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shit load of information on me, and I needed some time to process it.
    I felt really bad for Jordan. Ending up in juvie when you were 16—that sucked balls. He’d been painted as this villain, but it sounded to me like he was a kid who’d made some bad mistakes. Working in the law firm, I’d come across a lot of cases where one dumb decision ruined lives. It happened more often than you might think: infidelity, fraud, theft, drinking, drugs. You think you’re on one path and suddenly you’re bumping down some dirt road wondering what the hell happened to your life. Believe me, I’d been there.
    I wondered again what Jordan had done. Maybe one day he’d trust me enough to tell me.
    I also suspected that if I hung out around town long enough, I’d probably hear the full story anyway. It was only Mom who had any reservations about spreading gossip. It was irritating as hell, but I thought it was cool of her, too.
    It had been good talking to her, having a real conversation instead of tiptoeing around each other. I didn’t talk to Dad that much. He’d lost interest in me after Mom left. He spent his time chasing women and living it up. I pretty much raised myself from the age of 13, and I’d always thought I was more like him, so Mom’s comment had thrown me for a loop.
    To my surprise, I found that I didn’t mind being a little bit like her. At least she’d stuck up for Jordan and tried to show people he was more than just the ex-felon they all thought he was.
    But then again, my tolerance level for her had been reached when she’d accused me of flirting with him. He was good enough to mow her lawn, but not good enough to talk to her daughter? There were some serious double-standards at work here.
    I showered quickly, but it took forever to wash my hair. It was so damn thick and curly; there was so much of it. Guys liked that about me, and I liked it about myself, but it was a real bitch to take care of. Most of the time I let it do its own thing. Hairdryers were a waste of time. I’d tried to blow dry it when I was younger, but when I’d burned out my second hairdryer in a month, I’d given up. Now it just air-dried and hung mop-like from my head. The only alternative was shaving it off, and believe me, there were days when I considered it. The Texas heat and humidity didn’t help, because regardless of how I styled my hair—or tried to style it—as soon as I walked into the sweltering summer heat, it just frizzed out.
    I dug through my meager pile of clothing to find a reasonable pair of jeans and conservative shirt. If I was going job-hunting, I wanted to look like a responsible and sober citizen. And I had no qualms about playing the preacher-daughter card if it was going to help me find work.
    I glanced out of the window as I buttoned up my blouse.
    Fuck me! Hot guy alert!
    Jordan had taken off his t-shirt and was wearing a pair of cut-off jeans that looked about two sizes too big, making them hang dangerously low from his hips, showcasing the curve of a very nice ass.
    The sun danced on his back muscles as he pushed Mom’s beast of a mower, and I could see a tattoo on his left shoulder blade. It was a Celtic cross and had a bleeding heart motif in the center. Something was written across it, but he was too far away for me to see what it said.
    Then he turned around and started mowing in my direction. His chest and stomach looked rock hard. Whatever else he did in prison, he must have worked out a lot. I guessed there wasn’t much else to do.
    I thought I was having a hot flash because his body was making me think all kinds of things that nice girls shouldn’t have dirtying their minds. It was a good thing I’d never professed to be a nice girl.
    I hoped he’d look up and see me watching him, but his eyes remained fixed on the grass he was cutting.
    I enjoyed the free show a little longer before unpeeling my eyeballs from the window, and finished getting dressed.
    I had a job to hunt down before my