The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity

by Devon Hartford

  “Mom doesn’t do it,” I grimace.

  “I know, right? What if Mom marries Mr. McKnight some day?”

  “She’d never do that,” I snort.

  “Why not? He’s hot for an old guy.”

  “I guess. Wait, what do you know about hot old guys?”

  Sometimes Charity surprises me with the things she says. She’s not a kid anymore. She shrugs. “Just sayin’. Mr. McKnight looks like Lance. They’re both hot.”

  “Charity! What’s wrong with you! You’re fourteen!”

  “I’m not blind,” she smirks.

  Suddenly my heart is hammering. What would happen if Mom did fall for Mr. McKnight? It could happen. Divorced people get remarried all the time.

  Oh.

  No.

  Mom wouldn’t actually marry him, would she?

  If she did, that would make Lance my—

  “Watch out!” Charity screams.

  I slam on the breaks and nearly hit a motorcycle turning out of a strip mall driveway. For a second I think it’s Lance and I’m about to run over my hot new neighbor, then I realize the motorcycle is bright green. Lance’s is black. More importantly, I stop in plenty of time. But every muscle in my body is locked up tight. “Sorry,” I mutter to Charity then hastily crank down the window. I stick my head out and yell at the guy on the motorcycle, “Sorry!”

  He flips me off before speeding onto the road and driving off.

  “Geez, Chastity,” Charity grouses, “what the heck? You almost hit that guy!”

  “I know!” I groan.

  “All I said was—”

  “Shut up!”

  Twenty minutes later, we’re walking through Target. Charity makes a beeline for women’s underwear and starts rifling through black bras.

  “Charity!” I gasp. “What are you doing?”

  “Duh. I stopped wearing training bras at the beginning of summer. Don’t you remember? Dad took me bra shopping in Illinois way back in July. Oh wait. You were here in LA working. Sorry, my bad.”

  “Dad took you bra shopping?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I bet that was weird.”

  “Not really. He just waited outside the dressing rooms and paid for everything when I was done.”

  “He didn’t let you buy black bras, did he?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t think he would’ve cared. But we both know Mom would’ve freaked if I brought home anything other than white. And blamed Dad. So I got white.”

  For a moment, I’m completely stunned. Charity is growing up really fast. Sometimes I forget she’s not eight anymore.

  “Let’s go look at makeup,” Charity grins deviously.

  “Charity! Mom won’t let you have makeup.”

  “I just wanna look.”

  “We’re here to buy paper plates and plastic cups.”

  “Are you serious? Mom is completely gaga for Mr. McKnight. She’s not gonna notice if we’re late.”

  Why do I think she’s right?

  Wow, everything really did turn upside down yesterday when the McKnight’s arrived.

  “We can look at whore’s paint on the way out,” I say in my best big sister voice. That’s what Mom calls makeup. Charity giggles. “Plates first.”

  “Hey, you’re eighteen. You can wear all the whore’s paint you want. Maybe you should wear some for Lance.”

  “What? Why would I do that?”

  “Duh. Because you like him.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “Liar. I saw the way you were looking at him all yesterday. You like him.”

  “So what if I do?”

  “Maybe you should get a black bra. And a thong. Guys like thongs.”

  She’s right. The granny panties Mom allows me to buy would never fly for a guy like Lance. “How would you know what guys like?”

  “Don’t be dumb. I go to public school and we have the internet.”

  I smirk, “If you keep talking like that, Mom’ll pull you out and home school you.”

  Her eyes goggle. “No, please no. I would kill myself if she did that. Or run away.” She chuckles casually.

  I want to laugh, but something about her tone worries me. I don’t think Charity would actually kill herself, but the very idea freaks me out. “Just don’t talk about black bras and guys in front of Mom. Or makeup. Okay?” I sound like such an uptight big sister right now.

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  “I didn’t say you were. Just watch what you say around Mom.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Let’s get those plates.”

