“For what job?” What the heck did she think she was going to do? I needed a bartender, an accountant, and a bouncer. As far as I knew, she had no experience with—
“A stripper,” she said, blinking her big green eyes at me. Before I could fully process this information, she tossed her thumb over her shoulder, indicating toward the way she’d come in, and said, “I saw the sign from the road, so I know you’re hiring. Now. . .” Charlotte put her hand between us, palm up, and demanded in a voice that brooked no argument, “Hand it over.”
*END SNEAK PEEK*
Pre-Order Folk Around and Find Out! Coming May 24th, 2022!
Sneak Peek: Truth or Beard (Available Now!)
by Penny Reid, Book #1 in the Winston Brothers series
~Jessica~
I pulled into the Green Valley Community Center parking lot and scared the crap out of five senior citizens.
Even though it was Halloween, inducing heart attacks in the geriatric population was not on my agenda. Unfortunately for everyone within earshot, while I’d dutifully stopped as they crossed in front of my vehicle, my truck made a ghastly, high-pitched whining sound. This happened whenever it idled.
The five of them jumped, obviously startled, and glared at me as though I’d commanded the truck to make the screech on purpose. Soon their glares morphed into wrinkled squints of befuddlement, their eyes moving over my appearance from my perch. It took them a few minutes, but they recognized me.
Everyone in Green Valley Tennessee knew who I was.
Nevertheless, I imagined they were not expecting to see Jessica James, the twenty-one year old daughter of Sheriff Jeffrey James and sister of Sheriff’s Deputy Jackson James, dressed in a long white beard sitting behind the wheel of an ancient Ford Super Duty F-350 XL.
In my defense, it wasn’t my monster truck. It was my mother’s. I was currently between automobiles, and she’d just upgraded to a newer, bigger, more intimidating model. Something she could plaster with bumper stickers that said,
Have You Kissed Your Sheriff Today? and
Don’t Drink and DERIVE, Alcohol and Calculus Don’t Mix, and
Eat Steak!! The West Wasn’t Won With Salad.
As the local sheriff’s wife, mother to a police officer (my brother) and math teacher (me), and the daughter of a cattle rancher, I think she felt it was her duty to use the wide canvas of her truck as a mobile pro-police, mathematics, and beef billboard.
I waited patiently for them to look their fill, giving them a small smile which they wouldn’t see behind my beard. Being stared at didn’t bother me much. After a few more minutes of confused gawking, the gang of seniors shuffled off toward the entrance to the community center, casting cautiously confused glances over their shoulders.
As quickly as I could, I maneuvered the beast into a space at the edge of the lot. Since inheriting the truck I usually parked on the edge of parking lots so as not to be that jerk who drives an oversized vehicle and takes up two spaces.
I adjusted my beard, tossing the three-foot, white length over my shoulder, and grabbed my gray cape and wizard hat. Then I tried not to fall out of the truck or flash anyone on my hike down from the driver’s seat. Luckily, my costume also called for a long staff, and I leveraged the polished wood to aid my descent; the rest of my costume was negligible—a one-piece mini-skirt sheath dress with a low cut front—and made stretching and moving simple.
I was halfway across the lot, lost in delighted mental preparation for my father and brother’s scowls of disapproval, when I heard my name.
“Jessica, wait up.” I turned, found my coworker and friend Claire jogging toward me. I set my wizard hat—which had a built-in wig—on my head and waved.
“I thought that was you. I saw the beard and the staff.” She slowed as she neared, her eyes moving over the rest of my costume. “You’ve made some… modifications.”
“Yes.” I nodded proudly, grinning at her warily amused expression. I noted that Claire hadn’t changed since work; she was still wearing an adorable Raggedy Ann costume. Lucky for her, she already had bright red hair and freckles. All she had to do was put her long locks in pig tails, add the overalls and white cap.
“Do you like what I’ve done?” I twisted to one side then the other to show off my new garment and the high-heeled strappy sandals.
“Are you still Gandalf? Or what are you supposed to be?”
“Yeah, I’m still Gandalf. But now I’m sexy Gandalf.” I wagged my eyebrows.
Claire covered her mouth with a white-gloved hand then snorted. “Oh my God! You are a nut!”
A sinister giggle escaped my lips. I’m not much of a giggler unless I’ve done something sinister. “Well, I couldn’t wear it to work. But I love the irony of it, you know? All those stupid Halloween costumes that women are expected to wear, like sexy nurse and sexy witch and sexy bee. I’ve actually seen a ‘sexy bee’ costume. Am I missing something? Is there a subset of men who get off thinking about pollinators?”
“I agree. You can’t wear the sexy Gandalf costume to work. In addition to being against the dress code, you’re already starring in the sex fantasies of all your male students as their hot calculus teacher. If you’d worn sexy Gandalf at school instead of regular Gandalf, I think they’d go home feeling confused about their sexuality.”
I laughed and shook my head, thinking how odd the last three months had been.
Like me, Claire was a native of Green Valley; also like me, she’d moved back to town after college. However, where I was here only temporarily—just for the few years until I paid off my student debt—Claire was here to stay. She’d become the drama and band teacher during my senior year of high school. Now we were coworkers. With her gorgeous red hair, light blue eyes, and a strikingly beautiful face, during my senior year as well as now, she was labeled the hot drama teacher.
She even had those awesome high cheekbones that magazines talk about, with the little hollow above the jaw. Add to her stunning good looks the most laid-back, kind, generous, and all-around talented person I’d ever met, she should have been in New York or Milan living the life of a muse or a model or a concert pianist.
But she had sad eyes.
Claire had married her childhood sweetheart. Her husband, Ben McClure, had been a marine; he’d died overseas two years ago. Having no other family to speak of, I surmised that Claire was still living in Green Valley because she wanted to stay near his family.
Meanwhile, I’d been in the thespians my sophomore through senior year of high school and was a therefore labeled as one of those drama kids—so, for my school, that basically meant weird and funny.
I didn’t marry my childhood sweetheart because I didn’t have one, though I kissed lots of boys because I liked kissing boys. Kissing boys also had the delightful byproduct of aggravating my sheriff father and overprotective brother. Essentially, I’d left home for college an angsty, but well-mannered good girl. So, a typical teenager.
But upon my return to Green Valley High School (just a short four years later), same school with the same social order and subsets, I’d now become a new stereotype.
I was the hot math teacher.