July 12, 2013

Stripped Blog Tour: Excerpt & Giveaway



Author: Brooklyn Skye
Genre: YA/New Adult Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 14, 2013 

Buy Link: Amazon 


“I like you.” His voice is low and soft, which I don’t deserve. I look away, down the rutted parking lot.
“Don’t... waste those words on me.”
He touches my cheek. “You just need someone to show you.”
“No.” I ease back again. “I don’t. So please, Torrin, stop trying to swoop in and save me. I don’t need saving.”

College freshman Quinn Montgomery will do anything to avoid the mistake her sister made—killing herself over a boy. But when she is forced into nude modeling at a local college to support her family after a bankruptcy, she begins to crack, just enough to let Torrin, the university’s top varsity oarsman, see that the real Quinn is not as feisty and unapproachable as she wants everyone to think. But letting someone in comes at a steep cost and, it turns out, Torrin is connected to Quinn’s family in more ways than she could ever imagine.

Chapter One

His lips don’t look like mine feel. Like they’re dying. Dead.
It’s creepy, I know, staring at this old guy’s lips, but I can’t help it. They’re so…animated. Full of life. And then they start to move again and I think he’s going to say the words, “You’re hired,” because those words I’m expecting, but they don’t come.
Why? Because I’m expecting them and whenever
I do that—
I need to stop doing that. 
“Our requirements are fairly basic,” Mr. Hunter says, “and you meet them both. You own a bathrobe.” One of his fingers ticks up. His wrist is resting on the desk and he looks like one of those people who count things off on their fingers because it’s easier to sort information if you can count it on your fingers. “And you’re willing to take it off.” Second finger.
I should’ve expected Zoe to die because then she wouldn’t have. Then I wouldn’t be standing here in the middle of this dumpy classroom Mr. Hunter calls his office. Students linger past the opened door and I try not to look at their faces because it’s their faces that’ll remind me this job isn’t one of my better ideas.
“Any preference on times?” the man asks. His lips move with such ease my eyes surrender to them again.
“After three would be best.”
He consults his schedule, gnawing on the end of his pencil.
“Normally I save the more experienced models to deal with the freshmen, but I’m afraid I don’t have a choice. The others can’t stay past two. How ’bout three to five on Tuesdays and Thursdays?” 
I wipe my hands on my jeans to keep from touching my mouth.
Hunter nods.
“That’s all for now, Quinn. Here’s the employ-ment application. Fill it out and, if possible, I could use you tomorrow.”
I take the packet from his paint-spattered hands and force a smile. It isn’t easy; dying lips don’t smile. But I hold this smile all the way to the bus stop, and then as I sit on the grimy seat watching the late afternoon sun glint off every storefront window in such a sad way that it hurts to look at. I get off the bus and hold this dead smile for each of the one hundred thirty-seven steps to Garrett Hall when suddenly a finger jabs into my stomach.
“Wouldn’t it be great,” Derek says, his putrid beer-breath in my ear, “if guys could just poke a girl to let her know he wanted to fuck her?” His words echo down the empty hall. I shove his scrawny hand away.
“Girls would never fall for that.”
He pokes me again. “Hot girls would.” 
“Too bad you don’t have one of those.” I try to step around him, but he grabs my sleeve and presses his skinny body into mine.
“I’ve seen you naked,” he says, glazed eyes sliding over my face. Would it kill him to wait until after dinner to get wasted?
Icy fingers slip beneath the hem of my sweatshirt, tracing a line up to the edge of my bra. “You’re a guy’s wet dream under all this,” he says. Then he pokes me again.
“Derek…” I lean in close to him, moving my lips up to his ear, resisting the urge to knee him in the balls. “If you jab your finger into my side again, I swear I will punch you in the face.”
Chest rumbling with a laugh, he wraps his arm around my waist and drags me toward his room. “C’mon, Feisty Girl. I’ll show you my favorite kind of poking.”
Along with questions of where I’ve been for the last hour, so no thanks. A few feet across the Com-mons, I grind my feet to a stop. “Not right now, okay? I’m not feeling so great.” 
Slowly, his hand slides up to the nape of my neck, squeezes and pushes me closer to the hallway.
“You’re in luck—something I can fix.” Please.
A group of guys emerge from the hall just as I spin out of his grip and say, “I’m going to my room.”
Derek stiffens, red creeping up his neck. A mo-ment passes. The guys slow their pace, taking in the two of us. Derek releases a huff, sounding more like a thirteen-year-old girl than a college freshman.
“Whatever, Quinn,” he spits out for the purpose of his buddies, I’m sure. “Call me when you feel well enough to act like my girlfriend.”
I turn for the girls’ hall, biting back a smile. That will be never.

Brooklyn Skye grew up in a small town where she quickly realized writing was an escape from small town life. Really, she’s just your average awkward girl who’s obsessed with words. Her Best Selling New Adult debut, STRIPPED, is out NOW! Represented by Bree Ogden of D4EO Literary Agency.

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