A BOY LIKE YOU
Like You series, Book 1
NA Contemporary Romance
Scheduled to release: March 3, 2017
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 mefrom 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.
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“Come on. Where’s your room?” he asks, picking me back up in his arms without even asking me. I’ve been here so much tonight I feel used to it. It doesn’t make me feel weak at all, either. It makes me feel special. And that scares me too.
“Across the hall. It’s…it’s messy,” I say, cracking open one eye and cringing.
Wes chuckles, and the vibration hits my jaw where it rests on his chest. “My brothers and I share a room. We are messy. I swear…I won’t judge you,” he says, the left side of his mouth raised. There’s a short pause while he holds me here in my dim hallway, a stupid smirk on his face and our noses close enough to touch. The feeling, whatever it is, doesn’t last long, but I know we both noticed it. I did not imagine that. That was real.
Wes reaches with one hand to open my door, and steps inside without turning on my light. I’m relieved because I wasn’t kidding about the mess. I leave food in here because I don’t like leaving my room. I’m embarrassed enough as it is that he has to kick clothes and equipment out of the way to make a path to my bed, and when he sets me down on it, I have to push the pile of dirty clothes to the floor just to find my blanket. I push my hand under my pillow the second I feel the coolness of the sheets on my skin, and my fingers search for the feel of his shirt, only it’s not there…because I gave it back to him, and he gave it to McKenna. That thought kicks me in the gut.
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
“I’m sure,” I say through a heavy sigh.
“Okay, I’ll lock your door from the inside when I go,” he says.
“’Kay,” I breathe out, my body already succumbing to the pull of exhaustion. My world is spinning a little, so I let the sleep drag me in, not wanting to feel anything bad until the morning. I hear my door begin to close, though, and I manage to wake myself enough to see Wes before he leaves. “Hey, Wes?”
“Yeah?” He rests his head against the side of my door, and I’m grateful this is the last thing I’m going to see tonight. The look on his face right now is sweet, and it’s only mine.
“Thank you,” I say, my eyes as wide as I can hold them. It’s too dark to see the blue in his, but I know it’s there.
All he does is smile, but it’s enough. He gently shuts my door, and seconds later I hear the sound of the front one close followed by the start of his engine. My phone buzzes in my pocket shortly after, and I fumble awkwardly, trying to make my hands work well enough to find it. My father’s home, so I know it isn’t him, but Taryn’s probably worried.
I finally pull it from my pocket and bring it in front of my face just as I hear Wes pull away. The text is from him.
You really scared me tonight. And not because I was afraid someone was going to get hurt. I was afraid YOU were going to get hurt.
His words are powerful and sad, and I cry almost immediately. My heart also soars. Maybe it shouldn’t, and it’s probably selfish that it does, but it does. I clutch my phone in my hand and think of what to type back, but the pull of sleep is strong, so before I succumb, I simply write I’m sorry. I won’t promise that I won’t scare him again, but I do vow to myself that I will try. I will try because I don’t care about much anymore, but I care about Wes. And I don’t want him to be afraid.
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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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
- 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.
- Bryce Harper. All I’m going to say is google the ESPN body issue if you haven’t seen it.
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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).
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