  On our way to the cash registers, we pass the Family Planning aisle. Every time I buy tampons, I notice the boxes of condoms. I always steal secret glances at them, wondering what it would be like to not only buy them but also use them. If I’m going to have sex with Lance, I better be prepared. Can I sneak a box without Charity noticing? I don’t mean steal it. I would never steal. But can I somehow bring them to the register and pay for them without Charity seeing? No, I can’t risk it. I’ll have to come back later.

  “What are you doing?” Charity pries.

  I realize I slowed to a stop while she kept walking. “Nothing,” I gasp and start walking.

  She turns and walks toward me. She’ll figure out what I was looking at the second she sees the condom display. If she hasn’t already.

  I stride toward her, reaching for her wrist. “Let’s go.”

  She pulls her arm away and walks right past me and stops, looking down the aisle. “You were looking at condoms.”

  “No I wasn’t! Let’s go. Mom is probably wondering what’s taking us so long.” Ever since Lance, I’ve been lying left and right.

  “No she’s not. She’ll probably ask if she can borrow some of your condoms for Mr. McKnight.”

  “I don’t have any condoms!” At least that’s the truth. So far. “And would you shut up about Mom and Mr. McKnight already?!”

  She turns down the aisle and emerges a second later holding a box of Lifestyle condoms. “I hear these are good.”

  “Geez, Charity! Are you serious?”

  “Don’t be stupid.” She jabs the box toward me. “Mom would never let you get an abortion.”

  I’m stunned.

  I buy the condoms, but pay for them with cash on a separate receipt.

  I’m speechless the entire drive home.

  Did Charity somehow hear Lance and me in my room last night?

  The thought horrifies me.

  What kind of an example am I setting for my little sister?

  Chapter 6

  CHASTITY

  Mr. McKnight is still in the kitchen when we get home. Neither he nor Mom have mussed hair or rumpled clothes. They most likely did not have sex while we were gone. But you never know.

  Mr. McKnight tips back the last of his AriZona Iced Tea. “All outta tea.” He stands up.

  “Would you like something else?” Mom offers. “I can make anything you’d like.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll get a fresh bottle from my fridge.”

  “Are you sure? I make a terrific sweat tea. I can whip some up in a jiffy.”

  “She does,” Charity says. “But we all know how long a jiffy is.”

  “Charity,” Mom hisses.

  Charity smirks.

  Mr. McKnight chuckles. “Thanks, Faith. I’ll just hop back home and grab a fresh bottle.”

  Mom looks disappointed. “Okay.” She walks him to the front door and returns a second later. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t want to try my tea.”

  “Because, he knows how long a jiffy is,” Charity chuckles.

  “Don’t you have bathrooms to clean?” Mom prods.

  I snicker.

  Mom glares at me, “The pool isn’t going to clean itself.”

  Out back, I scoop leaves from the pool with the skimmer. The sun is high in the blue sky and the summer weather is perfect. I’d love to be out here in my new pink bikini working on my tan, but with Mr. McKnight back in the h
ouse, Mom would say something, and I’m sick to death of her saying something. She’s been doing it all day.

  Sadly, she’s like this every day.

  I need to ask my boss Mr. Molton for more hours at Marble Slab so I can move out yesterday.

  My thoughts drift to Lance as I lazily skim the pool.

  I didn’t see his motorcycle outside and his Dad didn’t say anything about where he might be. What’s he doing right now? Is he thinking about me while he does it? I wish I knew. Just because he broke into my bedroom last night and came all over me doesn’t mean he’ll be back tonight or tomorrow. He doesn’t exactly look like the type. My shoulders slump at the thought.

  I hope I’m wrong about him.

  Grunting from Lance’s backyard catches my attention.

  I edge my way toward the fence.

  The grunting continues.

  I try to peek through the slits between the fence boards, but all I see is shrubs. I could start hopping to get a view over the fence and the tall shrubs, but I can imagine Mom yelling at me to stop snooping.

  More grunting. It sort of sounds like Lance. But I can’t be sure.

