Okay, we had to stop ourselves from laughing long enough to get this exclusive excerpt of Rush, by Shae Ross, live! If you love amazingly snappy dialogue, this one’s for you! Rush is out now!
I’m going to kill my sister. Strike that. First, I’ll shave her bald, then I’ll kill her.
White ruffles billow around my legs. I’m following my best friend Jace to the entrance of the Rathskeller bar. It’s the night before Halloween and thanks to my sister Cate, who stole my badass ninja costume and left me hers, I’m dressed as Little Bo Peep. Despite the fact that I haven’t worn a dress in years and Cate doesn’t wear anything unless it’s fringed, feathered, or sequined, she thought this “stripper on her way to a carnival” look would work for me.
Double doors burst open, blasting the night air with riotous sounds from the crowd within. Anxiety bubbles in my swampy stomach as we sidestep the gang of sweaty men that are laughing and stumbling out. “Hey, look, it’s Cinderella,” one of them calls in a tone of drunken euphoria.
I locate the source—a stocky cowboy, grinning at me from under the brim of his Stetson. When I pass him, he turns and walks backward, opening his hands over an impressive beer belly. “Aw, where ya’ goin’? I got your Prince Charming right here.”
Jace loops her arm through mine and nods to his gut. “You need to reacquaint yourself with a mirror, my friend.” His buddies roar, nudging him toward the parking lot. I blow out a breath then instantly suck it back as Jace reaches for the door handle.
“Wait!” My palm slaps the door, and she pauses, staring at me with an expectant look. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I thought I could but—I just can’t.” I spin and lunge toward the parking lot but she catches the hem of my dress with a firm stomp. My corset tightens, pinching my ribs, and I jerk to a stop.
“Priscilla! Get your ruffled butt back here.”
I grab a fistful of fabric and yank. It springs loose, sending me staggering. I’m trying to make my getaway, but it’s like moving with a tent strapped to my waist. No wonder Little Bo Peep couldn’t find her sheep—she couldn’t fucking move. Jace pivots, squashing my split second of freedom with her other foot. Frustration rumbles up my throat and I glare at her, but she’s unfazed. Reddish-blonde bangs sweep low on her brow, enhancing the twinkle of victory in her blue eyes.
I twist and thrust my palms out. “Seriously, do you know how humiliating this is for me?”
“You oughta be owning that corset like Madonna in the eighties.”