Excerpt: A Boy Like You by Ginger Scott

A BOY LIKE YOU

YA Contemporary Romance

Published: March 3, 2017

Goodreads

Amazon

iBooks

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

5 Star Review for: A Boy Like You by Ginger Scott

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.

If you are a fan of Ginger Scott, you know she is a true baseball junkie.  Her list of favorite players crosses teams and leagues.  Leave a comment with your favorite player after checking out Ginger’s!

My Favorite Players by Ginger Scott– 

I could make a list of a hundred baseball players I admire (and crush on madly), but I won’t—I will stick to the top 10, and these are in no particular order because I could change my mind in a blink.

• Paul Goldschmidt. He’s my hometown guy—a Diamondback—and we’ve followed him from his rookie year to now. Paul wins me over because he is class personified. He doesn’t argue. He does good work on and off the field. And when my kid was five and wanted nothing more than to meet him, Paul spent a half an hour talking my kid’s ear off at a card shop in Paradise Valley, Arizona. Nobody had shown up for his signing. But we did. Drove across town. He was still too new for people to go nuts over. My kid had his jersey already, and Paul was blown away. The love affair began right there.
• Bryce Harper. Yeah, he can be a hot head sometimes, but damn is he disciplined. The man works hard. He had a dream as a kid and he, along with his family’s support, did everything possible to make it real. And let’s face it—the boy is pretty.
• Kris Bryant. This is my Cubbies love coming through. I love how humble he is. I love the blue eyes. I love the way he hits the ball in the World Series. I love how he talks about his wife with stars in his eyes. This guy’s the real deal.
• Mike Trout. I dare you to watch a game and not see this kid smiling. I call him a kid though he’s far from it, but he personifies love of the game. No one plays harder and with more joy.
• Wil Myers. We see a lot of Padres games because we love San Diego and I live near their spring training park. Wil is one of those players who you always wish would have that breakout because he works so hard. Last year…he did. Also, I saw him at a sandwich shop once and I gushed like a school girl.
• Ryan Theriot. Okay, I’m biased here. This guy’s retired, but he’s my cousin. He has two world series rings. And he’s the best dad and sweetest grandson, next to my brother. He’s also the reason that Nate Preeter of This Is Falling is a southern charmer from Louisiana.
• Josh Donaldson. I love his wicked awesome hair, and he’s got hustle. My kid switched from number 34 to number 20 because of him, too.
• Buster Posey. This boy is the reason why I love catchers so much. He’s the reason I love the Giants (except when my Dbacks play them) and he owns that plate. There’s also the Southern drawl—it never hurts.
• Max Scherzer. He has one green eye and one blue eye, and he is the best pitcher I’ve ever seen. My Diamondbacks traded him away as a rookie. Our front office is full of daft idiots.
• Derek Jeter. If you know me, you know how hard it is for me to give any credit whatsoever to the Yankees. It’s one of those things in my blood, I guess. Boo Yankees. That said, Jeter is the one guy who transcends my bitterness for this team and their massively ridiculous payroll. Retired now, he was, and still is, Captain Class. He owned shortstop. He was clutch. His personality dazzled, and damn was he charming. Plus…those eyes. Hat tip to him, New York. You did good there.

Tour hosted by Wordsmith Publicity