The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity

by Devon Hartford

  “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.

  “No,” Lark moans, “I was kissing Naughty.”

  “Say goodnight to Naughty. It’s past your bed time.”

  Lark stands and coils her arms around Lance’s neck. She smiles with sleepy eyes. “Are you taking me to bed? Do I get to see your lance, Lance? I don’t mind sharing with Chaz. Unless Naughty and Mitch have lances too? Then we can have a jousting tournament!” She giggles at her own joke.

  I grimace.

  “Let’s go, Lark.” Lance puts his arm around her waist and turns her toward the front door.

  I stand up to help.

  Scottie shoots to his
feet and puts a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Yo, bro. Where do you think you’re going with her?”

  “Sit down, dude,” Lance warns.

  “No, man.”

  “Sit. Down.”

  “She’s not your girlfriend, bro,” Scottie says.

  “She’s not yours either, so back off.”

  It’s so loud with all the people dancing and the karaoke, nobody notices the tension between Lance and Scottie. Except Mitch. He stands up, backing Scottie’s play. Both are buzzed on saki.

  Lance looks at me. “Hold her?” I prop up Lark so Lance has his hands free. He turns to the other two. “Gentlemen.”

  They stare at Lance.

  He says, “Lark is going home with us. You are staying here. If you follow us, you will regret it.”

  Scottie’s face goes testosterone. “No, man. She stays with us.”

  Lance’s hand flies up and he knuckles Scottie in the throat with one finger.

  Scottie makes a “Gulck!” sound and crumples into his chair, almost falling on the floor, but his arm slams the top of the table, rattling glasses, and he stays in his seat. Barely.

  “You should sit down too,” Lance says to Mitch.

  He does.

  It’s all over so fast, no one in the restaurant notices.

  Lance helps me walk Lark outside.

  “She can’t drive,” I say on the sidewalk.

  “You drive her home. I’ll follow on my Gixxer.”

  “What’s a gickser?”

  “Gixxer.” He grins, “Sorry. Guy talk. It’s short for GSXR.”

  “You’re such a nerd. Gixxer sounds like a toy.”

  “Boys and their toys,” he chuckles.

  We walk to Lark’s car, load her in, drive to the park where Lance’s Gixxer is, then head toward Lark’s apartment. We walk Lark up the stairs and ring the doorbell.

  “Chaz! How are you?!” Lark’s mom beams. Patience Barksdale is as pretty and blonde as Lark, but she’s very granola and outdoorsy. She won’t let me call her Mrs. Barksdale.

  I smile, “Hi, Patience.”

  “Mom!!” Lark blurts. “I love you so much, Mom!”

  Patience rolls her eyes at drunk Lark then says to me, “She didn’t drive, did she?”

  “No,” I say. “I did.”

  “That’s good. Did she do anything stupid?” she asks, taking Lark from me and Lance in the small apartment’s main area, which includes the tiny dining room, kitchen, and living room.

  “Almost,” Lance says.

  Patience narrows her eyes.

  “It was nothing,” I say hastily.

  “That’s good.” Patience nods uncertainly at me. To Lark, “Why can’t you be more responsible like your sister?” She chuckles nervously as she leads Lark to the couch. “I worry about you.”

  “Why can’t she be more like me?” Lark muses sleepily as we all sit down.

  “You’re right. There’s only one you,” Patience smiles, patting her daughter’s hand lovingly. She turns to me and Lance. “You two don’t have to stay. I can take care of her from here. And thank you, Chaz. As always.”

  “No problem,” I grin.

  “Are you the new boyfriend?” she asks Lance.

  My eyes bug.

  Lance chuckles. “We’re friends. I’m Lance.”

  They shake hands.

  Lark giggles. “I told Mom you’re going to marry each other.”

  My eyes butterfly.

  “Remember,” Lark chirps. “I’m the maid of honor.”

  Patience rubs Lark’s thigh affectionately. “Lark likes to make up stories.” It’s obvious that it doesn’t bother Patience. She accepts it because she loves her daughter unconditionally.

  I’m jealous that Lark can come home drunk and her mom acts like it’s business as usual. Not that Lark drinks often. She doesn’t. But Patience is so mellow. Lark is so lucky. I’ve always been jealous of their relationship, and often dreamed of being adopted into the Barksdale family. Sadly, that’s just fantasy.

  Lark frowns sleepily. “They’re totally getting married.”

  “Okay!” I blurt and shoot to my feet. “Time to go!”

  We say our goodbyes before Lance and I walk down the steps to his motorcycle.

  I say, “Thanks for helping me get Lark home.”

  “No worries. Where to now?” He hands me my helmet.

  “Um…” I don’t want to think about what is going to happen when Mom sees me tonight. And I’m not even drunk. Just jobless.

  Whir.

  Lance frowns, “Something bothering you?”

  “Is it that obvious,” I whine.

  “To me it is. I should get you home.”

  In that moment I realize Lance is a special man with much more depth than meets the eye.

  He is definitely boyfriend material.

  What I can’t tell is whether or not he feels the same way.

