Win a copy of YA novel Life and Times of the Heir and the Keeper

by 

Etta King 

Ah the guest blog! My time to shine! What shall I share? This is rather like a “Show and Tell” isn’t it? Hmmm…well I think I’ll go back in time a bit – not too far – and take a peek at a little episode in dear Jonathan’s life. Now Jon is sort of the quintessential prodigal son; he just loves doing whatever he wants, bucking convention (why should he join the legacy of Reinhardt men inducted into the Keepers?) and breaking hearts (didn’t an ex call him Delish? Yum!), yet he always finds his way home (figuratively, of course, since he can’t wait to leave his grandfather’s mansion…hey! I never said he was sane!). But don’t the daring ones always have the most fun? Go to the best parties? Kiss the cutest girls? Perhaps there’s a method to this madness? Let’s see…the year was…I’m blanking…the grade? 11^th! Oh high school, the wonder years…

Jon

I was exhausted. But in a good way. A sated way. That was pretty much the only reason I was smiling at the gentle nudging that was bringing me out of my coma. I didn’t even have the blinding headache I associated with any and all brands of Tequila. I was in an Aybee-trance. AB Baby, my sort-of, maybe, probably girlfriend. Angelica B. McCarthy, to anyone who wasn’t a ‘close and personal friend.’ Which was a grand total of probably five people. Yeah, AB was very popular. She was also insanely cute. No, not hot, cute. She was a Blake Lively, not a Megan Fox; you never could bring yourself to hate her, you just wanted her to notice you. She had that effect, a subtle glow that made even teachers curry her favor. And I was lying in her bed. How I’d gotten up here, I couldn’t remember. What we’d done? Well I remembered that. That brought a second smile to my lips.

“I know what you’re thinking.” She whispered in my ear.

I had to laugh. Somehow, I didn’t doubt that; she had a way of guessing people’s thoughts.

“You need to get up; I’m riding with Kit this morning.”

I opened my eyes and raised a brow at that. Christopher, who insisted everyone call him Kit, was her British “cousin.” The air quotes were unimagined; I was pretty sure Kit and I were as related as he was to AB. I couldn’t mentally reconcile what I knew was a lie, but I consoled myself with the fact that at least I knew.

“Why are you riding with him, you could be riding with me,” I replied with a crooked smile. It was corny and I knew it, but she laughed.

“I promised,” she said, brushing her hair out of her face. “Besides, Cassidy needs the exercise, and you haven’t ridden since…” She paused and chewed her lip before continuing. “Anyway, you know it doesn’t mean anything.”