Lawn Boys Read online

  Lawn Boys

  Copyright © 2017 K Webster

  Cover Design: All By Design

  Photo: Adobe Stock

  Editor: Emily A. Lawrence, www.lawrenceediting.com

  Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Synopsis

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  K Webster’s Taboo World

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Books by K Webster

  Acknowledgements

  About Author K Webster

  She’s lived her life and it has been a good one.

  Marriage. College. A family.

  Slowly, though, life moved forward and left her at a standstill.

  Until the lawn boy barges into her world.

  Bossy. Big. Sexy as hell.

  A virile young male to remind her she’s all woman.

  Too bad she’s twice his age.

  Too bad he doesn’t care.

  She’s older and wiser and more mature.

  Which means absolutely nothing when he’s invading her space.

  Just when she thinks she has a handle on things, she meets his twin.

  Double the growls.

  Double the intensity.

  Double the pleasure.

  Double the trouble.

  To Matt—you overfill my cup with love and joy.

  “Isn’t that how falling in love so often works?

  Some stranger appears out of nowhere and becomes a fixed star in your universe.”

  —Kate Bolick

  K Webster’s Taboo World

  Welcome to my taboo world! These stories began as an effort to satisfy the taboo cravings in my reader group. The two stories in the duet, Bad Bad Bad, were written off the cuff and on the fly for my group. Since everyone seemed to love the stories so much, I expanded the characters and the world. I’ve been adding new stories ever since. Each book stands alone from the others and doesn’t need to be read in any particular order. I hope you enjoy the naughty characters in this town! These are quick reads sure to satisfy your craving for instalove, smokin’ hot sex, and happily ever afters!

  Bad Bad Bad

  Easton

  Crybaby

  Lawn Boys

  Several more titles to be released by the end of the year!

  Thanks for reading!

  K

  Anthony

  If you want to be good, you have to learn from the best.

  That’s Dad’s motto.

  Except, I always thought it meant from him. Turns out, he has other ideas, which is why I’m currently standing on Stephanie Greenwood’s front porch about to ask for a favor. When Dad mentioned approaching Stephanie, a woman closer to his age than mine, I was more than a little excited. She’s the hottest fucking woman in this town. I see her all the time at the gym. Working with her, for her, around her—all seems like any guy’s fantasy.

  Her ass is tight and fit—I know this because I’ve fought more than one hard-on as I watched her work out on the glutes machine. Often, she goes Saturday mornings at the same time I do. She’s drop-dead gorgeous with her long golden-blond hair, supple lips, and perfect tits. It’ll be the worst kind of punishment having to work for her but, fuck, it will also be the sweetest reward.

  I ring the doorbell and pretend I was not just thinking about Stephanie’s ass and tits. The last thing I need is for her to answer the door with my dick greeting her first. Dad always says first impressions matter most. And although my dick is quite impressive, I doubt that’s what he had in mind.

  The door swings open and I’m taken aback for a moment. Stephanie stands in the highest pair of heels and a dainty dress looking good enough to eat.

  My dick officially says hello.

  Apparently it’s heeding Dad’s advice.

  “Anthony Blakely?” she questions, astonished. “I had you confused for Quinn there for a moment.”

  Up close, I notice her lips are full and glossy. I’d pay good money just to suck the shiny look from them.

  I flash her a crooked grin that works on most chicks. “Dad doesn’t like that I’m taller than him.”

  She laughs—what a sweet fucking sound—as she steps aside. “Please, come in. Is there something you needed?”

  I saunter into the foyer. When I see her daughter, a younger version of Stephanie, sitting on the couch with her son in her lap, I wave. “Hey, Lace.”

  “Hey, Anthony.”

  She and I went to school together all our lives. Lacy is a couple of years ahead of me.

  “I was next door at Mrs. Sing’s when I noticed your yard,” I lie to Stephanie, my hands on my hips so I don’t do something stupid like reach out and touch her silky hair.

  “What about my yard?” Stephanie questions in defense. It’s cute how her nostrils flare when she’s frustrated.

  “Whoever you’re paying to do it, you should fire.” I dart my questioning gaze over to her son-in-law, Easton, who’s sitting next to Lacy.

  He laughs and raises both palms. “Don’t look at me. I offered and was told no.”

  “I do the yard,” Stephanie huffs. Her shoulders are stiff as she’s no longer happy to see me. Irritation has her lips pursing together. “Nothing is wrong with it.”

  I let out a snort. “You cut the grass way too short for one. The edging isn’t straight. And do you know the difference between a weed and a flower? Your garden doesn’t.”

  She gapes at me in horror.

  “Oh, boy,” Lacy says, her tone amused.

  Because I’m an idiot and I like how her blue eyes flare with fury, I keep on running my mouth. “It’s the worst looking yard on the street. Pales in comparison next to Mrs. Sing’s. Surely you’ve noticed how nice her yard is?”

