“Brevyn’s surprise seemed to dissolve quickly into a look of rich amusement. “Should I take that as a dare, Samuel?”” (Writhe, page 72)
Somebody’s in trouble.
Whether it’s you or me I have no idea, but somebody blew it big time.
Anybody care to guess the infraction?
*crickets chirp marring the complete silence*
What goodie did you not receive Saturday? What mouthful of smutty sweetness did you miss yesterday?
That’s right. A Taste of Writhe was forgotten by one and all Saturday.
While ostensibly this seems to be the blogger’s fault, said-blogger would like to point out that no bloggee mentioned this omission.
Fault. It’s as thick as peanut butter around here this morning and it’s sticking to us all.
*a communal eye roll of the crickets precedes the chaps hopping away in disgust*
Perhaps, the fault is mine alone.
Just maybe I’m the only one with peanut butter in their hair this morning.
If that happens to be the case, I would like to apologize. My failure as a good, trustworthy blogger has been noted and I will wear this guilt as a stain to my reputation… a creamy peanut butter smear on the Chloe Stowe name.
*Frank chucks a couch pillow at my face before rolling his eyes*
As the specter of imminent failure (Frankie-boy) is even telling me it’s time to get off the stage this morning, I will concede and skulk off to the side, stage-left.
Until tonight, when a triumphant return will be made…