Temptation, The Complete Serial Series 1-4 (The Temptation Serial Series) by Casey L. Bond Page B
Authors: Casey L. Bond
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worry about.” The furrowing of her eyebrows and the giant pouty frown on her face worried me. “I’ll be fine, Morg. Go.”
She wouldn’t listen. So I sort of pushed her and her rolling suitcase out the door. While she was busy yelling at me, I shut and locked the condo door and went back upstairs, falling into my super soft bed again. She may have had to get up at the crack of dawn, but this girl didn’t.
***
The sound of whistling woke me up. Peeking out of the opaque white curtains, I saw Willy working in the gardens surrounding the pool. He was spreading cedar mulch from a wheelbarrow, leaving a thick carpet of the wooden chunks around each plant and tree, insulating them and making everything lovely.
In a fog, I made my way outside, not even bothering to lock the back door. Making my way down the steps to the common garden/pool area, I yelled, “Wil-ly!”
He turned around and put a hand on his lower back, stretching taller, leaning on the tall wooden handle of his rake. “Hey, Brooklyn! How was your first night? Better than the Inn and Out?”
I snorted. “You better believe it. The mattresses are absolutely divine. Did you pick those out?”
He shook his head. “Nah. Boss man did.”
“Boss man? The owner?”
“Yeah. He works long shifts and then comes here to work on the condos when he’s free. The man never takes time off, and you’ll rarely see him around here, even though he’s around.”
“Sort of like a ghost,” I suggested.
He smiled. “Exactly. So, what sort of trouble are you into today?” he asked, looking me up and down.
“Stop staring at me, Willy. I’m more than half your age.”
He just grinned bigger and nodded. “I know. I know that for sure, Brooklyn.”
When I crossed my arms over my chest, the dirty old man’s eyes went straight toward the girls. Those eyeballs were like heat-seeking boobie missiles.
“I was hoping you could point me toward a salon. I need a haircut.”
Willy’s directions were pretty simple. Go back to Main Street and turn left. Walk three blocks and the Curl Up and Dye was on the right. Any of the ladies could help me there, he promised.
Morgan’s absence meant I had to get off my lazy butt and walk. But the walk wouldn’t be a long one. It would, however, be a hot one.
According to the sign at the First Bank of Swift Rapids on Main Street, the temperature was ninety-eight degrees. Add a dash of southern humidity and pavement so hot I could feel the soles of my sandals get sticky, and I was a hot mess by the time I saw the Curl Up and Dye across the street. I was about to step off the curb and jog across the mostly empty road, when a rude police officer pulled his cruiser into my path.
“Better watch yourself. Jaywalking is a crime in these parts,” he said with a smirk. Officer Stone. Oh, joy.
“Yes, sir.” As I walked toward the end of the block, he threw the cruiser in reverse, continually blocking my path. Frustrated and clenching both fists, I finally stopped and growled. “What is your problem? I’m just trying to get a haircut!”
“Haircut, huh?”
“Yes. You know, where a stylist washes your nasty, sweaty hair and then cuts it into a cute shape, blows it dry and curls it?”
He smiled. “You have a smart mouth.”
“You should see my ass,” I muttered under my breath. I happened to be wearing my favorite pair of panties; simple, black cotton with bright white lettering that said, “It Ain’t Gonna Spank Itself.”
“What was that?” he asked.
“Nothing. Can I please go?”
With a tip of his hat, he said, “Of course, Brooklyn Harris. Have a nice day and stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll remember not to jaywalk,” I promised.
Chuckling, he drove away, finally leaving me to cross the street in peace. I pushed the door open to the shop, jingling a tiny brass bell as I stepped inside. The stylists weren’t busy, but apparently they’d been watching the entire exchange with Officer
She wouldn’t listen. So I sort of pushed her and her rolling suitcase out the door. While she was busy yelling at me, I shut and locked the condo door and went back upstairs, falling into my super soft bed again. She may have had to get up at the crack of dawn, but this girl didn’t.
***
The sound of whistling woke me up. Peeking out of the opaque white curtains, I saw Willy working in the gardens surrounding the pool. He was spreading cedar mulch from a wheelbarrow, leaving a thick carpet of the wooden chunks around each plant and tree, insulating them and making everything lovely.
In a fog, I made my way outside, not even bothering to lock the back door. Making my way down the steps to the common garden/pool area, I yelled, “Wil-ly!”
He turned around and put a hand on his lower back, stretching taller, leaning on the tall wooden handle of his rake. “Hey, Brooklyn! How was your first night? Better than the Inn and Out?”
I snorted. “You better believe it. The mattresses are absolutely divine. Did you pick those out?”
He shook his head. “Nah. Boss man did.”
“Boss man? The owner?”
“Yeah. He works long shifts and then comes here to work on the condos when he’s free. The man never takes time off, and you’ll rarely see him around here, even though he’s around.”
“Sort of like a ghost,” I suggested.
He smiled. “Exactly. So, what sort of trouble are you into today?” he asked, looking me up and down.
“Stop staring at me, Willy. I’m more than half your age.”
He just grinned bigger and nodded. “I know. I know that for sure, Brooklyn.”
When I crossed my arms over my chest, the dirty old man’s eyes went straight toward the girls. Those eyeballs were like heat-seeking boobie missiles.
“I was hoping you could point me toward a salon. I need a haircut.”
Willy’s directions were pretty simple. Go back to Main Street and turn left. Walk three blocks and the Curl Up and Dye was on the right. Any of the ladies could help me there, he promised.
Morgan’s absence meant I had to get off my lazy butt and walk. But the walk wouldn’t be a long one. It would, however, be a hot one.
According to the sign at the First Bank of Swift Rapids on Main Street, the temperature was ninety-eight degrees. Add a dash of southern humidity and pavement so hot I could feel the soles of my sandals get sticky, and I was a hot mess by the time I saw the Curl Up and Dye across the street. I was about to step off the curb and jog across the mostly empty road, when a rude police officer pulled his cruiser into my path.
“Better watch yourself. Jaywalking is a crime in these parts,” he said with a smirk. Officer Stone. Oh, joy.
“Yes, sir.” As I walked toward the end of the block, he threw the cruiser in reverse, continually blocking my path. Frustrated and clenching both fists, I finally stopped and growled. “What is your problem? I’m just trying to get a haircut!”
“Haircut, huh?”
“Yes. You know, where a stylist washes your nasty, sweaty hair and then cuts it into a cute shape, blows it dry and curls it?”
He smiled. “You have a smart mouth.”
“You should see my ass,” I muttered under my breath. I happened to be wearing my favorite pair of panties; simple, black cotton with bright white lettering that said, “It Ain’t Gonna Spank Itself.”
“What was that?” he asked.
“Nothing. Can I please go?”
With a tip of his hat, he said, “Of course, Brooklyn Harris. Have a nice day and stay out of trouble.”
“I’ll remember not to jaywalk,” I promised.
Chuckling, he drove away, finally leaving me to cross the street in peace. I pushed the door open to the shop, jingling a tiny brass bell as I stepped inside. The stylists weren’t busy, but apparently they’d been watching the entire exchange with Officer
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