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

by Mj Hendrix

  He’s devastated, mouth hanging open, eyes squinching together as he stares at me. His chest is rising and falling quickly with his breath.

  “I—why are you—why would—Harley, I don’t understand…” He’s stuttering, voice cracking. His honey gaze is glassy, searching my face.

  A Jeep Wrangler pulls up in the corner of my vision, a flash of red to the rescue. I back away from him.

  “It’s over,” I say quickly. “I don’t want to hear from you.” My voice is rasping the words.

  He starts to panic, looking at the Jeep, then back at me. “Harley, don’t—let’s talk. I’ll take my brothers back, and we can go to the silos.”

  He’s begging me. His hands that have been clenched in fists at his sides rise up, roughly mussing through his short blond hair. His muscles flex, his face desperate, teeth biting into his lip.

  “Please don’t leave like this.” He’s walking after me, and I turn to open the door to Kenna’s Jeep, stepping up into it. “Harley…please…” His voice trails off.

  He’s standing, shoulders back, in the middle of the road as a huge black truck approaches, horn blaring at him. He doesn’t even notice, eyes staring into my soul.

  “Go, Kenna, please,” I beg her.

  She starts to protest, mouth open in shock, “Maybe you should—”

  “No! Drive, please. I don’t do breakups,” I insist, my face pleading with her to leave.

  She looks out at Adam, her wide green eyes clearly filled with guilt.

  “Okay…” she mumbles, shifting into park and turning the Jeep around.

  He becomes a blip in the rearview, and I lie back on the plush seat, telling myself it’s better this way.

  He needs someone his family will accept. Someone who’s still a sweet, innocent virgin like him. Someone with clear skin that isn’t peppered with memories of the dark days in her past.

  If there’s anything I learned from running away from my foster home, it’s that I’d rather be alone than surrounded by people who hate me.

  24

  Adam

  It’s a muggy Monday morning, and the only reason I forced myself to get out of bed is the hope that I’ll see her in our eight a.m. class.

  I arrive early and sit up front, where we usually sit beside each other, passing notes.

  My night was restless, miserable, and lonely, just like the last few nights have been. When did holding her become necessary for me to go to sleep?

  My thoughts have been tormented with her memory, her smell, the way her skin and lips felt under mine.

  Students are trudging into class, most dressed in hoodies to ward off the unusually chilly air. October mornings in Texas are unpredictable. I peek around to watch the entrance, shamelessly searching for marked skin and lake-blue eyes.

  As the class fills, my stomach sinks a little with each head that appears.

  Then, I see her, hair a messy tangle on her shoulders. She’s wearing a faded black hoodie that swallows her petite frame. Her eyes look hollow, face makeup-free and exhausted.

  Is she having trouble sleeping like I am?

  She’s still the most beautiful girl in the room. My arms ache to feel her in them. I need her warmth like I need the air in my lungs.

  But she doesn’t even look at me. Her eyes stay lowered as she slithers into the room. She takes a seat on the back row as the professor steps up to the podium.

  The organ in my chest is cracked open, numbing me with the pain of rejection. This must be what heartbreak is. It’s devastating, raw agony.

  I had this stupid hope that when she came in, she’d sit by me. Maybe even bless my eyes with a smile. Then, she’d lean toward me and whisper some joke about how I stare at her too much, and I’d blush. There would be no point in denying it because she’d be right—I love to look at her.

  She’s training her eyes straight ahead as if I never existed. I force myself to turn back to the front as the old professor in suspenders starts his lecture. My head drops down, and I write. I write everything I wanted to tell her that I couldn’t form into words with my mouth. My pen knows what my heart wants and exactly how to say it.

  I’ve been sitting in my Chevy outside the bar since ten p.m. Water is pelting the windshield as my knee bounces. I struggle to focus on my textbook for business math. The equations are jumbles of words and letters, like I’ve suddenly forgotten how to read English. The stereo clock reads 1:10.

