Free The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity by Devon Hartford

hate that I sound like Mom, but she will make someone clean the footprints if she finds any.
    Reluctantly, Charity lowers her black and pink Skechers and sits up. “Mom likes Mr. McKnight,” she says casually, looking out the side window.
    “You noticed?” I joke.
    “How could I not? I thought Mom hated men.”
    “Me too.”
    “What do you think they’re doing right now? I bet they’re kissing.” She giggles with mild disgust. “Or they’re doing it.”
    “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