The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity (19 page)

“I just want to sit some place. That picnic table in the grass looks good.”

“You want me to sit with you? I won’t say anything.”

“Sure.”

The 170 freeway is visible from the park and Sunday cars blow by. For a neighborhood park, this one is pretty big, but the surrounding streets and apartments are visible in every direction. Two guys play frisbee on a wide patch of lawn. A woman jogs past with a spotted dog on a leash. A Mexican family surrounds the next table over. Rapid fire Spanish and laughter billows into the air, wafted up by the meaty smoke coming from the rugged public grill. Kids circle a battered piñata hanging from a nearby tree, taking swings. By LA standards, we’re as alone as we’re going to get.

I sit on top of a square cement table, hunched over with my arms folded across my waist and my ponytail dangling from one shoulder, feet on the bench. Lance sits to my right on the next bench, legs outstretched, rocking the heel of one boot side to side in the tamped down grass.

My emotions are a jumbled mess. Too many extremes in too short a time. Too high and too low. I can’t deal with all this right now. I stuff everything down as deep as I can and just sit there, numb. Numbing out is a trick I learned after one too many screaming matches with Mom. Rage is draining. I hate it. Numbness is easier. But it doesn’t stop the dentist’s drill in my stomach.

Whir.

Or my thoughts.

They go right back to Caden. I hope he’s okay.

Whir.

And Mr. Molton. I suck.

Whir.

I’ll have to see Mr. Molton in church next Sunday. Unless I don’t go. Maybe I should quit going altogether. The low hum in my stomach blossoms into nausea. It’s the stress. The price of numbness. All that anxiety has to go somewhere. Mine likes to destroy my stomach.

Whir.

I mutter, “I feel sick.”

“Are we still not talking?” Lance says softly.

“You can talk.”

“Have you eaten anything today?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But have you eaten anything today?”

“You know what? I haven’t eaten a thing since last night.”

“Maybe you should have some Sprite or 7 Up or something. You might be dehydrated.”

“Shoot, I haven’t dranken anything since I walked home from church.” I said dranken. I can barely think. I do need food.

“There’s a 7-Eleven right across the street. I’ll go get you something.”

“I’ll come with you.”

He stands when I do. He lifts his hand like he’s going to grab mine.

I blurt, “Did you steal that money?”

He drops his hand. His eyes shift from side to side doing a whole lot of looking everywhere but at me.

“Did you?”

His fiery eyes land on mine. “You watched me count my money out for your boss.”

“So?”

“What kind of bills did I give him?”

I frown, “Stop dodging. Answer my question.”

“What kind?”

I shrug, trying to picture it. “A bunch of hundreds and some twenties.”

“Eight hundreds and four twenties. It was all I had on me.”

“Who carries that kind of money around?”

“I do.”

I lose it. “You don’t even have any furniture!! You have a thrift store couch and you live out of moving boxes!!!! How am I supposed to believe you just happened to have that much money?! If you subtract the stolen money, you would’ve had like one or two hundred in your wallet!
That
I’d believe. But not eight whatever!!”

“What sort of bills do you usually have in your register?”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“What. Sort. Of bills?” It’s a question and a command.

Irritated, I scowl, “Lots of ones. Always more than you need. Fives, tens, twenties under the tray. Oh, ship.”

He nods, smirking. “How many hundreds do you get in an afternoon?”

“Not eight.”

And like that, I believe him.

My stomach starts to settle. What a relief.

I lean forward and grab his hand and lead him across the grass holding hands.

We J-walk between moving cars on Tujunga. At the 7-Eleven, Lance opens the door for me. When I pass through, it chimes.

It sounds exactly the same as the one at Marble Slab.

Whir.

Lance notices and squeezes my hand. He gazes into my eyes while stroking the back of my hand with his thumb, but he doesn’t say anything. He just leads me through the store as he grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator wall. “Do you want a room temperature one?” He motions at a stack of them behind me.

“No, cold is fine.”

He leads me to the soda machine and grabs a 64 ounce cup. “In case you’re really thirsty. Ice?”

“Please.”

Ice clatters and he fills the cup with Sprite.

He grabs a big bag of Peanut M&M’s. “Protein. Everybody likes M&M’s.”

I struggle not to smile. He’s right. I love them.

He pays with his credit card.

