I snort, “Mom thinks I’m still twelve.”
“Truth.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Oh, you know. Mom. Has Dad said anything to you about moving us to Illinois?”
I wince when she says us. She’s still hoping I’ll go too. “No, not yet.” It’s the truth. “I’m sure it’ll take some time for his lawyer to figure everything out.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “Do you think Lance would mind if I slept on his couch again?”
“No, but Mom would.”
“Yeah.” She sounds miserable. “Oh, hold on. The wicked witch is summoning me. I have to go. Do you want to see a movie tonight or something? You can bring your date,” she giggles.
“Who, Lance?”
“Yeah. But no making out if we’re sitting together.”
“Of course not!” I chuckle. “I’ll have to ask Lance. He’s been busy lately.”
“Okay. Mom is about to burst a vein, so I better go. Call me later.”
“Okay, bye!” I sound more cheerful than I feel.
I can’t help but worry about what will happen if Charity ends up moving in with Dad. I don’t want to leave Lance. I hate being forced to chose between him and my sister. Just thinking about it makes me nauseous.
Whir.
After a few days, I don’t even notice the nausea. I get used to it. Work is a good distraction. There is a new flurry of calls from potential investors. We drive to a lot of meetings. This time, it isn’t fancy entertainment offices and talent agencies. It’s doctors and lawyers and real estate agents that Lance knows. One guy is literally Lance’s dentist. Lance sells his butt off, doing his best to charm the pants off everyone. Unfortunately, we get nothing but no’s. Lance acts optimistic, telling me and Micah and Beaver that the next one will be the one.
I can tell the stress is starting to wear on him and he’s starting to doubt himself.
It’s wearing on me too because I think it’s making Lance more distant. Our sex life skipped the cooling off part and went straight to frozen. We still haven’t had sex since before Charity ran away, since that time at his office when I told him I loved him. I can’t help but think what I did ruined things between us. He doesn’t even flirt. At work, he’s still fun and irreverent, but that sexiness between us is long dead. I’m afraid Lark was right and I scared him off. Not literally. Just emotionally.
I don’t know.
Whir.
It drives me nuts because I want to ask him what’s wrong, but even I know guys hate talking about their feelings. I don’t want to pry. I just want to take back telling him I love him.
Which I still do.
Sadly.
Maybe I need to stop loving him.
Can you do that?
I don’t know.
Maybe I need to go back to living with Mom and Charity. Charity would like that. Then things would be back to normal. They’d be so normal it would be like Lance never moved in or turned my world upside down.
The only upside in my life is that my first paycheck clears when I cash it. I’m all smiles when I deposit it at the bank. $1,148.14. So many numbers on one check! I’ve never made a deposit this big in my entire life. I’m rich! But it doesn’t make me nearly as happy as I wish.
I’d trade all the money I have in my savings and checking account if Lance would just look at me with that same fire he had in his eyes in the beginning.
That night, I make a move in bed.
Lance lies beside me in his boxers, his back to me.
I can tell he’s not asleep. I peel off my T-shirt and panties and scoot up against him until I feel his sexy butt pressing against me. I kiss the back of his shoulders.
“What are you doing?” he asks in a low but friendly voice.
“Nothing,” I grin, sliding my top hand around to caress his chest. Even relaxed, his muscularity is a total turn on. I slide my hand down his abs, still kissing his shoulders. My heart starts to hammer. I’ve never initiated like this before. I’m out of my element. But I think I can figure it out. I trace the V of his abs down to home plate. To the root. I’m surprised he’s not hard. I can fix that. I take him gently in my hand, savoring the warmth of his softness. Feeling the heat pouring off his back against my chest. I stroke him slowly, hoping to coax him to hardness. I can take this all the way to orgasm, or he can take over whenever he wants. I don’t care. I’m just happy to be holding the most intimate part of him, knowing I have access to this man who I have such strong feelings—
“Not tonight, Chaz,” he says gruffly.
