Mr. H.O.A. by Carina Taylor (hot novels to read .txt) 📕

"Only fifty, huh? Planning on getting out early for good behavior?"

I yelped when he pulled his hand free of mine and squeezed my ticklish knee.

"I don't know if I'll qualify for good behavior after being married to someone who breaks and enters houses."

"Says the squatter!"

Bane kept me laughing and joking until we pulled off the highway into Burnside. Two more minutes and we were driving through a trailer park. We stopped in front of the trailer that matched the number in my dad's text.

"You ready for this?"

"I'm ready for anything with you."

I kissed him slowly on the lips. "Same here, Mr. HOA."

The End

Thank you!

Mr. H.O.A. was a labor of love from a lot of people. First of all, thank you to my husband for encouraging me to write it. For sitting down and talking out the story. For insisting Harold be in there. He was right—Harold was a lot of fun.

Thank you to Ashley and Sarah for supporting me and talking me down from the proverbial cliff and bonfire where I wanted to roast my unfinished manuscript. You guys saved this story and my sanity.

Thank you Jenny for your many suggestions and pointing out those pesky p(l)ot holes. Thank you Alison for your incredible eye for detail!

Thank you to the readers who have encouraged me and supported me on this journey! I hope you love Bane and Nola as much as I did.

I really hope you enjoyed Mr. H.O.A. As a romantic comedy writer, I love to craft stories that are funny, light-hearted, yet still relevant.

Did you know that reviews help authors? Did you know that as an author I even read the reviews? If you take the time to review Mr. H.O.A. it would be so much fun to hear from you!

Review here!

Miss TrailerhoodBy Carina Taylor

Chapter 1Riley

Should I go nude?

Or maybe a little more tan?

Deciding which way you looked best would be difficult for anyone, but it was especially difficult when your hair was wrapped in a towel. It automatically lowered your self-confidence—and made you wonder if you shared the genetics of a troll.

Having eye cream slathered so thick I could see it under my eyes didn’t help either. Oh well. I guess I’d go nude. It made a statement.

With a heavy sigh, I snatched the nail polish off the shelf and dropped it into my basket.

It would scare most people to go to the grocery store looking like I did. But that was the beauty of living in Oregon. When you went to the store, you saw people in all states of dress—or undress. Some people wore their pajamas. About eighty percent of the population appeared in yoga pants. And every once in a while, you could spot a person wearing hardly anything. But the only time I went nude was when I painted my nails that color.

Snatching some cotton balls, I tossed those into my basket before I stopped by the baby section to grab baby wipes. They made the best makeup removers.

I had to hurry because I only had two hours before I went live and only three hours before my sister got home from her friend’s. It was the first week of summer break, and I was already frantically trying to think of fun summer activities for Wren and me.

Luckily, tonight was cookie night.

I turned down the baking aisle of the convenience store. Convenience was right. It was practically right next door to my house. And this convenience store had the decency to stock regular food items. Tonight was chocolate-chip-cookie night, and if Wren came home to find that we were out of chocolate chips, I would be in big trouble.

I paused in front of a mirror that was part of the sunglasses display. The avocado smeared beneath my makeup-less eyes usually helped remove the puffiness, but I wasn’t sure it would work today. It needed to. I had to take photos tonight.

Setting the basket on the front counter, the woman standing there helped me empty it. After laying the chocolate chips and nude nail polish on the counter, I pulled my card out of my phone case and swiped it.

“Big night planned?” Marni, the woman who managed the convenience store, asked.

“We’re making cookies tonight if you want to stop by.”

Marni tugged at the large hoops in her ears. “Well, Dean and I have tickets to the mud show tonight, but thanks for the offer.”

I nodded and tucked my card back into my phone case. Marni and I lived only a street apart.

The first time I’d met her, she told me that her boyfriend, Dean, was going to propose any day now. That was three years ago, and he was still coming up with excuses. “You taking pictures tonight?” she asked.

“Yes, Wren is hanging out with friends today, so I figured I’d get some evening shots with Tony.”

“He’s getting better. That YouTube video he watched really helped.”

“I agree.” Tony was another near neighbor who was dabbling in photography. He was decent enough and wanted to add to his portfolio, so he helped me in trade for chocolate chip cookies and girlfriend advice.

Although his pictures weren’t bad, I doubted he’d ever make it as a true professional. He’d do fine snapping pictures of T-ball practice and backyard weddings, but he wouldn’t be featured in any magazines—not in this lifetime.

Marni passed me the paper sack. “You want me to get you a ticket to mudding next week? Dean’s got a friend that works for the owner’s son.”

Sounded like she had those tickets locked in tight. “Thanks, Marni. If it’s no trouble, I know Wren would love that.”

Unfortunately, Wren was now at the age where she liked boys. I couldn’t convince her they still had germs and she needed her cootie shot every time she accidentally touched one.

Right now, she had a crush on Mason Higgins—someone in the making of a true redneck. Nice enough kid, just not too bright. He liked mudding, though, so now Wren liked