My Wild Sexy Summer With Country Chicks... - -hot

“You’ve been watching us,� she said, untying her flannel from her waist.

Two days later, I was speeding down a dusty gravel road in rural Kentucky, my Audi scraping against potholes the size of small moons. The GPS died. My cell signal was a ghost. And that’s when I saw her. My Wild Sexy Summer With Country Chicks... -HOT

Let’s just say I learned that country chicks don’t just like to share. They excel at it. Autumn came too fast. The leaves turned gold and crimson. The first frost kissed the fields. And I had a choice: go back to the city, back to the gray cubicles and the cold apartments and the women who thought “adventure� meant trying a new brunch spot. “You’ve been watching us,� she said, untying her

“And we’ve decided,� Savannah added softly, “that what happens on the farm, stays on the farm. But you have to earn it.� My cell signal was a ghost

One humid July night, they cornered me in the main house. The AC was broken. Everyone was sweating. Daisy was mixing moonshine with fresh-squeezed lemonade. Savannah was barefoot on the porch swing. June was sharpening a knife (for cooking, she said, but the look she gave me said otherwise).

And every night, when the Kentucky sun sets in a blaze of orange and purple, I thank the Lord—and every devil I know—for the summer three country chicks taught this city boy exactly what “hot� really means.