Chaz? He never calls me Chaz.
“I’m really stressed about the meeting tomorrow. Sorry.”
Is he apologizing or is he sorry I tried to touch him?
I slowly release him. “Okay.”
But nothing is okay. My voice hitches as I say it and I swallow hard, retracting my arm mechanically. As I roll over, I am heartbroken. That hurt. More than I thought possible. My entire chest collapses. I’m going to cry. I burrow into myself, trying to disappear from this bed, wishing I had someplace private to go right now.
I consider the couch, but Mr. McKnight is still watching TV. I can’t face him right now. And there’s no way I’m going to Mom’s.
Maybe I should run away.
With my eyes clamped shut, I beat myself up.
Why did I do that?
I should’ve known better.
He was obviously not in the mood.
What was I thinking?
I am so stupid.
After this goes on for way too long, I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to silence the self hate.
When my rationality takes over, I realize the sad truth:
You can’t stop loving someone just because you want to.
No matter how much it hurts.
++++8++++
CHASTITY
“Isn’t Julian Whittaker the guy who discovered Layce?” Micah asks from behind the wheel of his Mini Cooper. We’re spiraling up a road into the Hollywood Hills to our afternoon meeting with none other than Julian Whittaker.
“Yup, Lord Julian,” Lance says, tense.
Micah nods, “That’s what I thought.”
“Lord who?” I ask.
“His producer name is Lord Julian,” Lance says like I’m a stranger.
“Oh.”
For the first time, Lance sits in the front passenger seat next to Micah. He made some excuse about how small the car is when we left the office downtown. I got stuck in back with Beaver. I pretended it wasn’t a major disaster. After last night, it’s just one more example of how Lance is pulling away. I wonder how long this job is going to last. I’ll probably have to suck face and call Mr. Molton after all.
For now, all I can do is pretend I’m not miserable. I smile, “Layce is way fresh. My sister plays her music all the time. I love her song I Rise.” I start singing the opening lyrics, “Your smile disarming, your eyes alarming, you’re my very own Prince Charming…”
“Stop!” Beaver groans. “You’re making my ears bleed!”
I’m not that good of a singer so I stop instantly, embarrassed.
“Her music is awful!” Beaver growls. “Pop diva bullshit! Utter crap. Musical junk food for people with no taste.”
“Wow, Beaver,” I giggle nervously.
He grins, “But I’d still do her.”
Lance smirks, “But would she do you?”
In a serious voice, Beaver nods eagerly, his glasses bouncing on his nose. “Oh, totally.”
Lance bursts out laughing. “You are in deeper denial than anyone I’ve ever met, Beaver.”
“Oh, I’m in deep, all right.” He bites his lower lip aggressively, wrinkling his nose like he’s all that. “Nnnn! Nnnn! Nnnn! Ride me, baby!”
After working with Beaver for weeks, I’m used to it and laugh it off. But he’s still creepily disturbing. At the rate he’s going, I suspect he’ll never lose his virginity. Not that I know he’s a virgin, but come on.
Look at the guy.
Micah says, “I’d love to work with a producer like Julian. There’s a rumor going around he’s doing Taylor Swift’s next album.”
“But is he doing Taylor Swift?” Beaver says in a crafty voice.
I roll my eyes, “Okay, I’ll say it. Fucking Beaver.”
Lance snorts a short laugh.
I grab for that laugh like it’s the key to Lance’s heart and if I can only catch it, I can open him back up and he’ll let me back in. But the moment fades before I think of anything else to say. It doesn’t help we have no privacy because we’re in the car with Micah and Beaver and I’m staring at the back of Lance’s head.
Micah says, “I bet I’d learn more from Julian Whittaker in a single day than I would in six months working alongside anybody else. That guy knows recording inside and out. And the record business.”
Beaver titters, “I hear he knows Layce inside and out too.”
“Beaver,” I groan. I wait for Lance to laugh.
He doesn’t. Instead he says, “Didn’t he win a bunch of Grammies for Layce’s last album?”
