Falling For Temptation: A New Adult College Romance (Good Ol' Boys Series Book 1)

by Mj Hendrix

  “Aww, we all say that at some point or another.” She laughs at my cliché conviction.

  What does someone with two “mom” failures and a grand total of zero “dads” know about parenting?

  She’s moved down the bar to serve a customer, and I notice the influx of patrons. I tie my dark hair back and look up to serve the group who has just approached my section of the bar.

  “Well, well, is this the engraved beauty from the Kappa Betas’ beach party?”

  The speaker’s eyes leer down over what he can see above the bar top, which is really only a sliver of skin between my skirt and top. His tongue peeks out between his lips as he swishes back his surfer-boy hair. He braces himself up with one elbow on the bar. It’s the asshole with the unimpressive pickup line and the gaudy yellow shorts. His collared golfing shirt is the same color tonight.

  “Didn’t catch your name, sweetheart?”

  His buddies are all leering the same way he is, and unfortunately, I can’t dismiss him the same way I did at the party.

  “What can I get you?”

  It doesn’t mean I have to engage him any more than my job requires. My face is apathetic as I wait for them to order. Unfortunately, it might be encouraging this type.

  “You can get me…your name and a night out…or in.” He smirks. “Your choice.” He says it slowly as he leans farther over the bar, narrowing his suggestive gaze on my mouth.

  “Harley, you gotta full bottle of José?” Sal shouts from the other side of the bar.

  I reach under the counter and meet her halfway.

  “Harley, damn, I didn’t think you could get any hotter, but I can admit when I’m wrong.”

  Swiveling back to my customers, I see all four pairs of eyes on my backside.

  “Yep, I’m the bad girl of your dreams. Can I get you a drink, or will it just be the riveting conversation?”

  Another guy with a long beard walks up to the bar, and I refill his glass with the foaming beer.

  “Nah, just a round of Natty Light and your number should do it.” He smirks, glancing around at his companions.

  His buddies all holler at his boldness, clapping him on the shoulder. He winks at me as I hand over the cold mugs.

  “Open or closed?” I question.

  He hands his black credit card over. “I’ll be open all night, baby.”

  My eyes roll at the line.

  The rest of the night completely sucks because they stay almost until closing. My skin crawls as I walk home in the dark, glancing back over my shoulder at every sound.

  8

  Adam

  When I walk into Principles of Horticulture early on Monday morning, I see Harley sitting in the front row. She’s bent over her desk. Her hair is pulled into a high, messy bun, revealing her inked skin around the thin blue straps of her shirt. I take a steadying breath before deciding that sitting behind her will be far more distracting than just choosing the seat next to her.

  “Mornin’.”

  Her head lifts up, and I catch my breath as her wide lake-blue eyes snap into mine.

  Maybe behind her would be a better choice.

  “Hi,” is all I get before she looks back down at her notebook, opened to a blank page.

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  She doesn’t seem thrilled to see me, which bothers me more than I care for.

  “It’s open,” she mumbles.

  Awkwardly standing in the aisle isn’t my favorite pastime, so I claim the chair. I have sisters, so I’m not completely dense as to when a woman isn’t happy.

  “How was your weekend?” I ask.

  She doesn’t look up. “Fine.”

  Definitely not thrilled to see me.

  “What did you do?”

  I’m racking my brain for when I may have misstepped at the party. Was it the shirt thing?

  “Work,” she replies.

  I should give up.

  “Where do you work?”

  I like the raspy sound of her voice too much.

  “Bar on Seventh.”

  “What? How old are you?”

  Her gaze meets mine again. “Eighteen. Why?”

  “How can you work at a bar if you’re only eighteen?”

  I probably sound like a moron.

  “That’s the law in Texas,” she says, like it’s a well-known fact.

  A few seconds crawl by.

  “Well…do you like it?”

  I shouldn’t be here, talking to her. Her heart-shaped face is tilted to the side as she chews on her pen.

