We're celebrating the release of A BOY LIKE YOU by Ginger Scott!
A BOY LIKE YOU
YA Contemporary Romance
Scheduled to release: March 3, 2017
BLURB:
They say everyone’s a superhero to someone. I’m not sure who I’m supposed
to save, but I know who saved me.
We were kids. His name was Christopher. And up until the day he pulled me
from death’s grip, he was nothing more than a boy I felt sorry for. In a
blink of an eye, he became the only person who made me feel safe.
And then he disappeared.
Now I’m seventeen. I’m not a kid anymore. I haven’t been for years. While
death didn’t take me that day, the things that happened left me with
scars—the kind that robbed me of everything I once loved and drove me into
darkness. But more than anything else, that day—and every day since—has
taken away my desire to dream.
I wasn’t going to have hope. I wouldn’t let myself wish. Those things—they
weren’t for girls like me. That’s what I believed…until the new boy.
He’s nothing like the old boy. He’s taller and older. His hair is longer,
and his body is lean—strong and ready for anything. I don’t feel sorry for
him. And sometimes, I hate him. He challenges me. From the moment I first
saw him standing there on the baseball field, he pushed me—his eyes
constantly questioning, doubting…daring. Still, something about him—it
feels…familiar.
He says his name is Wes. But I can’t help but feel like he’s someone else.
Someone from my past. Someone who’s come back to save me.
This time, though, he’s too late. Josselyn Winters, the girl he once knew,
is gone. I am the threat; I am my worst enemy. And he can’t save me from
myself.
Top 5 Reasons Why
Baseball Is The Most Romantic Sport:
Here’s the thing about baseball. I bet I could walk the
streets, especially in places like Boston and Chicago, and ask any random
hundred people, men and women, what the most romantic sport is, and I can
almost guarantee you baseball comes out on top. I have a lot of theories on
this, but I’m going to boil it down to my favorite five. For me…these are the
reasons why my heart melts every spring and I beg for winter to be over.
1.
Robert
Redford.
Let me expand on this. Robert Redford is one of those icons that
just makes people flat-out fall. I was a kid when I first saw The Natural. I
wasn’t all about the boys yet—they still had cooties—but when I watched Roy
Hobbs knock the cover off the ball all because he saw the woman in white in the
stands with a glow of sunshine behind her, my heart picked up a step. There was
something about the way he wore the hat, the way he fought to come back, his
love of the game. It was infectious, even though fictional. That story, and
because I read the book I can say this—Robert Redford more so—hits right at the
oooey gooey center of what makes that sport the epitome of romance. Man or
woman—you watch that red-headed swoony gent swing a bat with that music blaring
behind him and you’re going to get goosebumps. If you don’t, I’m insisting you
get checked out.
2.
We all
love a good Western.
Huh? Hear me out. There’s something sexy about a duel.
While baseball is ultimately a team sport, it is also filled with individual
moments—rivalries between teams, between players, between a man and his demons.
The best example is the battle between pitcher and batter. There’s the slow
build of tension while the pitcher thinks, his hand working the ball behind his
back, deciding the precise weapon that will strike his opponent down. The
batter digs in, his muscles poised and anxious like a bull ready to charge at
fresh meat. Only one can win. And when it’s down to the wire, it can either
break your heart or set you free. A walk-off. A perfect game. A stolen homerun
for the win. Extra innings. A comeback. All duels fought between men, and it
comes down to who wants it more.
3. Fenway.
Now I know we all have our
allegiances. Me, I’m a Dbacks and Cubbies girl (I married a Chicago boy; it’s
in the vows) but whether you’re a Yankee’s fan or not, whether you believe in
curses, love or hate the Red Sox, there is something undeniable that happens
the moment you step inside Fenway. I’ve been to a lot of stadiums, and I can
find romance in most of them. But Fenway…it should come with a warning: “May
cause permanent goosebumps and break your heart, ruining it for all other
fields forever.” This park is set in a storybook, with sunsets in the backdrop
that rival Hollywood created ones and stars that sparkle beyond skylines and a
Hancock sign. And then there’s that little thing that happens there in the
middle of the 8th inning. Go on – you know you want to know what it
is – watch it here: https://youtu.be/KxAk1aL-BNo
4. The uniform.
It really is the best
uniform in all of sports. There are no pads to hide behind, and it’s not
bare-chests and abs…it’s the seduction of knowing that something is underneath
it all filling out that poly-blend in a way only fine-tuned muscles, a thousand
pitches, 420-foot home runs and a month of spring training can. Now shade the
eyes with a hat, and I’m sunk.
5. Bryce Harper.
All I’m going to say is
google the ESPN body issue if you haven’t seen it.
