Page 3 of Sweatpants & Sweet Tea

“Yep.”

“That sounds fun.”

It wasn’t.

“So, any winners in the bunch?”

“No,” I shook my head. “A couple of nice guys, quite a few a-holes, and at least one sociopath.”

“Maybe you’re just too picky.”

I bit my tongue. I’d been raised to respect my elders, and there was no way I was going to talk back, but I didn’t think my qualifications for men set an unrealistic bar. The problem wasnotme.

“Ormaybeyou just aren’t gonna find your person out in La La Land,” she suggested.

That we could definitely agree on.

“Maybe you should try your luck with a country boy.”

I grinned. “Maybe.”

It was sweet of Aunt Rhonda to think that country boys were that much different than city boys. What she didn’t realize was that no one who lived in LA was actually from there. Half the guys I ‘dated’ were country boys. They’d grown up in towns as small as Firefly Island, which had a population of less than five thousand.

A loud giggle cut through the peaceful morning silence. I looked in the direction it came from and saw at least twenty people gathered at the farm next door. I knew that people in the country got up early, but it was barely five in the morning.

“What’s going on over there?”

“Oh, that’s Farm Strong.”

“Farm Strong?”

“Yep. Harlan Mitchell started a workout program on his farm. I think it’s to help with things financially since Meemaw Mitchell passed.”

“Harlan…” I searched my memory bank. “Was that the kid next door that Grammy Moore called Bean Pole?”

“That’s the one. As a teen, he was a tall, lanky thing, but he’s all grown up now. He was out your way in California for a while, playin’ for the Waves.”

The San Diego Waves were a professional baseball team. I didn’t follow baseball, but I’d done a few stories on them, so I’d been to a couple of games.

“But then he got hurt and had to come back home. A lot of folks were worried that he’d be lost without baseball, but he picked himself up, dusted himself off, and I have to say, he’s been pretty successful with his fitness program.” Aunt Rhondaclapped her hands as if she’d just remembered something as she jumped out of her chair and went into the kitchen.

I let out a sigh of relief when she returned andwasn’tcarrying another pumpkin spice latte. Instead, she had a calendar.

“This is a calendar he does every year.” She flipped it open.

She handed it to me, and my mouth watered once again; this time it was the good kind. Harlan Mitchell had grown up. He had thick brown hair that, even from the photo, I wanted to run my hands through. Large brown eyes and a bad-boy half grin that had my lady parts waking up and taking notice. He was standing in front of a haystack, shirtless, wearing only jeans, a cowboy hat, and boots. His chest, arms, and abs were chiseled to perfection.

Maybe Aunt Rhonda was right. Maybe Ishouldtry my luck with a country boy.

2

HARLAN

“Does that feel good?”The breathless question is whispered against my ear as soft, silky blonde hair floats over my chest.

I nod. Whatever she’s doing, it feels good.

I reach out, attempting to grasp her hips, but for some reason…I can’t. I can feel her pressing up against me. I can feel the motion of her grinding against my rock-hard erection.

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