
both intrigued and disgusted. “And by
toy cars and dark places we mean…” I
twist my longish, wavy brown hair up into a bun and stick a pencil in it to
keep it from falling to my shoulders again.
It’s frigging hot out here in the student union today. Dry heat, my butt.
“Literally. Like that movie Jackass. He put a toy car in his asshole at a party the
other night.”
I
snort in disbelief and disgust. “He did not.”
Quin
puts up her hand like a girl scout.
“Swear. Guy’s an asscar driver.”
I’m
really happy I barfed on him now.
Really, really happy. The kiss we
shared? Well, we’ll just tally that up
to a serious lapse in judgment on my part.
In my defense, there were copious amounts of beer involved.
I
can’t help but stare at his butt as he goes by.
“Remind me not to accept any rides from him in the future.”
We
collapse in immature giggles that have Perry turning around and frowning. Watching his face and imagining that I can
see he’s walking with a slight limp only makes it worse. By the time I can see clearly again, he’s
gone.
“Man,
I totally needed that.” I can feel the
good mood drugs floating around in my brain. Now the upcoming Summer of Doom
doesn’t seem quite so bleak.
“You
ready for summer break?” Quin asks, crumpling up the wrapper to her energy bar
and throwing it on the ground.
I lean
down and pick it up, sighing as I stick it in my bag. This is her thing. This is my thing. This is how we roll, with her being a pain in
the ass and me picking up after her.
“No. I’m not ready. I want to stay here and hang out with you and
all the cool people.”
“No,
you don’t. Do you know how hot it gets
here in the summer? Ugh.” She brushes crumbs off her lap. “I am going to literally cook in my own skin,
like a poached egg.”
“You
forget, I’ve lived here for almost four years now, and No Cal isn’t that different.”
“But
you always leave in the summer, and No Cal is different, so that doesn’t
count. By the time you get back this
September for your very last semester - by the way, you completely suck for
graduating before me - all the poaching will be done.”
“You
should come with me. Silicon Valley’s
got a drier heat than LA.” I’m lying,
but she’ll never know.
She
faces me, not smiling. That’s a rare
expression for her, as Quin-grins come frequently and often without
provocation. We’re not much alike in that
way; my smiles are rationed for only truly happy moments.
“You
should invite me, and maybe I would,” she says.
“I
always invite you.”
“No,
you don’t. You just say, ‘You should
come.’ That’s not the same thing.”
“What
do you want, an engraved invitation?” A tiny spark of hope glimmers in my
chest. Summer would only suck half as
much if Quin were with me back at my father’s place.
“Yes. That would work.” She sniffs and looks off into the distance.
“I’ll
seriously do it, if that’s what it would take to finally get you up there.”
“No,
don’t bother. I can’t go.”
“Why? Because LA’s social scene would never survive
without you?”
“No.” She stands, brushing off her legs. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”
“Late
for what? My classes were all done as of
twenty minutes ago.”
“I
have an appointment with a milkshake over at McDonald’s House of Horrors. Come on.
Your treat.”
We
begin the long walk across campus. “I’ll
pay for your ticket,” I say, testing the waters. I don’t know why I bother, though.
“Nope. I pay my own way.”
“Do
you have the money?”
“No. You know I’m broke.” Quin is always broke. She lives off the kindness of others and a
scholarship. I’m not even sure what the
scholarship is for. Do they give scholarships
for being a smartass? Because if they
do, she qualifies for a full ride.
“Then
let me pay,” I say.
“No.”
“You
can pay me back.”
“No.”
I try
a different tack. “It’s because you
don’t like me, I know. Admit it.”
“No,
that’s not it, and if you try and guilt me into doing it, we won’t be friends
anymore.”
“That’s
a lie.”
“Yes,
it is, but still … I won’t let you pay.”
I give
her my puppy dog eyes. “I’m going to be
desperately lonely.”
“No,
you won’t be. You’ll have a bodyguard
babysitter.”
I sigh. “They always suck.”
“That
last one didn’t.”
“The
last one was like forty years old!”
“So? What do you want to do? Fuck them or just have them take a bullet for
you?”
“Can’t
I do both?”
We
laugh, knowing I’m full of crap. I
actually liked the last guy assigned to babysit me, the guy being paid to
assuage my father’s paranoia. He
actually believes there are people in silicon valley trolling the neighborhoods
for executives’ kids, since according to him they’d make really excellent
kidnapping targets.
Jim
was the name of my last babysitter.
Maybe I’ll get him again and we can play chess all summer like we did
last year. I’ve never slept with one of
my dad’s employees. They’re always married,
ugly, old, or a trifecta of all three.
Besides, my dad would kill us both if I did something that stupid. We don’t fraternize with the help.
That’s
what my uber arrogant step-mother says, anyway, although I’m not so sure she
hasn’t put that rule to the side from time to time with the pool boy. Seriously … I’m not kidding. The pool boy.
“What
are you thinking about right now?” Quin asks me. “I.O.U. for your thoughts.”
“I’m
thinking how much I hate The Heinous One for being such a bag of dicks.”
Quin
smiles. “I’m really looking forward to
meeting your step-mother at graduation, you know that? I’m totally going to call her that to her
face.”
I smile back. “Me too.
Some day.” When I find a way
to support myself and don’t have to worry about my father cutting me off.
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About the author:
Elle Casey is a prolific, NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling American writer who lives in Southern France with her husband, three kids, and several furry friends. She writes in several genres and publishes an average of one full-length novel per month.
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