  ++++8++++

  CHASTITY

  Lance drives his motorcycle into his driveway and parks.

  I grimace, “I should’ve asked Patience if I could crash at their apartment.”

  “You worried about your mom?”

  “Yeah.” I search Lance’s gorgeous eyes, wondering what he’s thinking.

  “You wanna crash here?”

  My heart jumps. “I would love to!” I clear my throat and try to act casual. “I mean, sure. Yeah. Whatever is fine.” I know Mom will freak if I don’t come home, but I’ll worry about that tomorrow.

  He smirks and nods toward the house. “Inside.”

  I wrap my arms around his elbow and he leads me to the front door, his keys in hand. He opens it and the TV blares in the living room. Some woman squeals, “Oh! Oh! Oh! Right there! Yeah! Oh! Like that! Give it to me!” Sounds like porn.

  Lance frowns. “Fuck, sorry about this. Maybe you should wait here.”

  I’m totally fine letting him handle it. From what I saw earlier with Mr. McKnight drinking mouthwash in his saggy underwear, I’m afraid to think what he’s doing in the living room while watching porn. I wait in the entryway.

  The sound suddenly cuts off mid-squeal. Then, “Hey! Give me that! I wasn’t finished with it!” Mr. McKnight grumbles drunkenly.

  “You are now.”

  Splattering sound of liquid gurgling down the kitchen sink.

  “Fucking waste of good whiskey,” Mr. McKnight grumbles from the living room.

  “Fucking waste of a good life,” Lance grunts from the kitchen. His boots thud and he walks into the entryway. “Maybe you should go home.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You sure?”

  “Remember my mom? At least here she won’t be yelling at me.”

  “It won’t be pretty.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

  He strokes the side of my head and sighs. “Are you sure? We might be up all night dealing with his shit.”

  “Yes, Lance. Yes.”

  He smiles at me. Not his devil’s grin. Something else. The opposite. “Thanks.”

  “One thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is your dad, um, dressed?”

  Lance snorts, “Yeah. He’s dressed. Was when I came in.”

  I heave a sigh of relief. “Okay, good.”

  In the living room, I discover dressed means he’s wearing only jeans. At least he’s not, you know, hanging out. There’s a stack of porno DVDs on the floor next to a dusty old DVD player. Yes it’s weird. But I agreed to stay. When Lance sees me looking at the DVD cases, he dumps them in one of the many moving boxes still in the living room.

  For the next two hours, we sit on the couch watching reruns of American Chopper. Lance sits between me and his dad.

  At one point, I ask Lance if I can rinse in his shower because my boobs are really itchy from the caramel and whipped cream.

  He leads me to his hall bathroom, which is the exact mirror image of my bathroom. Except it’s completely empty. A single white towel hangs rumpled on t
he rack.

  Lance winces, “I don’t have any clean towels. But you can use mine.” He pulls it off the rack and folds it into a wrinkled square. “Good as new.” He looks apologetic. “It’s all I have. Unless you want my dad’s.”

  “No! I mean, yours is fine.” I smile.

  “I’ll turn the water on for you. It’s hard to set it so it’s not burning or freezing.” After it warms up, he gestures into the shower.

  I smile coyly, “Are you going to join me?”

  His face sinks. “I have to babysit my dad.”

  “Right.”

  He closes the door behind him when he leaves.

  I strip and rinse. After, I grab Lance’s towel and inhale deeply. So good.

  I get dressed but leave my bra off. Should I wash it and leave it hanging on the shower or wait until tomorrow? I’ll wait. I don’t feel that familiar here.

  I return to the living room, my arms folded across my polo shirt. I’m afraid Mr. McKnight will stare if he sees my nipples.

  He never notices me. He just barks at the screen continuously, making all kinds of critical comments about the guys on American Chopper and the shoddy custom work they’re doing to the chopped motorcycles. Tonight, he’s an angry drunk. He wasn’t at the pool party. That’s weird.

  “That’s not how you run a bead!” Mr. McKnight grumbles while one of the guys on the show welds a motorcycle part. “Guy doesn’t know shit about stick welding. His drag angle is too steep. The slag is going right back into his weld puddle. That weld is gonna be full of slag holes. Put any pressure on that bracket and you’ll crack it clean off.”

  “Instead of bitching about it,” Lance says, “Maybe you need to open up a shop here in the Valley. Give you something to do other than sit around and get fat and stupid.”

  Mr. McKnight just grunts. Eventually, the comments fade to snores.

  “Time for bed,” Lance whispers. “Wanna help me with the grumbler?”

  I smile, “Sure.”

  Lance grabs his father by one wrist and slings an arm over his shoulders. “If I trip, you catch both of us.”

  “I can’t do that!”

  He winks and carries his Dad to the master bedroom that is the mirror image of Mom’s bedroom. Instead of all of Mom’s frilly decor, all there is is an air mattress with a rumpled sheet hanging half off and moving boxes. I don’t know why I was worried about Mom and Mr. McKnight getting together. She’ll probably never speak to him again. Even if she does, I think once she gets to know him, he’ll scare her off anyway. It’s sad, actually.