  “Fuck yeah.” Grunt. “That’s it, bitch. Just like that.” Grunt.

  My eyes goggle.

  He’s got to be kidding.

  “Fuuuuuck yeaaaaaah.”

  Is he having sex with someone? In his backyard? Hours after forcing his way into my bedroom?

  This is ridiculous!

  I’m going to kill him!

  I work my way toward the fence, pretending to skim the pool. I still can’t see ship through the fence and the shrubs. I move toward the side of the house so Mom can’t see me unless she comes outside. Then I hop. I can’t get enough height with the skimmer in hand, so I lay it down quietly on the patio and hop again.

  All I see is the top of Lance’s head and his bare shoulders. I hop again. His muscles flex impressively. Another hop. His body goes up and down rhythmically. So does mine, but only because I keep hopping like a pogo stick. I must look ridiculous.

  “Fuck yeah,” he hisses.

  He is definitely having sex with someone but I can’t see who. Up, down. Up, down.

  I’m enraged. I have to know who he’s with.

  I try to get a better look. Hop. Hop. Hop.

  I’m also a little bit turned on, which enrages me further.

  So I stop hopping and grab the skimmer and scoop a wad of wet leaves from the pool and throw them over the fence at Lance in a wet lump.

  “What the fuck?” he blurts.

  Direct hit! I throw another netful of leaves. Serves him right.

  “Hey!” A second later, his head hops above the fence between two shrubs. “Chastity?” hop “Is that you?” hop.

  I almost laugh at how stupid he looks hopping up and down. But I’m too mad to laugh. “Yeah it’s me.” I scoop up more leaves and time my fling so it hits him in the face on the next hop. Smack! “Jerk!” Still too mad to laugh.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “What the frick are you doing?” I’ve got another net load ready, holding the pool skimmer like a Valkyrie holds a spear before charging into battle.

  Two shrubs suddenly shake above the fence like someone is climbing up them. Lance’s face appears between them a second later.

  I smack him in the face with the net. One wet leaf sticks to his face.

  He stays where he is, eyes clamped shut, and spits the wet leaf off his mouth before glaring at me. “Are you insane?”

  Why does he have to be so gorgeous? “No, but you are!” I circle around with the skimmer and dip it in the pool for another assault.

  “Stop!”

  “You stop!” I whip the skimmer around.

  He drops from view as water flings over the fence, missing him. “You are crazy! You know that? Can you tell me what the fuck is going on?!”

  “What’s her name?” I’ve got the skimmer at the ready again, but I’m out of leaves.

  “Whose name?”

  “The girl you’re having sex with!”

  “What?!”

  “I heard you! ‘Frick yeah! That’s it, b-word! Just like that! Frick, frick, frick!’.”

  He laughs. It’s a wonderful sound that makes me hate him more. “You think I was having sex with someone in my backyard just now?”

  “I know you were! I saw you!”

  “No you didn’t,” he says calmly.

  “Did too!”

  “I wasn’t. I promise.” He sounds sincere.

  “Then what were you doing?” I sound hurt and angry.

  “Come over and I’ll show you,” he says calmly.

  “I’m not coming over. Ever.”

  “Come over. Now.”

  Why does that make me pause? It shouldn’t. It should make me look for something else to throw at him. “Fine,” I huff and put the skimmer down beside the house.

  “Meet me at the gate.”

  I walk along between the fence and the house and out my gate to the front yard.

  Lance stands holding his gate open. He’s shirtless and wearing nothing but black board shorts. Every inch of his skin is golden brown and glistening with sweat in the sun. Every single muscle is visible. Like, all eight hundred of them.

  I would lick the sweat off of each one of those muscles if not for the fact I want nothing to do with philandering Lance ever again.

  “After you,” he nods into his yard.

  I squeeze past him, determined not to touch any of his gorgeous, I mean gross, muscles.

  “Have a look around. There’s nobody here but me.”

