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Since when do the procedure for offering someone a ticket for running a stop sign add a very hands-on pat-down against the hood of my car, not even giving me an opportunity to see his face? I swear, cop or not he was getting very close to getting Tasered; my hand was mere inches from the Taser in my open purse. But despite the high inappropriateness of his pat-down there is something very familiar about just how he was coming in contact with me and even the fragrance of his cologne brought about familiarity. I never dreamed when the inappropriate, yet highly erotic frisking was over i be standing in person with my past senior high school sweetheart, town troublemaker and love of my life Devon Land. But there he was with a cocky smirk, looking sexier than I remembered and carefully enjoying my great shock. One big blunder cost me the upscale life in NY I'd cultivated to love, forcing me to return home to Alabama. I swore I'd never move back to my small town, I'd outgrown it, but with a enticement like Devon intent on reminding me of the life I'd left behind may i leave a second time?
