I deleted The Trouble with Tomboys' Prologue from my original version. So, for Day THREE of the TTWT Countdown party, I've brought it back for you to enjoy before the story is available and you start on Chapter One.
So...I hope you enjoy!
See you again tomorrow.
Deleted PROLOGUE
(Raw and Unedited!)
--In fear of having a super long post, I've only provided a portion of the deleted scene. Click HERE to read the ENTIRE prologue--
Twelve-year old B.J. Gilmore slouched, good and relaxed, in the middle of her sofa, watching NASCAR and eating from a microwave bag of Orville Redenbacher when her seventeen-year-old babysitter plopped down next to her.
“Where’s Rudy?” Amy asked, shaking a closed bottle of pale pink fingernail polish.
“Don’t know.” As she answered, B.J. tossed a single fluff of popcorn into the air so she could try to catch it with her teeth. When she did, she glowed in triumph and munched happily, leaning around her sitter to see the television.
Amy let out an annoyed sigh. “You know, B.J., it’s not considered ladylike to throw food in the air and catch it with your mouth.”
B.J. rolled her eyes. Humph. As if she wanted to be a lady. All the supposed ladies she knew were stuck up snobs who only liked to gossip about everybody else behind their backs. Why in the world would she want to be like that? Besides, if being a lady meant she had to wear a dress, then she’d rather pass anyhow.
Defiantly tossing another kernel in the air, she once again caught it in her teeth. “Cool,” she said, grinning over and nudging Amy with her elbow. “Did you see that? Two times in a row.”
“Yes,” Amy replied dryly. “It was soooo impressive.”
B.J. frowned, folding her arms over her chest as she turned her attention back to the race. Well, she thought it was impressive.
Crossing a pair of tanned legs, Amy stopped shaking her bottle and twisted the cap off. She applied the lacquered polish and hummed lightly under her breath. B.J. figured she was trying to make a point that all ladies should cross their legs and sit with their backs as stiff as sheetrock while singing a pretty tune. Well, no way was B.J. going to do that. She was going to stay slouched there until—
The smell of the polish finally hit her. Wrinkling her nose, she lifted the collar of her t-shirt, covered all her breathing holes, and stared wide-eyed at the opened bottle. “Lord have mercy, Ames. That crap stinks to high Heaven.”
“But doesn’t it look nice.” Amy grinned and held out her hand to admire her finished thumbnail.
B.J. lifted a brow. “Whatever.”
At her blasé answer, her babysitter sucked in a breath and sent her a brief, irritated glance. “Don’t tell me you’ve never worn fingernail polish before?”
“No,” B.J. spat, appalled.
Living with a widowed father, two older brothers, and one younger brother, B.J. had to guess this was the first time fingernail polish had ever found its way inside her home.
But fingernail polish? Bluck.
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Amy said, her eyes wide before they gave a single long-lashed blink.
B.J. snorted. “Why would I put that junk on? It’s gross.”
“Gross?” Amy repeated, and threw her head back to laugh. “You know, B.J.,” she added on a delighted sigh. “You have the oddest notion about what’s gross. I bet you’d like fingernail polish if you used it.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll just take your word for it,” B.J. grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and hiding her nails behind her armpits so her beautiful and extremely girly babysitter couldn’t see the mangled mess.
She knew what was coming even before Amy said, “Want me to paint your nails?”
“Hell, no.”
“B. J.” Amy sighed. “Please watch your language.”
“Heck no,” B.J. revised. “Get that stinking goo away from me.”
“Oh, come on,” Amy coaxed. “Just let me do it this once.”
“No.”
“You’ll like it. I promise.”
“No. I promise I won’t.”
Firmly screwing the cap back on, Amy said, “Just give me your hand. We’ll test one finger first and if you don’t like it, I swear I’ll take it off.”
“How about we don’t and say we did?”
“Give me your hand already.”
“No.”
Without warning, Amy dived for B.J.’s arm and tried to pry her hand from behind her back. What followed was a brief wrestle of which B.J. refused to budge and Amy worked harder. Finally, B. J. leapt off the couch and ran for all she was worth.
Amy chased after her.