  Steph’s cheeks blaze bright red and I know why. I’ve seen her checking me out through the blinds as I mowed next door before in just a pair of basketball shorts. She’s definitely noticed a lot more than Mrs. Sing’s yard.

  “It’s okay,” she lies.

  I laugh and shake my head. “It’s better than okay. It’s the best.”

  Stephanie swipes at a rogue blond strand of hair from her eyes—clearly flustered—and lets out a sigh of annoyance. “So you came over here to tell me what a crap job I do on my yard? Thanks.”

  My grin is wolfish. “I came to see if you’d hire me.”

  At this, she scoffs. “You’re just like your dad. Arrogant and presumptuous. Of course I won’t hire you. Not only do you have the worst business spiel known to man, but I also can’t afford you.”

  Lies.

  Everyone in town knows she does well at her advertising firm.

  I give her a shrug. “I’ll do it for free.”
My brows furrow as I reword that statement. “Well, not exactly free. A trade. I need something from you in return.”

  Stephanie’s face turns an even brighter crimson. She shoots Lacy a confused look. Lacy’s husband chuckles from beside her.

  “What do you want from me?” Stephanie’s voice has risen a few octaves.

  I pause for a long moment. My gaze unabashedly peruses along her curves before I meet her stare with a conspiratorial grin. “One thing.” You.

  “W-What?”

  I smirk. “I need you to get me an internship at your agency. Dad won’t let me intern at his company because he wants me to bring some different experiences to the table. Plus, the college I plan on going to likes when you volunteer. Dad thinks it would be a conflict of interest if my only experience interning was with him.” I give her my best puppy dog stare.

  “Okay.”

  “What?” Lacy asks, her voice coming out a choke of surprise.

  Stephanie lifts her chin. “We need an intern. Quinn Blakely’s son would be a good fit if Anthony here has one iota of his father’s work ethic and drive.” She sighs and flutters her fingers at me. “And I do need a yard boy.”

  My jaw clenches in irritation. “I’m not a boy.”

  I’m eighteen. A fucking man.

  “She needs a pool guy too,” Lacy pipes up. “Javier forgets to come half the time and does a crappy job.”

  “Lacy!” Stephanie admonishes. “I don’t need—”

  “I’ll do anything you want,” I murmur, my voice low and promising.

  It shuts her up. She shoots her daughter a helpless stare.

  “Looks like you have a job, Anthony,” Lacy says to me with a grin.

  “From the sounds of it,” Easton chimes in. “Like three free jobs. Good luck with that. If you’re in the business of working for free, the church could always use an extra pair of hands to polish those pews. They sure do get dirty.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I tell Easton before turning my attention to Steph. I jut out my hand, eager to touch her. “Do we have a deal?”

  She slides her tiny hand into mine and immediately it’s as though electricity pulsates between us. If we didn’t have an audience, I’d be compelled to give her hand a little tug and pull her against my chest. I bet her hair smells fucking amazing.

  “You can let go now,” Stephanie rasps as she tries to pull away her hand.

  I pin her with a smoldering stare. “It’s a three-part deal. The handshake takes at least three times longer to seal the deal.”

  I don’t let her go because I don’t want to.

  After a beat, the spell is broken and she jerks her hand from mine.

  “Time to go, Anthony. You can come over tomorrow. Be prepared to sweat.” She tries her best to appear threatening but fails miserably. Sexy. All she does is look sexy.

  “I look forward to you making me sweat, Ms. Greenwood,” I murmur as I head toward the door. I cast one more heated glance at her over my shoulder. “All. Day. Long.”

  Stephanie

  The next day…

  “You should go out with Damien,” Anita says, a frown painted on her newly botoxed face. If I didn’t know my best friend so well, I’d say it was the injections making her face so sour. Unfortunately, it’s her personality that’s sour and has been since we met in the ninth grade. “Then he could do all this for you.” She waves her hand in disgust at me and my living room.

  I clomp down the ladder and admire my handiwork. Not having a husband around means I get to do all the hard stuff on my own. My son-in-law, Easton, offered to help, but he and Lacy have a new baby to deal with. They don’t need to be checking off items on my honey-do list. I can do it myself.

  “And what?” I tease. “Miss all this fun?”

  Her nose scrunches. “You don’t have the arm strength to paint the ceiling, Steph. Look at all those spots you missed.” She points a manicured finger at my work.

  “Well, crap,” I grumble. Rolling paint above your head is a lot harder than you’d think.

  “Listen,” she says as she stands, abandoning the untouched muffin I served her earlier. “Let me call my groundskeeper. He probably knows a guy. If it’s the money that’s making you try to do all this yourself, you can always pay me back.”

  Her words sting. It isn’t the money. I just wanted to update my living room after watching too many DIY shows on HGTV. I’d gotten the wild hair to paint my living room—ceilings and walls both. The people on the show made it look much simpler.

  “It’s not the money,” I grumble.

