Excerpt A girl like me por Ginger Scott
Este libro es tan bello, de verdad que me encantó, super recomendado, no dejen de leerlo. Aquí les traigo un pequeño extracto para que se animen y lo lean.... Super bello y además un giveaway!
A Girl Like Me por Ginger Scott
Libro 2 en el dúo LIke us
Goodreads
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Amazon: http://amzn.to/2rImqJf
iBooks: http://apple.co/2rI6BSF
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2rty9OF
Sinopsis
No se supone que esté aquí.La muerte ha venido por mí más de una vez, y cada vez ha sido un chico que se interponía entre mi respiración final y yo.
Lo llamé Christopher cuando me salvó de niña. Cuando volvió a mi vida, hace sólo unos meses, lo conocí como Wes. Así como lo hizo una vez antes, desapareció en el momento en que se aseguró de que estaba fuera de peligro; como si no necesitara salvarme más.
Esta vez, sin embargo, la muerte me dejó con un recordatorio de lo poderosa que es. Sé que quería despojarme de mi espíritu de nuevo, pero fracasó.
Aún así, sé que necesito que Wes sobreviva. Nuestras almas están tejidas de alguna manera, cada uno de nuestros alientos en sincronía. Lo siento, aunque todo el mundo dice que no debería.
El mundo piensa que está perdido.
Sus seres queridos no quieren creer que está muerto.
Sólo yo sé lo especial que es.
Voy a encontrarlo ytraerlo a casa, donde pertenece. Juntos, enfrentaremos lo imposible, reescribiremos nuestro final.
Y cuando los malos vengan, siempre ganaremos.
Excerpts
1.
“It’s creepy as shit in here. I think I was better off in that sewing room on the floor,” he says, scooting backward and propping himself up on his elbow. I lie down next to him in the same position, and he reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear then lightly pinches my chin as he smiles at me.
“I don’t know what I was thinking with any of this,” I say, blinking once, my mouth a hard line to match my hardening heart.
Kyle squints at me, then rolls to his stomach folding his hands under his cheek resting his head sideways as he studies me.
“You were thinking that you’d just do this all yourself,” he says.
I roll my eyes and puff out a breath.
“Do what myself?”
Kyle’s body rises with his deep breath, and the smile fades from his eyes and mouth.
“Nobody’s really looking for him. They’ve all given up. But not you.” Kyle reaches toward me again, giving my chin the same pinch as before. He leaves his hand there and stares at me through dozens of breaths. “I believe you.”
I suck in my lip at those simple words. I’d told Kyle everything I could remember, about how Wes caught the rock, about how strong he was, how he never had more than a scratch or two, and how I got the mysterious texts. It sounded insane as I spoke the words to him, and he never responded out loud. He just listened.
And he drove. He drove me here.
“You think he’s alive?” My lips quake when I speak, and my eyes pool, so I smoosh my face against the cool sheets to hold it together.
Kyle brushes my tangled hair away from my face again, this time cupping my cheek.
“I do,” he says. “And we’re going to find him.”
I reach my hand up to cover his and whisper “Thank you.”
2.
“Alright, well…I’ll be a few minutes, and at least we can get you into some fresh clothes,” I say, taking a step or two down the hall before pausing, tapping my fingers along the wall and looking over my shoulder at him. His eyes are waiting for me, and his lip is raised on the same side as mine. I let the energy of that one look settle into my chest and warm me from inside, then I head the rest of the way down the hall and shut the bathroom door behind me.
My eyes take in my reflection as soon as I rest my back against the door. I haven’t looked at myself in a long time, and the last time I did—the last time I really looked—I didn’t think the girl looking back at me was good enough. This girl, though—she’s strong. My mouth is still curved in the same smile I gave Wes, and it grows as I step closer to the sink, setting my clothes and phone on the counter.
My blonde hair has gotten lighter from the summer sun. It used to be dark and lifeless, hidden by late nights and a bedroom where I never once let the light in. It’s longer, too, the ends twisting down to my elbows. I lean in, studying the grayish blue of my eyes, which while they’ve never been bright and vivid like Wes’s, they are unique on their own. The color looks like a storm.
I no longer hate the freckles that sprinkle from one cheek to the other, and the pinkish tone of my cheeks, kissed by sun like my hair. My shoulders are bronze, and I tug my shirt sideways at the neckline and run my opposite finger along the light line drawn over it where the strap of my tank top has become a permanent pattern on my body.
My shoulders are strong, but still feminine. I lift my shirt up over my head, dropping it to the floor, and I run my hands down the front of my body, over my breasts to my stomach and hips, hooking my fingers in my shorts and underwear, dropping them to the floor as well. I look back up and take all of me in, at least to my waist where I can’t see below in the mirror.
Somehow, over the last six months, I’ve become something more than just a girl. I look at this person in the mirror, and she’s a woman. My leg is not perfect. My thighs are thick from running and working the muscles hard as I train. My nails are short from playing ball and chewing at them, and my skin is dotted with light bruising from workouts and missed grounders on the field. But my imperfections make me smile more.
I glance down where my phone lies by the sink, and I pull it into my palms and open a message to Wes. Without hesitation, I type what I feel right now. No second-guessing and no doubts or worries. Just this one thing that, while I’ve said it, I don’t think it’s been heard by him enough.
I love you, you know.
It’s exactly as he said it to me minutes ago, and I mean it with the same depth and emotion as he did. I set my phone down and watch the screen with a pounding heart, waiting for him to type something back, but instead, the bathroom door pushes open slowly.
3.
His chin lifts and his eyes meet mine again, and our eyes lock for longer this time. My legs steady, and I remain perfectly still.
“I didn’t know where I was going, but I just drove. I took turns because they felt right, I stopped when something told me to. I went to this place.”
His brow draws in and he takes a deep breath, his lips relaxed but pulling at the corners, trying to decide whether to frown or speak. Eventually, he turns and moves toward his truck, and I follow for a few steps before giving him space. He reaches inside and pulls out a messy cluster of flowers, some of them still showing their roots from where he pulled them from the ground. He takes deliberate steps toward me, lifting my hand in his and wrapping my fingers around the bunch of peonies, my eyes focused on the perfect one in the very center.
“These are your favorites,” he says, and I look up into his eyes over the tuft of pink we both grasp between us. “I don’t know how I knew that, but I knew these were your favorites. They’re important.”
My lips part and I gasp a quiet breath before nodding slowly. I feel his other hand cover mine, closing over my knuckles, squeezing my grip tighter on the flowers. His feet take tiny steps forward, inches closer to me, as he holds my gaze hostage.
“You’re important,” he says.
My eyes break rank first, the cool tear finally giving way to gravity and sliding down my cheek before stopping and waiting for more.
“You’re important,” I say back to him.
The words barely leave my mouth before his right hand is cupping my face, his thumb drawing a gentle line under my eyes, sweeping the tear to the side but not extinguishing the proof that it existed.
We existed.
We exist.
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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, Hold My Breath, and A Boy Like You.
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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