  No one on the lawn. I check the other side of his house. No one there either. Just dirt along the fence. “So what were you doing? Pushups?” As if. A guy like Lance doesn’t have to strain that hard to do pushups. He can probably do them for hours. While having sex with some random b-word. Yeah, there’s a girl around here somewhere. I just have to find her.

  “No, not pushups. Check this out.” He kneels down on the grass and sets his hands in front of him like he’s about to do a pushup. He slowly and smoothly extends his legs behind him, only they’re not resting on the ground. They float a foot in the air. In fact, his entire body floats parallel to the ground, except for his hands, which hold everything up.

  “How do you do that?” I marvel.

  He doesn’t answer. He just floats there, holding the pose. Then he does several pushups, still floating. His arms bulge and the veins pop like they’re going to burst.

  “Wow,” I giggle. “That’s amazing.” It’s also a total turn on.

  “And fucking hard,” he grunts. After the last pushup, he slowly tucks his knees back to his chest without touching his toes to the ground, then stands up. His entire chest is bright red and the muscles are pumped. “That’s what I was doing back here. It’s called a planche pushup.”

  “A what?”

  “Planche. It’s a gymnastics thing. Great workout.”

  “That is so cool. Can you do it again?”

  “Sure,” he grins and kneels down and does it again.

  Although I wanted an excuse to see his muscles flex and watch his tattoos dance over them, it’s also fascinating to watch. Who doesn’t like hardbodies doing gymnastics? He does more pushups. He’s grunting and shaking again and all I can think about is him grunting and shaking on top of me. While he’s inside me. I’m getting wet. I better stop watching.

  He stands up. “Had enough?”

  “Mmmm, can you do it once more?”

  He smirks, “Fuck off. You do it.”

  “Can you show me how?”

  “Can you do a push up?”

  “I can do twenty-five guy push ups.”

  He raises his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s not bad. But guy push ups are here,” he holds his hand level with his waist, “and planche pushups are up here,” he lifts his hand above his head. “You have to work up to it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you serious?”<
br />
  “You can be my trainer.” Do I sound desperate? I hope not.

  His slow devil’s grin tugs at his lips. “It’ll be a lot of hard work.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “You’ll have to do everything I say. No questions and no arguing.”

  “Not a problem. You met my mom. I’m used to following orders.”

  “This is a different kind of order.”

  “Oh? What kind?”

  His eyes glimmer wickedly. “My kind.”

  “I told you I can handle it.” What am I agreeing to? I don’t care. As long as he has his shirt off, I’ll agree to anything.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” he drawls, his eyes afire.

  “Chastity! I thought you were cleaning the pool!” Mom hollers from the other side of the fence. “Chastity?! Where did you go? You left the skimmer out! It belongs in the garage!”

  I don’t want her knowing I’m back here with Lance. With his shirt off. Even if I am eighteen. I whisper to him, “Come to my pool party tonight.”

  “You’re having a party?”

  “In my backyard. It’s my birthday.”

  “Nice. Turning nineteen?”

  “Ummm…” I consider lying but I’ve done enough of that already. “Nope. Eighteen.” I grin innocently.

  He narrows his eyes. “Yesterday you told me you were already eighteen.”

  “I am today,” I grin. “As of twelve hours ago.”

  “Seriously?” He arches a doubtful brow.

  “Yes. I’m eighteen.”

  His devil’s grin returns and he snickers, “You dirty little liar.”

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  “Gimme your phone number. I might be late.”

  My heart hammers. He wants my phone number! “Where’s your phone. I’ll put it in for you.”

  “That’s what she said,” Lance grins.

  “What?”

  “Just tell me your number. I’ll remember it.”

  “Chastity!” Mom shouts. “Are you out here?! Where did that girl go?”

  I tell Lance my number and he repeats it back to me. “Gotta go!” I whisper and jog out front. When I’m in my own backyard, Mom is staring at me, hands on hips.

  “Where have you been, Chastity? We have a thousand things left to do.”