  “The tips aren’t bad. Hate the uniform and some of the customers. Hours are shitty.” She’s all about facts, straight to the point.

  I turn my face toward the front as the professor walks in.

  “What’s so bad about the uniform?” I whisper, leaning toward her. I pick up on a subtle green apple scent as she leans in my direction.

  “Miniskirt and a little T-shirt. You’d love it.”

  I turn to see her smirking at me. My cheeks tinge pink, and I hate myself for picturing her in it. Nothing could be worse than the red bikini. When did my mind start to digress to such a low level of debauchery? Is this her effect on me? Or is it my own failure to focus on my degree and find a suitable girl to start getting to know?

  “What are the hours?”

  I should shut up since the professor is about to start the class. He greets us all as more students stumble in with tired eyes.

  Harley takes out her pen, writes something down, and pushes it toward me.

  6 to 2:30

  She must mean two in the morning. That means, she got off work less than six hours ago.

  you must be tired

  I push the notebook back and start to jot the date on my own. We’re the only two students I see with pens and paper instead of laptops.

  a little. what did you do last night?

  I should be taking notes, but talking to her is a lot more interesting than soil composition. I know all of this information by heart anyways.

  just played cards with my roommates

  She doesn’t respond for a while. I don’t mention all the time I sat and tried not thinking about how bad I felt for what I’d said at the party about only wanting to be friends with her. It’s true, but for some reason, I feel like it sounded like I thought I was too good for her, which I don’t.

  We continue to take notes on the lesson, which feels endless with her sitting so close to me. Every so often, I catch her intoxicating scent of green apple. It must be in her shampoo, and now, I’m remembering the long, sunny days spent picking them in the orchard a few miles from home.

  “I suggest you all find a study partner for the upcoming test. I’ll give you a few minutes to turn to someone near you and set up a time to meet.” He begins wiping down the board, and the students around us are exchanging contact information.

  I want to ask for her number, but the words are stuck in my throat. She’s packing up her stuff. I pull out my phone.

  “What is that?” She stares at the flip phone in my hand.

  I look down, confused. “My phone?”

  “Umm, you mean, your grandpa’s phone?” She lets out a throaty laugh, and I’m instantly addicted to it. She doesn’t laugh enough.

  “What do you mean? I bought it a couple years ago.”

  Her face sobers up. “You’re kidding. That’s your real phone?”

  I’m genuinely perplexed at her questions. Everyone in my family has a phone like this.

  “What kind of phone do you have?” I ask, desperate to keep talking to her.

  Her crystal-blue eyes draw me in, twinkling.

  “A normal one?” She pulls a smartphone from her jean shorts pocket.

  “Those break too easily, and they cost a fortune.”

  Most people don’t realize what a frivolous investment smartphones are. I didn’t realize they’d become the normal type to have.

  “Well, how do you get on TikTok and Twitter with that thing?” />
  She pulls her backpack on and turns to walk out the aisle. We’re some of the only students left in the room.

  “I don’t know what that is. I use the internet on the laptop I share with my brother. We got it when we came here for papers and research.”

  It was difficult to convince my parents. They were worried about lewd websites. After installing protective search barriers, they allowed it.

  “You don’t have any social media?” she asks incredulously.

  I’m a little embarrassed to be so naive about what most people my age use the internet for. Growing up on the farm, nobody really uses it, except for emails and extended weather reports. My uncle keeps the books for the farm on a website, but we simply don’t need a computer for anything else.

  “No, I guess not. Calling and texting sometimes are all I really need.”

  We emerge out into the September morning. The sunlight reflects in Harley’s eyes, bringing out the golden rims around her irises. She is breathtaking. I realize belatedly that I’m staring, so I look down at my worn boots. Who knew there was something in creation more beautiful than a sunset during harvest?

  “Well, I have another class. Do you want to exchange numbers to study later?” she asks.