Outside, we sit on the curb like school kids.

He holds the Sprite up to me with a straw in it. “Sip.”

I do.

He tears the corner of the M&M’s open with his teeth then sets the bag between his crossed legs and pries out a brown M&M. “Do you like brown? They’re always the last to go.”

“I like brown best. They’re more chocolatey,” I grin.

“They’re all the same,” he chuckles then feeds it to me.

I chew. It crackles and melts in my mouth then crunches peanut. “No, the brown color adds a chocolate ambience. What about blue says chocolate to you?”

“You have a point.” He drops the blue one he’s holding back into the bag and pries out a brown one. He’s smiling when he crunches into it.

I didn’t realize Lance could be such a gentleman. And I never imagined eating M&M’s and sipping Sprite sitting on the dirty curb at 7-Eleven could be so incredibly romantic.

As the sugar goes down, the dentist’s drill in my stomach whirs faintly, reminding me hazily of the fact that my life is now upside down.

Fucked, fired, and fed by the hand of this gorgeous man in less than an hour.

With Lance, anything is possible.

What a crazy day.

Chapter 14

CHASTITY

“I don’t want to go home.”

“We can go wherever you want,” Lance says as he tosses the wadded M&M’s bag into the cement can in front of 7-Eleven.

I’m buzzing from a sugar high. I see the two shirtless guys at the park still playing frisbee. “I wish we had a frisbee.”

“Those guys have one.”

“What, are you gonna steal it? Oh, sorry. That didn’t come out right. I meant we can’t use theirs. It’s… theirs.” My idiot streak continues.

He smirks, “I knew what you meant. Let’s join ‘em.”

“Can we do that?”

“We can ask.”

I dash across traffic, J-walking. I wait on the other side.

Lance crosses casually, not even watching the cars.

“You’re gonna get hit!” I holler.

He shakes his head, grinning, but doesn’t go any faster. Just strolls up to me.

“You think the world revolves around you, don’t you?”

“Last time I checked,” he grins.

“Let’s go.” I grab his hand and drag him toward the guys with the frisbee. They turn out to be cool and we play for over an hour. Lance is a total show off, throwing the frisbee forehand, backhand, over his head, left handed, diving for the disc, rolling in the grass. I laugh constantly and forget about everything except frisbee.

Afterward, the four of us sit in the grass in a circle, leaning back on our hands, feet in the center, chatting about nothing and everything. Both guys are cute and cut. Not as built as Lance, who also has his shirt off displaying muscles and tats, but they’re tan and plenty handsome. The guy with the bandana and the big smile says, “You guys wanna walk over to Tokyo Delve’s for sushi and saki?”

I glance at Lance.

“Works for me,” he says.

The four of us walk across the park to the stoplight.

Bandana, who is really tall, asks me, “What was your name again?”

Lance jumps in, chosing that moment to wrap his arm around my shoulder. “I’m Lance. This is Chaz.” His smile says, “
Hands off, Bandana
.”

Bandana nods vigorously. “Cool names. I’m Scottie.”

“Mitch,” says the other guy with the puka shell necklace and wavy blond hair.

I grin to myself because I’m surrounded by cute guys. Too bad Lark isn’t here. She could run interference with Scottie and Mitch. I can change that. I pull my phone out of my khakis and linger behind the guys and call her while we stroll down Magnolia. While I wait for her to answer, I realize my boobs itch. It must be the sweat from playing frisbee combined with the whipped cream and caramel under my bra. Gross. I need a shower.

Lark answers, “What up, bitch?”

“Do you know Tokyo Delve’s in North Hollywood?”

“The sushi place?”

“Yeah. Meet me there.”

“No! I just got back from the beach. I’m fried.”

“Cute guys,” I singsong.

“How cute?”

“You won’t be disappointed.”

“Wait, who is this? I think you called the wrong number. This is Lark Barksdale. My friend Chaz doesn’t know how to pick up cute guys. So if you kidnapped her, be warned. I know ninjas and I will have them assassinate your ass.”

I laugh, “Just get down here.”

“I’ll be there in ten. You better not be lying about the guys. Because, ninjas.”

“I’m not!”

“Ninjas,” she warns ominously and hangs up.

