I’m not proud of this, but it happened. I need to get it off my chest. Names have been changed for obvious reasons. It went down a little something like this.
I settled into my reclining sofa and cracked an ice cold beer. It was an unseasonably warm May afternoon, and the sun was at its peak in the clear blue sky, scorching everything that was under its glare. The thermostat read a blistering 81 degrees. I was about to flick on the TV when I heard a knock on my front door. I sighed and rose to answer it.
“Hi, Mr. Peterson!”
A nubile young girl with sandy blonde hair stood before me, wearing a bright pink bikini top and a pair of daisy dukes, unbuttoned to reveal the matching bottoms. I did a double take. Who was this pretty young thing? And how did she know my name?
“I’m trying to earn some money for the summer and I saw that your car could use a little wash. Mind if I take care of that for you?” the girl beamed at me with bright blue eyes and a charming smile.