  My heart beats a little quicker with the prospect of seeing her again today.

  “Sure.” I rattle it off from memory.

  She laughs, handing me her phone with a touch keypad on the screen. “Just enter it.”

  I do, handing it back. A second later, my text tone sounds.

  “Now, you have mine. See you later, Farm Boy.”

  The excitement I feel overshadows the guilt. It’s only studying.

  Adam: What time would you like to meet tonight?

  I send my very first text to Harley, my hands a little shaky. The screen stares at me until it pings a few minutes later. My stomach does a flip as her name appears.

  Harley: I’m in Bailey Hall. Meet me out front at seven?

  I’ve passed the dorm, so I know where it is.

  Adam: Okay. See you then.

  She doesn’t reply.

  Three hours crawl by like ants. I shower and put on some clean work jeans and a fresh T-shirt. My blonde hair is always cut short, and I pull a faded Stetson’s Feed cap over my head. I’ve had it for years, but it’s too comfortable to part with.

  The bathroom door opens as I’m brushing my teeth.

  “I thought you didn’t work Mondays,” my brother, Dan, says as he walks over to the toilet. His urine hits the bowl a second later.

  “Meeting someone to study for my horticulture test.”

  “Who?”

  I cringe as soon as he asks. “Just a girl from my class.”

  He finishes and zips up his fly. “It wouldn’t happen to be the one with all the tattoos in the red bikini?”

  My chest heats at his description. I don’t answer.

  He chuckles. “Hmmm. Well, have fun, big bro.”

  He slaps my back as he walks by. My jaw clenches, and I close my eyes. I will not hit him for this. He was just describing her to clarify who it was because he didn’t get her name. Blowing out a calming breath, I swing my backpack on and leave.

  Why do I care if my brother looked at Harley that way?

  I arrive at her dorm a few minutes later, right on time. She’s sitting on the steps, but she doesn’t have her books.

  “Hey.” She stands and smiles as I approach.

  My stomach feels tight. Her shorts barely cover anything.

  “Hi.” I smile back. “Where are your books?”

  She turns to walk up the steps, and I immediately avert my eyes down to my shoes.

  “In my room." She uses her key card to open the door.

  “Oh, okay. Well, I can wait while you get them.”

  “Well, how are we going to study if you’re down here and I’m up there?” She juts a hip out.

  I freeze in place.

  I clear my throat, glancing over my shoulder.

  “We could go to the library,” I suggest, hoping she agrees.

  “You have to have a group of four to get a study room, and you can’t talk at the tables.” She turns to walk into the dorm, but my feet stay rooted to the cement.

  I cannot go up to her room.

  She looks over her shoulder. “Listen, I promise I won’t steal your chastity belt. Come on.” She waves a hand, gesturing toward the entrance.

  Another girl walks up behind us, passing by to get in. Feeling a little ridiculous, I follow her. She’s right; we’re just studying. This is probably the best place to do it.

  My heartbeat is so loud in the elevator that I’m embarrassed, thinking she can hear it. We finally step onto her floor, and I follow her over the gaudy red carpet to a door with a number thirty-four on it. Her room is a disaster on one side with an unmade bed and clothes and shoes strung everywhere.

  In the center, beneath the window, is a variety of thriving plants. I notice an ivy and a monstera from here, but the others I can’t name.

  The other side of the room is tidy but less colorful. She sits on the clean bed with a muted purple comforter. I begin to pull out a chair, only to find it covered with a mountain of clothes. The item on top is a tiny green triangle of silk and straps. My mind immediately places it on Harley, contrasting with her skin and ink beautifully. The heat in my face is painfully obvious, but she doesn’t acknowledge it.

  “Sorry, I need to do laundry. Just sit on the bed.”

  She’s sitting near the middle with her back against the wall, her legs crossed and a notebook in her lap. I slowly sink onto the very end. This is my first time alone with a girl I’m not related to.

