Thursday, August 7, 2014

Cover Reveal and Cut Scene from TuDawgs!


Welcome to TuDawgs. Our county fair booth is now serving one very bad girl, sautéed in scandal and peppered with regrets. We grill her with relentless reporters, top her with one choice, all-beef carnival worker and slather on the heart-stopping hook-ups. We’ll throw in a generous dollop of enemies and make the stakes mile-high. What’s that? You want a cotton-candy ending for your bad girl? That’ll cost her extra. Don’t say I spilled the secret ingredient, but  the carnie’s playing a rigged game.

Deleted scene. I love it, but it had to go:

I didn’t have time to figure out what Tee’s issue was, because the trailer shook as Carnie bounded up the stairs. He stuck his head inside the door. “Molly? It’s Molly, right? Can you step out for just a moment, please?”

To my horror, she grinned and waltzed outside, pausing to pinch his cheek. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” Dave’s laughter caused the trailer to shimmy. Can I climb out the window without breaking my neck?

The whole crew burst out laughing. They had no idea he was such a… a… backstabbing, money-grubbing opportunist. They were still snowed by his little act with his niece. Children make such good endorsements, don’t they? My words to Molly mocked me as he took a step in my direction. Backing up was impossible. Bonnie even tried to shove me in his direction.

I turned to snatch the tongs out of David’s hand, thinking I’d somehow fend him off. Dave held them out of reach. With a sinking heart, I felt a hard hand grip my wrist.

He yanked my arm.

“What are you—oof!” My stomach connected with his lowered shoulder. My head struck Noah in the gut when he spun. I kicked and balled my fists to pound his back, but all I got for my trouble was an arm that felt like steel across the backs of my thighs and sore hands. He rounded the end of the concession trailer, grabbed April by the hand, and sauntered through the crowd like it was a day at the beach.

She kept peeking around his body to grin at me, like the ass did this all the time, too. I had a lot to say, none of it fit for the ears of a five-year-old. Not to mention the little issue of getting a deep breath, because every step he took knocked  the air out of me. If some reporter happened to see me in this predicament, I knew damn well a photo would make the scandal rags. I had no choice but to endure. Frustration mounted as he strolled down the midway. When he put me down, should I run like a scalded dog? Or slap him first, then run?

Knee to the nuts. Then get away. Of all the days not to have a car.