“Yeah,” Micah says. “I Rise won in four categories, including best pop video.”
“I remember that!” I say. “It was beautiful. It reminded me of the Disney movie Maleficent. All dark and creepy. Totally cool.”
“That was the one,” Micah says. “If Lord Julian keeps killing it like he has been, he’ll be up for Producer of the Year next Grammies.”
“Wait,” I say, “this Julian guy does videos too?”
“He does everything,” Lance says.
“Could he do your video?” I’m full of excitement.
“Yeah. He could also launch my career into orbit,” Lance says with real appreciation. “That’s why we’re going to meet him.”
“And we’re just going to meet this guy now?” I marvel.
Lance nods. “Yup.”
“Why didn’t we meet him first? It sounds like he can help you more than anybody else we’ve talked to.”
Lance smirks, “Getting a meeting with Julian Whittaker is harder than winning the California State Lottery. Skrillex knows somebody who knows somebody who finally set this thing up. It took weeks to make it all happen. Now we just gotta make sure we don’t blow it.”
“No blowing it,” I grin for emphasis.
“I’ll totally blow it!” Beaver snickers. “Oh wait!”
“Aaaah!” Lance laughs. “Fucking Beaver. You’ll fuck and suck anything that comes your way, won’t you?”
Beaver is beet red. “No! No blowing anything! Eating and salad tossing only! I’m all tongue!” He sticks his out and waggles it, going, “Blahlah-lahlah-lah!”
“Beaver!” I laugh. “You are too much.”
“That’s what she said!” Beaver barks.
“More like he said,” Lance smirks. “If you’re lucky.”
I giggle at that as Micah pulls to a stop in front of a gate set in a long row of tall hedges.
“Is this it?” I ask.
“Yup,” Lance says. To Micah, “Hit the buzzer. Someone’ll answer.”
Micah reaches out the window and presses a button on a metal box inset into a square brick column.
“Yes?” a woman’s voice answers.
Lance leans over Micah, practically climbing on top of him. “Lance McKnight to see Mr. Whittaker.”
“One moment.” After almost five minutes, the speaker crackles and the same voice says, “Please drive up and park to the side of the garage. He asks that you not block any of his cars.”
“Will do,” Lance says, excited. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
As we drive through the gate, I’m picturing some kind of tiny driveway, because we’re in the Hollywood Hills and all the houses are crammed together. But as we circle up a long road to the house, it’s obvious Julian Whittaker lives on a gigantic estate nestled away where you’d never know it. There’s a six car garage set in the hillside below the multi-level mansion. A black Range Rover, black Mercedes, and a black convertible sports car with a red interior are all parked out front.
“Check it out,” Beaver says, pointing toward the sports car. “Ferrari 458 Spider.”
“Nice wheels,” Lance says with admiration.
Micah parks off to the side and we get out of the Mini.
The house is even more impressive than Lord Julian’s cars. It’s like a scattered stack of white boxes with walls of glass, all balanced precariously on top of each other. Almost like a puzzle or Jenga tower or something. Not necessarily my style, but it’s still impressive.
In a low voice, Lance says, “Beaver, don’t say anything stupid and don’t fuck this up. And that goes for you two, no fucking up. Got it?” Lance forks two fingers at me and Micah. “No fuck ups.”
“Best behavior,” Micah smiles.
I grin, “Not one fuck will be upped.” I start giggling at my own joke and Lance smiles wide. It’s the first genuine smile he’s given me in days. After last night, it’s feeble reassurance that we maybe sort of have a slim sliver of a connection remaining. Maybe. I press my doubt down.
Whir.
Stupid dentist’s drill.
Whir-rr-rr.
My stomach grumbles audibly.
“Do you need a sandwich?” Lance asks, irritated.
“Sorry,” I say, feeling stupid. “Won’t happen again. That doesn’t count as a fuck up, does it?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says absently before turning and heading up the square stone staircase that leads to the front doors. He’s annoyed.
