Page 185 of My Temptation (Kingston Lane)

It has to.

Saturday afternoon, I drive home from day shift at the hospital. It was hectic and ridiculously busy. Everything that could have gone wrong today did. I turn the corner into my street and see the boys in the middle of the cul-de-sac putting a golf ball onto a tee. They are drinking beer and laughing and joking.

Don’t they ever get sick of that stupid game and hanging out together in the stupid middle of the street?

I drive past them with a fake smile and a wave.

Henley’s not there.

Where is he? . . . Is he okay?

I’m currently suffering from multiple personality disorder. I flick between anger and worry for him. Raging one minute, crying the next.

Angry because he hurt me, but worried because I know that’s not who he is.

Maybe I’m just a gullible idiot who got played by a player.

As I pull up to my house, I see that my lawn has been mowed. Huh? I pull the car into the driveway and get out to hear the lawn mower going in my backyard.

Who mowed my lawn?

I glance back out to the boys in the middle, and Blake dips his head and waves. “Hi, Juliet.”

“Hi.”

Ugh . . . stop acting nice, you gangbanger. Chloe’s way too good for you.

I walk through my side gate to see Henley pushing the lawn mower at double speed over my lawn. He’s walking so fast and pushes it straight over a garden bed and shreds the plants.

“What are you doing?” I cry.

He keeps mowing at double speed, his head down, his skin glistening with perspiration.

“Henley,” I call.

He doesn’t look up and mows over another plant.

That’s it.

I storm over to him. “Stop!” I cry.

He looks up, and his step falters.

“What the hell are you doing?” I yell.

“Mowing your lawn. What does it fucking look like? It’s a disgrace,” he growls.

I put my hands onto my hips, infuriated. “You’re running over my plants.”

“Weeds,” he yells over the lawnmower.

“Go home,” I yell.

“What?” He pretends to be unable to hear me.

In a senseless rage, I look around at the carnage of my garden and the three plants he has chopped to pieces.

“Go home!” I point toward his house. “Do not mow my fucking lawn ever again.”

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