  I’m here because I can’t be anywhere else. That’s the only explanation my mind can form. She doesn’t have a car, and the streets downtown are completely unsafe for a woman walking alone at night. Anyone knows that, even a hick like me raised on a farm.

  I could go in and sit, order a Coke and French fries. She’d have to serve me and talk to me. Maybe I could give her the letter. Would that be cruel of me?

  Dan insists nothing happened after I left to get firewood. He said Harley talked to my dad for a little while, then suddenly got up and left. I know my father. He’s a kind and loving man. He would never say anything to hurt her.

  Even so, I asked him about it. I asked what they talked about and if anything was said that might upset her. He said all he talked to her about was our class together. I have no reason to believe he would lie to me—he never has. His voice was tinged with concern, asking me if she got home okay after walking out.

  But I have to know why. I have to understand. Did she get overwhelmed, being around so many little kids?

  Was it the happy, loving family thing? I can’t imagine how that must make her feel, considering she was in foster homes, growing up. She told me a little about it, but she didn’t give a lot of details. It seems painful for her to talk about, and I get a little sick when I think about what kinds of things she must have experienced.

  I reach for the handle, the old, creaky door groaning as I step out into the rainy street. Deliberate steps take me up to Billy’s Pub, and I pull on the heavy wooden door. Stepping through the entrance, I see only three patrons scattered around the interior. Leather and wood give it a classy, antique vibe. It’s the only bar I’ve ever been inside, but it’s a comfortable atmosphere.

  The dark-haired woman who Harley works with looks up at me from behind the bar top, thankfully giving me a smile.

  “Hey, handsome. She’s out back.” She gestures for me to follow her.

  I breathe out a sigh, grateful they aren’t kicking me out.

  “Thanks. Is it Sal?” I ask, remembering her name from one of Harley’s stories.

  She smiles and nods, eyes roving over my damp clothing.

  “I hope you can cheer that girl up. She’s been sulking all night. You gotta brother?” she asks as we walk through a storage room of bottles and crates.

  “I have seven brothers,” I respond.

  She halts her steps, mouth agape.

  “Shit.” She looks over me again, eyes wide. “God bless your momma.” She shakes her head. Gesturing to a dingy black metal door at the back, she says, “She’s out there, having a smoke break.” She smiles and winks at me, walking back out front.

  This is the first time I’ve heard about Harley smoking. She’s never done it in front of me, which makes me wonder how much I really know about her.

  Pushing the door open, I step out. There’s a small two-foot overhang right outside the door to stand under and avoid getting rained on. I don’t see Harley. There’s a square wooden crate with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter resting on it.

  Looking around, I see a large dumpster to the right side, a tall fence behind it. I drift in the other direction, where there’s a dark alley. As I turn the corner, I see her.

  She’s sitting on another wooden crate, face turned toward the street. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, but it’s still coming down on her.

  “Harley,” I say, still a few steps away.

  She doesn’t turn toward me, just sighs.

  “Adam,” is all she says. Her voice sounds tired.

  I glance up to see what sh
e’s looking at. She has a clear view of my truck, where it’s been parked the last three hours. I gulp, heat crawling up my neck.

  “What are you doing out here?” I ask hoarsely, taking a step closer to her.

  “Just watching you watch me,” she responds, eyes still turned away from me.

  I get to her, tentatively reaching out toward her shoulder. She flinches at my touch, jumping up.

  “Don’t,” she pleads. Her face looks over me, clear eyes rimmed pink. Her hands are clenched in tiny fists at her sides.

  “You should come inside, out of the rain.” As I say it, the drops flow harder, and we really start to get soaked. Neither of us moves toward cover.

  We both have on white shirts, hers beginning to show the black lacy bra underneath, the edges revealed as it soaks in the moisture. I feel mine sticking to my torso.

  “Why are you here?” she shouts over the rain that’s now pouring down.

  My steps lead me closer, and I have to look down at her, our bodies inches apart.

  “Why’d you leave?” I ask, my voice throaty.

  She laughs. “Oh, so he didn’t tell you?” Head going back, neck exposed, she cackles into the dark sky, almost like she’s deranged. “Why am I not surprised at all?” she finally gets out, still smiling.