Whir.
“Stop it!” I hiss at my stomach, shaking a finger at it.
Whir.
Whatever.
Nobody notices me talking to my stomach because they’re all walking up the steps. As I trail behind them, I say to myself over and over: No fucking up.
No matter what happens when we walk inside, I will not fuck anything up.
I can’t speak for Beaver.
But I will not mess this up for Lance.
Whir.
++++8++++
CHASTITY
“I’m Colette,” a gorgeous woman says when the door opens. She looks like a supermodel in a business suit. “Please come in.” We file inside and she closes the door behind us. “Can I offer you anything to drink?”
“What’ve you got?” Beaver says eagerly. His eyes roll over Colette like she’s his own private pinup. Lance shoots him a look. “Oh, never mind. I’m fine.”
Colette smiles at everyone. “How about water then?”
“Sure,” Lance says.
Colette clicks across the tiles and out of the room.
“No fucking up, Beaver,” Lance whispers.
“Okay. I won’t say anything else.” His regret is sincere.
Soft footsteps catch my attention. Golden blond hair rises up from a flight of stairs that leads downstairs. Followed by an excruciatingly gorgeous and impeccably dressed tan man. Holy cow. This guy just walked off the cover of the latest issue of GQ. He smiles when he sees us. His eyes lock on Lance. “You must be the Phantom.”
“In the flesh,” Lance smiles.
“Julian Whittaker. My brother Max insisted I listen to your last single this afternoon. I’m impressed.” They shake hands briefly. Julian has shiny manicured nails that match the tone of his preppy dress shirt and slacks.
“Strapped & Capped?” Lance says.
“The same. Interesting use of the human voice. Was that an actual baby, or did you modify an adult?”
Lance is about to answer, but Beaver cuts him off.
“That was me,” Beaver says, raising his hand. “I can sound really whiny when I try.”
When he tries? How about always?
Lance glares at Beaver, who shrinks and puts both hands behind his back.
Julian’s glittering emerald eyes dance between Lance and Beaver, as if he’s trying to determine who’s in charge.
I’ll say it again: Fucking
Beaver. He’s not helping things any.
“Regardless,” Julian says. “It was a strong song. The production was a bit compressed, but it was listenable. Very catchy. Excellent hook.”
“Thanks,” Lance says, nearly starstruck.
Micah is also starstruck and stares openly at Julian like the man walks on water.
Maybe they’re overreacting.
Then Julian’s eyes land on me. “And who are you?” He slides between Lance and Micah, who stand in front of me. He parts them like a gentle breeze has blown them out of his way. His magnetism floods the room and draws me to him. He takes my hand and kisses the back of it.
I giggle, “I’m, uh, Chastity.” Why did I say that? I always tell people my name is Chaz.
And… Lance noticed. His eyes narrow with suspicion.
Oops.
“Chastity,” Julian savors the word. “Do you taste as good as you smell?”
I laugh, “Uhhh-mmm-mmm.”
Lance fires a warning glare at me that says, Watch yourself.
I guess I was supposed to utter an immediate no? What can I say? Julian is ten kinds of handsome, but in a way completely opposite to Lance. He’s tall and tan, slightly slender, but the sheer physical presence of him in this mansion nearly sweeps me off my feet. I don’t receive attention like this every day. Make that any day. And certainly not lately from Lance. So sue me if I’m speechless.
“Do you sing?” Julian asks.
“Not really,” I giggle.
Beaver spatters, “She was just singing I Rise in the car on the way up.”
Lance eye stabs him.
Beaver winces, “Sorry.”
Julian is still holding my hand. Not like we’re holding hands, but he’s holding it in front of him like treasure. “I would love to hear your voice, sweet Chastity. Can you sing for me?”
My stomach flutters.
Everyone is staring at me.
The look on Lance’s face says, “You have already upped more than one fuck and are on the verge of upping every last fuck in the building.”
The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity Page 26