  “So, I thought what he said today about regions and the different compositions in—” She looks up at me, her voice cutting off. “What’s wrong?”

  “Uh, nothing. Why?” I slide my backpack to the floor and take out my notebook.

  “You’re clinging to the edge like I have some kind of disease,” she says.

  She’s changed since class into a tiny pair of soft-looking pink shorts and a gray zip-up hoodie, open to her navel. Her green sports bra is showing underneath, revealing her flat, tanned stomach. She’s unbelievably attractive, no matter what she has on.

  “I’m not used to…being alone with girls.” The admission slips past my lips.

  I don’t want to see the look on her face, so I busy myself, digging for a pen.

  She responds after what feels like hours, “Don’t be embarrassed, Farm Boy. I can teach you everything you need to know.”

  My head jerks up, my eyes widening at her words. She starts laughing, and I realize it was a joke. I chuckle nervously at her blatant reference to fornication—again.

  “Why do you keep calling me that?” I have to change the subject, or my face will never return to its normal color.

  “Please tell me you’ve seen The Princess Bride. I know you were raised in the sticks, but it’s a classic.”

  “Is that a movie? I don’t watch much TV.”

  “Ugh, you’re killing me!” Her head drops back against the wall. “Okay, we have to watch it. I can’t be friends with you until you’ve seen it.”

  I catch a sparkle in her eyes as she looks back down at her notebook.

  A smile breaks over my face at the prospect of spending more time with her. I attempt to stamp out the fire of excitement. Surely, just being friends with her is okay.

  9

  Harley

  Kenna and her non-bitchy friends are visiting me at work Thursday. They blend in with the crowd, but I told them I would only serve them as long as Billy wasn’t around.

  “Harley! My girl, you are the best roommate that I could’ve ever wished for.”

  Kenna’s face is curved into a grin, eyes lit up. She’s a combination of adorable freckles and a rack that draws attention from men everywhere she goes.

  “You coming to the Kappa Betas’ dance tomorrow night?” Raelynn asks me.

  H
er perfect, upturned nose, large aquarium-blue eyes, and short bob are drawing looks from the male customers. Pretty much every man in the room is watching their table from the corner of their eyes.

  “Eh, I’m not much of a dancer.”

  I look around for my manager for a second before sitting down at their booth. The seats are old cracked leather, exhausted from holding up thousands of patrons over the years.

  “Well, you should, and I already have the perfect dress for you to wear. You have cowboy boots, don’t you?” Kenna asks, leaning over the wooden table.

  “Do I look like I own cowboy boots?” I quirk a brow at her.

  “You can borrow mine! I have a million extra pairs. My mom insists on buying them for me every Christmas even though a two-step is the only place I’ll be caught dead in them,” Raelynn says as she stuffs her mouth with a fried potato wedge. Her parents own a cattle ranch worth millions, according to Kenna.

  “Cool. If I go,” I look up to see the bar getting more crowded.

  “You have to go! Adam will be there.” Kenna wiggles her eyebrows. “I saw him on the way to chem and invited him.”

  “What about his roommates?” I accuse, standing up to go rescue Sal and the other bartenders from the pack of sorority girls crowding the bar.

  I walk away before she has a chance to respond. A hand reaches out to grip my elbow.

  “Hey, what’s the rush?”

  I rip my arm away, my chest tightening at the unexpected contact.

  “What?” I shriek.

  I hate being touched without warning; it brings up foul memories. The unwelcome sight of wavy blond hair and dark eyes appears in front of me. I’m struck with the realization that he resembles Adam with longer hair. Except that he’s dressed like a wannabe pro golfer, like he was at the beach party.

  “I have to get to the bar, Kyle.” I turn, but he grabs my arm again. My heart is racing, fear spiking in my veins.

  Don’t panic.

  “Well, you can get me a drink then. I need a shot of something sweet.” He lets out a low-pitched laugh at his own joke, releasing me with a squeeze.