Right on cue, Stefan Johansson steps outside in his running gear. He stops short when he sees me with my leg propped up on the side of the mailbox, st...etching my hamstring. He gives me a little wave and begins his own stretches. Time to make my move. “Good morning,” I simper, as I saunter over to him. He grins at me. Such a handsome smile. My job will be fun, at least. “Good morning,” he says, standing up and placing his hands on his hips, feet firmly planted, checking me out. I walk right up. She shook her head. "No sir. My wallet. Tampons. Pictures. Little notebook. A pen."He handed her the purse. "Show me your ID." She complied. He examined it and handed it back to her.I was next. He stood in front of me, six feet away. "And you're?" Alan Dean Addison. Forty-one. From..." I named my home town."You heard what Miss Tina said?" Yessir," I said. Damned straight I called him 'sir', despite him being at least a decade my junior. The guy was small town law enforcement and I was, in my. More

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