  My eyes narrow, muscles tensing as I grab her arms. “Tell me what? Nobody told me anything. They’re not liars, so maybe you should fill me in,” I say through clenched teeth.

  My grip is firm, but she doesn’t struggle. Instead, she looks at my lips, licking hers.

  “Let’s do it—right now. In your truck. Come on. I’m ready,” she insists, tilting her head to the side. Her lashes are heavy with water.

  “Wh—what? What are you talking about?” I question incredulously, blinking at her like she grew horns.

  She smiles again, but it’s cruel and harsh, almost a grimace. “That’s what I am, baby. That’s what I’ve always been. They saw it right away, even in Kenna’s stupid pink dress. Couldn’t fool your holy family. They can sense a witch. You’re just too naive and gullible to catch on. Distracted with my face, my body—all the things that draw you in blind you to what I am.”

  She jerks back from me, and I release her arms like she caught fire.

  “Let me show you what I mean. I only need about two minutes.” She whirls around, stomping toward my truck.

  My body is frozen for about three seconds, mouth gaping, before I recover and sprint after her.

  “Hey! Stop!” I scream, several feet behind her in the alley.

  She freezes, slowly turning.

  “Don’t talk about yourself that way. Why do you do that?” My voice is quiet, barely audible over the noise of the rain. My heart is thumping like I ran for miles.

  She turns her face up into the sky, eyes closed. She lets the water wash over her for several beats before shifting her eyes to me.

  “It’s true. I’m the harlot, the bad girl sent to steal your virtue. You fell right into the trap.” Her eyes are dead, lifeless. “Now, go, before you’re too far in to get out.”

  She slowly inches toward me, eyes capturing mine. She reaches me. Lifting a hand up, she grips the back of my neck and pulls me down.

  My breath catches as I expect her to kiss me. Heart racing, I lick my lips in anticipation.

  She’s my fresh air, my lifeline.

  Her lips don’t touch mine; instead, they hover over my ear. “You know I’m right. Deep down, you’ve been lying to yourself. Make your momma happy and pick one that’s not such a whore.”

  She blows out a breath, tingling my ear. “I’ll only hurt you.”

  Her breathy whisper sends chills over me while crushing my lingering hopes. I turn my face to her, our gazes clashing. It almost looks like she’s crying, her eyes red, but it could be from the rain. It’s impossible to resist the urge to lower my gaze. My mouth is gravitating to hers like a compass pointing north. Her eyelids droop, and temptation overcomes my willpower. I get close enough to feel her exhale, and she is my oxygen supply for a moment as our lips meet.

  The second we make contact, she jerks away from me.

  “I said, go! Get away from me!” She’s screaming hysterically, eyes demon-possessed with rage.

  She shoves my chest with her hands, forcing me back. My heart is cracking open at the devastated look of pain in her expression. Her eyes are creased, lips sneering.

  “I don’t want you,” she grits out. Her face is stern, but her bottom lip is trembling.

  My arms feel heavy, and I drop them to my sides. I close my eyes, running both hands over my head, scratching my scalp harshly, trying to feel pain somewhere besides my chest.

  She runs past me, the door creaking open and slamming shut again with a loud bang.

  It’s the nail in the coffin of us, and I know it’s over now. The finality of it is a concept I can’t fully grasp.

  She has become the most vital part of my life. Her face is the only one I look forward to seeing every day.

  I take the letter out of my pocket, tearing it to shreds. There are no words to express how broken I feel as the emptiness overwhelms me.

  25

  Harley

  The sky is overcast, reflecting the dull, gray aching in my chest.

  I walk home from my shift in the sticky, dark night. The clouds are threatening to release another downpour, and I almost wish they would.

  When I reach the dorms and open the door, the soft rev of an engine purrs past.

