By Holley Trent, author of My Nora and Sold As Is
Disclaimer: Holley Trent is a very good girl. Generally.
The scandalous activities described in Sold As Is are, for the most part, NOT inspired by real life. I’ve never taken a guy on a “test drive” like my main character Mandy McCarthy. I’ve never boffed the governor’s son, or even the mayor’s, for that matter. However, like Mandy, I do have pretty extensive knowledge of places out in the boonies where people could go for some “alone time” should they be so inclined. I may have had some alone time in a pick-up truck once. (It was a long time ago.)
I don’t condone trespassing. AT ALL. So don’t go reading between the lines there and assume I’m suggesting that. That’s illegal and stuff. And I suspect idling on a dark roadside off the main highway for a squeeze and a tickle is illegal, too, or at least borderline.
Truth is, if you’re not in the way of traffic, in someone’s driveway, or look like you’re in distress, the patrolling deputies will probably just think you’re parked. Just keep your head low, and they won’t stop to peek in. They’ve got other stuff to do.
In some parts of the boonies, an hour could elapse before another car passes. You can do a lot of stuff in an hour.
Such as read a quarter of a romance novel. (Get your mind out of the gutter.)
Mandy and her beau Aaron probably don’t read many romance novels, but they certainly do their fair share of trespassing.
Here’s a peek at some of it:
“You don’t find me interesting in the slightest bit.” He sounded wounded, and maybe he was. Thoughts of employment offers aside, he wanted to know why this one beguiling woman wasn’t interested in the guy the News and Observer had hailed as “The Most Interesting Man in the State.” Was she playing hard to get, or did he finally encounter an eligible young woman who didn’t want him?
She crossed her legs toward the door and faced forward. “I don’t know what to make of you. This guy here behind the steering wheel seems profoundly different than the one the press likes to follow around. Which one’s the imposter?”
Huh?
“Well, they’re both me, more or less. Maybe we should hang out and you can figure it out for yourself.”
“I imagine you have plenty of people falling all over themselves to hang with you.”
“And?”
He slowed the car and made a right turn down a dirt road.
“Where are you going?”
“Oh, just checking out the struts.”
She gave him that same blank expression. He figured she wouldn’t know what a strut was, so it was a good enough lie for what he had in mind. Interview over. Damned woman. Yeah, he was pissed now. It actually bugged him the curvaceous runt hadn’t thrown herself at his feet. Maybe he’d taken for granted that when he’d find a woman he was interested in enough to pursue, she’d actually be into him.
When they reached a dilapidated farmhouse and outbuildings, he said a little prayer to the god of debauchery and unfastened his seatbelt. “I’m just going to look at the radiator. Make sure it’s not getting too hot.” He pulled the handle and listened to the pop.
She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
So, tell me. Do you know of any secret places in your hometown that are ripe for “alone time”? Have you taken advantage of them?