Every time her sitter caught a hold of her, B.J. managed to wiggle free and dash off again. She could tell the seventeen-year old had grown tired five minutes later because Amy started taking longer to find her. She was hiding in the kitchen pantry and grinning over her stealth when the doorbell rang. Knowing Amy would be busy answering it, B.J. inched open the closet. When she saw the coast was clear, she stepped out and curiously wandered toward the front room to see who was calling.
Amy’s boyfriend had come to visit.
“I rented a movie,” he announced as Amy him let inside.
“How sweet,” She cooed, then grinned and sighed as she slumped her back against the door after shutting it, her gaze one huge pool of adoration.
B.J. rolled her eyes at her sitter’s way-too-obvious affection, even though her own thoughts turned kind of mushy themselves. But good golly, Miss Molly. Seventeen-year old Grady Rawlings had to be the most beautiful human on earth. He towered over six feet by a good four inches, though he looked taller because of his lean, wrangly frame. He may have been in tennis shoes and a baseball cap, but he was undeniably prime Texas stock.
And though B.J. was one hundred percent tomboy, she was also one hundred percent boy crazy about her babysitter’s boyfriend. As Amy leaned in for a kiss, B.J. watched with fixed fascination. Grady closed his eyes when he pressed his mouth to Amy’s. She wondered why. Did it make Amy taste better? How’d he know where to put his lips when he couldn’t see nothing?
He lifted his hand to capture the back of his girlfriend’s head. B.J. studied his wide fingers spreading across Amy’s scalp, speculating what it’d feel like to have a boy’s mouth pressed against hers. Amy certainly seemed to like it. She melted against him and gave him a dewy, dazed smile when he pulled back. In return, Grady sent her a smile that made B.J.’s stomach feel funny.
Before she could duck out of sight, he lifted his face, and his eyes moved across the room, pinning her to the spot.
Feeling frozen, B.J. gaped back.
“Hey, B.J.,” he said, his gaze changing from the heavy-lidded look he’d been giving Amy to a wide, friendly grin.
(Raw and Unedited!)
--In fear of having a super long post, I've only provided a portion of the deleted scene.
Twelve-year old B.J. Gilmore slouched, good and relaxed, in the middle of her sofa, watching NASCAR and eating from a microwave bag of Orville Redenbacher when her seventeen-year-old babysitter plopped down next to her.
“Where’s Rudy?” Amy asked, shaking a closed bottle of pale pink fingernail polish.
“Don’t know.” As she answered, B.J. tossed a single fluff of popcorn into the air so she could try to catch it with her teeth. When she did, she glowed in triumph and munched happily, leaning around her sitter to see the television.
Amy let out an annoyed sigh. “You know, B.J., it’s not considered ladylike to throw food in the air and catch it with your mouth.”
B.J. rolled her eyes. Humph. As if she wanted to be a lady. All the supposed ladies she knew were stuck up snobs who only liked to gossip about everybody else behind their backs. Why in the world would she want to be like that? Besides, if being a lady meant she had to wear a dress, then she’d rather pass anyhow.
Defiantly tossing another kernel in the air, she once again caught it in her teeth. “Cool,” she said, grinning over and nudging Amy with her elbow. “Did you see that? Two times in a row.”
“Yes,” Amy replied dryly. “It was soooo impressive.”
B.J. frowned, folding her arms over her chest as she turned her attention back to the race. Well, she thought it was impressive.
Crossing a pair of tanned legs, Amy stopped shaking her bottle and twisted the cap off. She applied the lacquered polish and hummed lightly under her breath. B.J. figured she was trying to make a point that all ladies should cross their legs and sit with their backs as stiff as sheetrock while singing a pretty tune. Well, no way was B.J. going to do that. She was going to stay slouched there until—
The smell of the polish finally hit her. Wrinkling her nose, she lifted the collar of her t-shirt, covered all her breathing holes, and stared wide-eyed at the opened bottle. “Lord have mercy, Ames. That crap stinks to high Heaven.”
“But doesn’t it look nice.” Amy grinned and held out her hand to admire her finished thumbnail.
B.J. lifted a brow. “Whatever.”