The front of Tokyo Delve’s is all flashing Vegas lights and neon. Whenever I’ve driven by at night, there’s always a line outside to get in. Not tonight. We’re seated immediately. Lark walks in minutes later and I wave her over. She’s basically naked in her pink halter and yellow mini. Her hair is perfect, her lips lush, and her smokey makeup pops her eyes. She sees Mitch and Scottie before they see her and she silently mouths to me, “
Nice
.” She plops down between them on the other side of the six person table. “Howdy, boys.”

They both smile at her, eyes all over her cleavage, which is highlighted by the yellow piping around her pink halter.

She scoots up her chair and smiles at me across the table, “I’ll call off the ninjas.” She holds up her phone and pretends to text someone.

Lance mutters, “What is she talking about?”

“Nothing,” I giggle.

Lark asks, “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

I roll my eyes, “Long story.”

Tokyo Delve’s buzzes with conversation. Half the tables are full already. Scottie orders saki bombs. I don’t even know what that is.

The waitress cards the entire table. “No alcohol for these two.” She points fingers at me and Lark.

“Me neither,” Lance says to the waitress.

“You don’t want a saki bomb, bro?” Mitch asks.

Lance shakes his head. “We’ll have Cokes. That work for you, Lark?”

She smirks, “You’re such a teetotaler.”

Lance shrugs. “Thought I’d make you ladies feel at home.”

I give Lance a thoughtful look. I’m thinking about his dad and his drinking. He probably is too.

Tokyo Delve’s has raucous karaoke and an MC who leads the customers in hip hop line dancing. The waiters even get up on stage and do dance routines that include costume changes and backflips. It’s craziness.

Eventually our waitress brings out four saki bombs and sets them on the table for Scottie and Mitch. Picture saki shot glasses balanced on two chopsticks on top of a beer mug full of beer.

“You sure you don’t want one, bro?” Mitch asks Lance again.

“It’s all you, man,” Lance smiles. I can tell he’s not exactly happy about all the alcohol.

When the waitress leaves, Scottie grins at Mitch across Lark, “You ready? One. Two. Three!” Both guys slap the table top and the shot glasses tumble into the beer. Before Mitch can pick up his glass, Lark grabs it and chugs it.

“Dude, where’s mine?” Mitch grins.

“You have another one,” she laughs.

By the time our sushi arrives, Lark has Scottie and Mitch eating and drinking out of the palm of her hand. I mean that literally. First, she feeds them sushi rolls from her hand. Then at one point, she wants to do belly shots, which she has to explain to me, but Scottie suggests we would get kicked out if she tried, and he clearly doesn’t want Lark going anywhere. Neither does Mitch. I think they’re thinking three way. Since they won’t let her do a belly shot, Lark pours saki into her cupped palms and Scottie gladly sips it from her hands before she gives Mitch a turn.

Lark defies all expectations.

We’re there for hours. Lark and I do the line dance, following along to the MC’s instructions. Lark is wobbly from the saki bombs, but she’s having a blast.

When we sit back down, Lance mutters in my ear, “We should go. Lark is hammered.”

“What are you saying to my bestie?!” Lark slurs, grinning from ear to drunk ear. “I wanna know!” She stands up and tiptoes carefully around the table holding onto it and the chair backs for balance. It doesn’t help. She stumbles into the table and it honks across the floor. Our drinks slosh and a Coke almost spills, but Lance saves it. Scottie grabs Lark’s hips like she’s his, holding her up. “Whoops,” she giggles. She drops into his lap, her arm around his neck. “My hero!” She presses her cheek against his but doesn’t kiss him. I can tell she’s just flirting. A bit too hard for her own good, but flirting.

Scottie is clearly enjoying himself and might have other ideas. He rests his hand on Lark’s thigh, caressing it. They stare at each other and his eyes glimmer.

She chuckles, “Don’t fall in love with me, Scottie. I’m a naughty girl.”

“I’m naughty too,” he winks.

“How naughty are you, naughty Scottie?”

They tongue kiss.

I guess I was wrong.

Mitch watches, possibly jealous. It’s hard to say.

Yes, Lark is a flirt. But I’ve never seen her this drunk.

Lance stands up.

I grab his hand. “Where are you going?”

“To pay the bill. Stay here. Keep an eye on Lark.”

I watch him go to the sushi bar and flag down our waitress to pay. He returns, sticking his wallet back in his pocket. He grabs Lark gently by the arm and stands her up.