TGIF!

No time for the Friday Five today, but a quick note before I head to the day job: It’s going to be a busy weekend in the Neill household–including a potential visit to the College World Series! But most importantly, I’ll be live and in person at the Southeastern Nebraska Library Book FAir at Barnes&Noble (Southpointe) in Lincoln, Nebraska. I hope you have a chance to stop by and say hello (and use the passphrase–“Road Trip”–to get a limited edition bookmark and bar coaster!)

Oh, and for those of you who are chomping at the bit(e) to get to Friday Night Bites, look what I’ll be editing this weekend:

You can actually just see one of frontispiece pages with reviews of SGB, so it’s really not much of a tease. But it is a Friday. Maybe I should give you a little something special?

* * *

Dramatic tension!

Alright. Because you’re the greatest readers in the known universe, here’s an as of yet unrevealed scene from FRIDAY NIGHT BITES!!!

* * *

Tate looked at me again, opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. He put his hands on my upper arms, leaned toward me, and pressed his lips against my cheek. Then he shifted, his lips at my ear. “When you can get away, get in touch. Call my office—they’ll put you through, day or night.”

The “day” part of that was superfluous, given my little sunlight problem. The rest of it—the fact that he’d requested a meeting from me, not Ethan, and the access he’d just granted—was surprising, but I nodded at him when he pulled back.

“Good evening,” he said, with a half-bow to both of us. One of his guards stepped before him and began to tunnel through the crowd. Tate followed into the space he’d made, a second guard behind him.

“He wants me to call him,” I tattled, when the crowd had reformed around us. “He told me to get in touch, any time. That his office would put me through.” I glanced up at Ethan. “What could that be about?”

Ethan frowned down at me. “I’ve no clue.” He kept staring at me, one eyebrow arching its way into obvious disapproval.

“Why the long face?”

“Is there anyone who isn’t infatuated with you?”

I smiled at him, with teeth. “If not, it’s because you haven’t assigned them to me yet. Mata Hari at your service. Would you like to add him to the list?”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”

“I don’t appreciate being handed out like a party favor.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “What would you like me to say to that?”

I opened my mouth to give an answer just as snarky as my question, but a silver tray appeared at my side, interrupting me. The tray held only a small, white card. JOSHUA MERIT was printed in neat, block letters across it.

My heart skipped a discomforting beat, those six square inches of cardstock eliciting the same sense of dreadful anticipation they had when I was a child. My father had wanted peace and quiet and perfection, and on those occasions when he sought an audience with me for some failing of mine in one of those categories, this is how he’d done it.

I reached out and picked it up the card, then glanced up at Pennebaker, who’d delivered it.

“Your father will see you in his office,” he said with a bob of his head, then disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

I know–I’m such a tease. 🙂 Have a great weekend!