  She reaches forward and tugs at a strand of my hair. “You’re going to have a helluva time getting those white speckles out of your hair before work tomorrow. I’ll call Penny. I know it’s a three-day weekend and she’s probably booked, but she owes me a favor. She’ll do a shampoo and blowout, my treat to you. Just please go see her tonight. You’ll need to look good for Damien. Lest I remind you that you’re no spring chicken anymore. You have to drop your bait where the fish are biting.”

  It’s my turn to curl my lip up. I hardly think thirty-eight is old. Sure, I have a daughter who’s graduated high school and a baby grandson, but I still feel like me. Stephanie Greenwood. It’s times like this that I miss my husband, Joe. He died in a car accident when Lacy was only three. The darkness from that loss still haunts me over fifteen years later. I swallow down my emotion and swat away my friend’s hand.

  “I can wash my own hair,” I huff.

  “I wasn’t trying to be rude but—”

  Ding-dong!

  I let out a sigh of relief, thankful for the reprieve from my overbearing friend. She thinks she has the good life with her rich doctor husband and spoiled rotten kids. But Anita never smiles. Her eyes don’t twinkle with life. She just exists.

  I don’t want to exist like her.

  I want to live.

  I’m still rolling my eyes at my friend when I wrench the door open. I half expect to see Lace and the baby. Not him.

  Anthony Blakely.

  My new lawn boy.

  I stare in shock, the mere sight of him reducing me once again to a blushing, stuttering mess. Just like yesterday. The heat he instantly creates makes me feel like a cougar hussy my friends and I are always joking about. I’m old enough to be his mother—in fact, she and I went to high school together—so the fact that I find him remotely attractive is disturbing.

  But I find him a whole lot more attractive than I’d ever admit to anyone.

  Anthony is gorgeous.

  The kid towers over my five-foot-seven frame. He’s definitely several inches over six feet. Since he was the town’s football hero, his shoulders are wide and muscular. Every part of his body seems as though it was carved from stone. It’s his face, though, that makes him so handsome. That perpetual smirk. The I-know-I’m-hot look he’s always wearing.

  “I’m here to mow,” he says, his tone bored. His knowing steel-gray eyes, however, are anything but bored.

  “I, uh,” I stammer, already hating how stupid I sound in his presence. Yesterday, I could hardly keep my cool because I couldn’t stop staring at his square, chiseled jaw, wondering what it would feel like if I ran my tongue along it.

  “Oh, thank the Lord,” Anita mutters behind me. “You came just in time. But are you even old enough to work?”

  Anthony’s scoffs. “I’m eighteen.”

  Lacy told me he was almost seventeen. Her post-pregnancy brain messed up and I’m thankful. A giant weight lifts from me that I’m lusting over someone legal at least. Despite what Anita says, Anthony looks all man to me.

  “She’s trying to paint her ceiling,” Anita groans. “And doing a terrible job at it.”

  “Hey,” I grumble in protest.

  Anthony smirks before turning his gaze to my friend. “Does she need help?”

  “No.” My argument goes ignored as they discuss my living room as though I’m not here.

  “I’ll cover the cost, son, but please just h
elp her. She’s too old to be getting up on ladders,” she confides, her voice low. “Send the bill to Dr. Morgan’s home address. My husband will cover it.”

  Irritation blooms inside of me. I’m about to throttle my nosy friend. Anthony wisely doesn’t say a word, just nods his head. I give Anita a brisk wave until she turns her back to walk to her white Mercedes. When I flip her off, Anthony snorts.

  “I don’t need the help,” I bite out before storming back inside. I’ve just started to close the door behind me when something stops it. A giant manboy comes pushing through behind me.

  “Let’s see how bad you fucked it up,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.

  I ignore the way it rattles its way right to my core. He saunters past me and I can’t help but admire his backside. All muscled perfection taking up my space. Once in the living room, he stands with his hands on his narrow hips. His ass is firm and bitable in his basketball shorts. I have to bite my own lip to keep from blurting that out to him. Heat caresses my skin as I wonder dirty things I have no business wondering.

  Like…what does he look like without those shorts?

  He turns back around and I’m caught checking out his ass. Except now, I’m staring right at his crotch. His shorts bulge where his cock is and he’s not even hard. My cheeks burn as I wonder how much bigger he could possibly get.

  All this wondering is going to get me in some serious trouble.

  “What do you think? Looks good, huh?” I utter, dragging my gaze up to meet his.

  His dark brow is lifted in amusement. “Pretty damn good,” he says and then bites the corner of his bottom lip. He lazily roams his gray eyes over my horrible outfit. If I had remembered this gorgeous guy was going to show up on my doorstep today, I would’ve put on makeup or worn something sexier than one of Joe’s old paint T-shirts and a pair of shorts. I certainly would have worn a bra. As if clued into the way my nipples are peaked, he drops his stare to them. I swallow and quickly cross my arms over my ample chest to hide the evidence of my arousal for him.