At her blasé answer, her babysitter sucked in a breath and sent her a brief, irritated glance. “Don’t tell me you’ve never worn fingernail polish before?”
“No,” B.J. spat, appalled.
Living with a widowed father, two older brothers, and one younger brother, B.J. had to guess this was the first time fingernail polish had ever found its way inside her home.
But fingernail polish? Bluck.
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Amy said, her eyes wide before they gave a single long-lashed blink.
B.J. snorted. “Why would I put that junk on? It’s gross.”
“Gross?” Amy repeated, and threw her head back to laugh. “You know, B.J.,” she added on a delighted sigh. “You have the oddest notion about what’s gross. I bet you’d like fingernail polish if you used it.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll just take your word for it,” B.J. grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and hiding her nails behind her armpits so her beautiful and extremely girly babysitter couldn’t see the mangled mess.
She knew what was coming even before Amy said, “Want me to paint your nails?”
“Hell, no.”
“B. J.” Amy sighed. “Please watch your language.”
“Heck no,” B.J. revised. “Get that stinking goo away from me.”
“Oh, come on,” Amy coaxed. “Just let me do it this once.”
“No.”
“You’ll like it. I promise.”
“No. I promise I won’t.”
Firmly screwing the cap back on, Amy said, “Just give me your hand. We’ll test one finger first and if you don’t like it, I swear I’ll take it off.”
“How about we don’t and say we did?”
“Give me your hand already.”
“No.”
Without warning, Amy dived for B.J.’s arm and tried to pry her hand from behind her back. What followed was a brief wrestle of which B.J. refused to budge and Amy worked harder. Finally, B. J. leapt off the couch and ran for all she was worth.
Amy chased after her.
Every time her sitter caught a hold of her, B.J. managed to wiggle free and dash off again. She could tell the seventeen-year old had grown tired five minutes later because Amy started taking longer to find her. She was hiding in the kitchen pantry and grinning over her stealth when the doorbell rang. Knowing Amy would be busy answering it, B.J. inched open the closet. When she saw the coast was clear, she stepped out and curiously wandered toward the front room to see who was calling.
Amy’s boyfriend had come to visit.
“I rented a movie,” he announced as Amy him let inside.
“How sweet,” She cooed, then grinned and sighed as she slumped her back against the door after shutting it, her gaze one huge pool of adoration.
B.J. rolled her eyes at her sitter’s way-too-obvious affection, even though her own thoughts turned kind of mushy themselves. But good golly, Miss Molly. Seventeen-year old Grady Rawlings had to be the most beautiful human on earth. He towered over six feet by a good four inches, though he looked taller because of his lean, wrangly frame. He may have been in tennis shoes and a baseball cap, but he was undeniably prime Texas stock.
And though B.J. was one hundred percent tomboy, she was also one hundred percent boy crazy about her babysitter’s boyfriend. As Amy leaned in for a kiss, B.J. watched with fixed fascination. Grady closed his eyes when he pressed his mouth to Amy’s. She wondered why. Did it make Amy taste better? How’d he know where to put his lips when he couldn’t see nothing?
He lifted his hand to capture the back of his girlfriend’s head. B.J. studied his wide fingers spreading across Amy’s scalp, speculating what it’d feel like to have a boy’s mouth pressed against hers. Amy certainly seemed to like it. She melted against him and gave him a dewy, dazed smile when he pulled back. In return, Grady sent her a smile that made B.J.’s stomach feel funny.
Before she could duck out of sight, he lifted his face, and his eyes moved across the room, pinning her to the spot.
Feeling frozen, B.J. gaped back.
“Hey, B.J.,” he said, his gaze changing from the heavy-lidded look he’d been giving Amy to a wide, friendly grin.
Interesting.... where does it all lead....? :O)
ReplyDelete(Pouting) You deleted this? I can hardly wait to read this book!
ReplyDeleteHi Diane. Thank you so much for stopping by. I guess there's only one way to find out...!
ReplyDeleteAnd thank you, Molly. I'm glad you liked the prologue. I took it out from the final version because I already had too many scenes from B.J.'s POV and needed to even out the ratio a little more so it'd look like Grady had a little more air time.