  My sleep that night is disturbed with frequent wakings. Lurching up from my pillow, I think Lenny is at the door, forcing me to come back to Carbona. When I realize it’s only a dream, I release a sigh. I look at the clock to see it’s nearly four, which means I’ve barely slept an hour. I dig through the back of my desk drawers for the emergency stash of weed I’ve had hidden since I arrived—another souvenir from my foster sister.

  Cracking the window to the room, I light it up. Kenna is out cold, and I’m hoping no loud Texas trucks blaze by.

  A few hits are all I need to calm the unease in my stomach. My head gets a little fuzzy, and I recline back on the pillow, accepting the sinking feeling that overcomes me, making my limbs feel heavy.

  The week drags on, and nearly every night, I crack open the window to smoke a joint. I found a dealer easily enough by reaching out to the guy I’d bummed off of at the beach party. There isn’t a student on campus Kenna doesn’t know.

  One night, the creak of the window woke her up, and she was completely terrified someone was breaking in. She started screaming like a lunatic before I could explain it was me.

  After the realization, she was curious about the weed. Apparently, she had always wanted to try it. After only one inhale, she was doubled over, laughing hysterically. The rolling of my eyes was surely going to stick, but I couldn’t resist.

  She’s just repeated her unbelievable feat of coffee-fetching despite the endless line as we make our way to early classes on Monday morning. My stomach is tied in knots, knowing I’m about to see Adam again after the agonizingly long week.

  We haven’t bumped into each other once, not even at the cafeteria. He misses lunch most days, or he must go late to avoid me. I’ve seen his brother and roommates there multiple times.

  Today, my hair is curled, lips harlot red. I don’t need to change myself for the approval of anyone.

  Kenna’s voice breaks through my internal rant. “Okay, so I planned this a while back, but this weekend is our dorm party—well, it’s sort of turned into a hall party because Maya and the girls all invited more people, so there’s really not enough space in just our room.” She smiles at me apologetically.

  “Okay…” Maybe I can pick up a shift. A party is the last thing I want to be at. “What night?”

  She turns to me, grabbing my arm, eyes desperate. “Please, please, come. I know you…aren’t in the mood for socializing, but I’ll feel terrible if you get kicked out of your own room! It will be fun, I promise. I a
lready told Kyle he is not invited. I know you’re sad about Adam, but—”

  “I am not sad about him,” I lie through my teeth.

  We’re about to pass by Silas and Dan, and Kenna stops to talk to them.

  “Hey, guys, are y’all coming to the dorm party on Friday? It’s not sorority-related, and it’s super exclusive.” She beams at them, wiggling her eyebrows.

  Dan returns the grin, ignoring my presence, while Silas stares at me.

  I glare back at him.

  “Yeah, we’ll be there. Are we allowed to wear our shirts?” Dan asks, a hint of humor in his tone.

  Kenna laughs. “Hmm, maybe. Show up, and we’ll see.” We start to walk past them, and she lifts a hand to wave. “Make sure you tell Levi it’s basically just us, super intimate!”

  She whirls back around to me. “Ugh! I’m so sorry. I’d already invited them all before you and Adam broke up! Surely, he won’t show.” Concern creases her brows, mouth frowning.

  “It’s fine, really. I’m going to pick up a shift at the bar anyways,” I say, discomfort in my chest. “He can go if he wants.” My apathetic tone is a betrayal to the longing in my heart to see him again.

  “I just want Levi to come so bad. If I could talk to him, I know I’d be able to peel back his shell. If you want me to cancel the whole thing, I totally will,” she says, assurance in her voice.

  My chest squeezes at her concern. It’s nice to have a friend who actually cares.

  “Kens, it’s really okay. I hope Levi shows too.” My lips curve into a weak smile.

  She sighs, hugging me. “Men are wretched. If he doesn’t show, I’m giving up. We can live together forever, and everyone will say we’re lesbians. We won’t care because then all the men will leave us alone. We can buy a big Victorian house, paint it blush pink, and host spa days on weekends. Okay, maybe I want to do this even if he does show up.” She giggles at herself, and I can’t help but join in.

  “Okay, deal, except for the pink house. Let’s buy a vineyard. That’s what I want to do for real,” I say.