I promised you a treat today, other than this big, beautiful, cover of Rachel and yes, Trent. More on the treat in a moment. I just want to look at it for a moment and smile at what it promises, not just more Trent, but a Trent who is willing to be there, knowing who she is and not minding that at all. And isn’t that what we all want? To be accepted for what we are, proudly what we are?
And the treat? I’ve got two of them. First, I asked you a couple of weeks back if you re-read the series before the next book, and because so many of you do, I’m going to do a read-along over the next couple of months. Even if you don’t read with us, don’t feel like you can’t join in on the discussion as we tackle each book at a time. I’ll be here at the blog like I always am, but there will be one dedicated day where I’ll focus more strongly on one or two questions that you might have. I’ll be opening a discussion page on Dead Witch Walking Monday. We’ll be starting The Good, The Bad, and The Undead October 15, so this will be fairly fast paced.
As for the second treat?
Chapter One: The Undead Pool
How does the man make checkered shirts and pastels look good? I thought as Trent lined up his drive, head down and feet shifting, looking oddly appealing outside of the suit and tie I usually saw him in. The rest of his team and their caddies were watching him as well, but I doubted they were rating the way his shoulders pulled the soft fabric, or how the sun shone through his almost translucent blond hair drifting about his ears, or how the shadows made his slim waist look even trimmer, unhidden beneath a suit coat for a change. I found myself holding my breath as he coiled up, exhaling as he untwisted and the flat of the club hit the ball with a ping.
“Yeah, the elf looks good in the sun,” Jenks smart-mouthed, the pixy currently sitting on the bottom of my hooped earrings and out of the moderate wind. “When you going to put us all out of your misery and boink him?”
“Don’t start with me.” With a hand held up to shade my eyes, I watched the ball begin to descend.
“All I’m saying is you’ve been dating him for three months. Most guys you date are either dead or running scared by now.”
The ball hit with an audible thump, rolling onto the par-three green. Something in me fluttered at Trent’s pleased smile as he squinted in the sun. Damn it, I’m not doing this. “I’m not dating him, I’m working his security,” I muttered.
“This is work?” Wings humming, the pixy darted off my earring, flying ahead to do a redundant check of the area before we walked into it. [the rest is at the website]