Excerpt
I let my eyes drift back to the
field, where Wes is throwing balls to nobody, letting them hit the backstop. I
push from the wall and throw my bag over my back, my cleats untied and loose
around my feet as I trudge through the outfield toward him.
“I can catch for you…if you
want,” I say. He turns quickly at the sound of my voice, startled.
“Oh…uh, thanks, but it’s okay, I
was almost done, ” he says, jiggling his arm against his side as if it’s sore
and tired. He hasn’t thrown many pitches at all today, though. I know, because
I’ve been watching.
“You know, eventually you’re
going to have to give in to the fact that I can handle you,” I say, my eyes
leveling him with a challenge. He laughs lightly to himself, his lip held
between his teeth as he tugs down on the bill of his hat, shadowing his face,
until he finally nods at me.
“A’right,” he relents, shrugging
to home plate.
I step over to the backstop and
throw the dozen or so balls he pitched on his own back to him, and he drops
them in his bag near his feet one at a time. I brush the dirt from home plate
with my glove, then crouch down. I hold the pose for a few seconds while Wes
stares at me, and eventually he shakes his head with a quiet laugh.
“What?” I yell, dropping my arms
to my knees. I hate catching; it’s miserable. I only did it because it was
him—he needed help. No…I wanted to
help. And now he’s laughing at me?
He jogs toward me in long, slow
strides, and I stand, leaning with my glove against my hip. He’s wearing dark
blue shorts over black compression pants, and unlike the other boys on my dad’s
team, he actually looks good in them—like a real
ballplayer. I look away and take a step or two back when he gets closer,
but he reaches for my arm, catching my elbow with his fingers. My eyes go right
to his hold and then to his face where he’s waiting for me with the same
expression I have.
“Sorry,” he says, letting go of
me quickly. I feel the loss of his touch.
Kneeling down, he urges me to do
the same next to him, shirking his glove from his hand and holding his palms on
the insides of his thighs.
“You are sitting like this. It’s unsteady, and
you’re going to get tired…fast,” he says, his eyes gliding over to my legs. He
licks his lips, and sucks in a slow but heavy breath, before putting one knee
down and bringing his hand to my leg, glancing at me quickly for permission
before resting his fingertips on my kneecap. His touch is cautious and
purposeful. It’s also powerful, and I feel it.
“If you just turn…like this, and
then shift your weight,” he says, tugging my knee out gently before clearing
his throat slightly as his eyes run up my thigh. He stands abruptly, and I let
down one knee to rest my legs. “Anyhow, I just figured maybe you never caught
before, and I could show you something. You probably already knew that though,
so—”
“Thanks,” I interrupt him before
he steps away. I’m not warm and fuzzy. I make him nervous. And I regret that.
“Really,” I add, as he tilts his head sideways over his shoulder, glancing back
at me. “My dad use to show me stuff like that, but…it’s been a while.”
His lip pulls up with sympathy,
and he looks down before glancing back at me with a sideways tilt of the head,
raising the ball in his hand. “Let’s try a few,” he says, walking back to the
mound.
I kneel just as he taught me, and
my legs shake a little at first, so I adjust my knees more, giving myself a
base. “I’m good,” I say, pounding the center of my glove and holding it out for
his target.
Wes nods, then winds up for a
pitch. He throws a changeup, and I know he did it because he doesn’t want me to
get hurt catching anything faster. The fighter in me wants to spit and tell him
to give me the real stuff, but the girl I am—the one that likes the way he
looks at me—is okay with the fact that he wants to protect me.
“That looked good,” I say,
throwing the ball back to him. His lips twist into a crooked grin, and he tugs
his hat low again before winding up for another pitch. I praised him, and he
liked it.
I liked that.
GIVEAWAY:
About the Author:
Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling and Goodreads Choice Award-nominated author of several young and new adult romances, including Waiting on the Sidelines, Going Long, Blindness, How We Deal With Gravity, This Is Falling, You and Everything After, The Girl I Was Before, Wild Reckless, Wicked Restless, In Your Dreams, The Hard Count, and Hold My Breath.
A sucker for a good romance, Ginger’s other passion is sports, and she often blends the two in her stories. (She’s also a sucker for a hot quarterback, catcher, pitcher, point guard…the list goes on.) Ginger has been writing and editing for newspapers, magazines and blogs for more than 15 years. She has told the stories of Olympians, politicians, actors, scientists, cowboys, criminals and towns. For more on her and her work, visit her website at http://www.littlemisswrite.com.
When she's not writing, the odds are high that she's somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son field pop flies like Bryce Harper or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU (fork 'em, Devils).
Social Media Links:
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/GingerScottAuthor
Twitter: @TheGingerScott
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/thegingerscott/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/GingerScott
Website: http://www.littlemisswrite.com
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