The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity (47 page)

Still coughing, Red Face’s eyes bulged from their sockets. Surprise, embarrassment, and anger warred on his fat face. He looked up at Psycho Motorbike and shook his head no, then hung it between his shoulders in defeat.

I rolled my window down as Psycho Motorbike walked over and leaned onto my car. I noticed the material of his shirt was an expensive knit, and slightly transparent.
Quiver
. One of his well-toned forearms rested on my windowsill.

I inhaled the faint scent of his cologne, which hit the manly sweet spot somewhere between dusty cowboy and crowned prince. Strength and style.
That’s not the only spot it hits. Down, girl!

There was no way he could see anything beneath or through my knee-length dress, but I squeezed my thighs together, just in case.
Just in case I jumped him. Rawr!

Now that he was my knight in see-through armor, maybe I should stop thinking of him as Psycho Motorbike and call him Motorknight.

“You okay?” A dimple twitched beneath his cheek. I detected a cocky smile. I couldn’t see his lips beneath the helmet’s face mask, but I could imagine them.
Swoon
. He looked at me expectantly.

“Uh…”
Pick up your panties and grow some ovaries, girl! Loosen that corset or you’re going to faint right here!
“Thanks, yeah, I’m okay.”

His face twisted. “Why do you smell like coffee?”

“Um…new body spray?” I said hopefully.

He noticed my legs and the coffee spill. He chuckled. “Looks like you had an accident.”

Boy, he was really looking at my legs. I wanted to squirm. “Yeah. Accident.” I sounded like an idiot.

“What’s your name?” His eyes melted my good sense, like Superman’s laser beam eyes, except blue.

“Sam—”

Cars started honking again. The light had cycled back to green.

“—antha.”

“My work is done here. Sam. Antha.” More dimples. Wow. Was this guy for real?

He slapped the roof of my car, swaggered back to his bike and rocketed down the highway. I wanted to shout “My name’s Samantha Smith! My cell phone number is—” but I had a small fragment of self-respect remaining.

I started my car and tried to follow, but he was long gone. All I had left of that horrible-magical moment was a car floor soaking in coffee and my outfit equally in need of a wash and detailing.

Psycho Blue Eyes had made me forget all about Red Face. But Red Face had brought back everything else.

Bitch.

All because of something
I
did…

Slut.

A mistake
I
could never undo…

Whore.

Something
I
would regret for the rest of my life…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Horribly late, I pulled into the north parking lot at SDU. Coffee sloshed around the soles of my flat sandals every time I braked or accelerated. I would have to deal with it later.

The parking lot was the size of a small town, and packed with cars. I grabbed the first available space. I had to shoehorn my VW between the two jackholes who had parked Daddy’s BMW and Mommy’s Lexus over the white line on either side of the space.

My car door bumped into the Lexus when I opened it, leaving me no more than a mail slot to squeeze through. I was by no means fat, but I barely made it out of my car.

I jogged across the lot toward the business school. My feet stuck to my sticky sandals, peeling off with very step. Lame. My book bag felt like it was loaded with bricks. Sweat would be running down my face by the time I made it to the lecture hall. Stupid traffic.

At the end of the lot, a black motorcycle parked with the others caught my eye. Was that the bike blue-eyed Psycho Motorknight had ridden? I wasn’t sure. I doubted a guy like him went to college. He was probably heading to an early-morning drug buy or gang fight, by the looks of him.

My cell phone jangled. A text from my first and only friend in San Diego, Madison Lockhart.

Where r u? Class has started!

I texted her back.
Late. Running. No pun.
>:|

Her reply:
Look 4 me at the back. I’ll save u a seat.

I shoved my phone in my pocket and maintained a fast walk. Although I knew where everything was, I didn’t remember things being so far apart.

When I finally reached the business school and crept into the back of the immense lecture hall, nobody paid any attention to me. The professor didn’t even notice. Yes, I half-expected the entire class to stand as one to point and name-call at the new girl, but no one did.

The nice thing about giant schools like SDU was that I could disappear into the crowd. Nobody cared about Samantha Smith.

I was finally anonymous.

I hoped it would stay that way.

I slid into the seat next to Madison. She and I had met last week during the orientation tour. She was total BFF material. When I’d told her I was from D.C., she’d offered up her SUV to haul the new furniture I needed to buy, and helped me set up and decorate my apartment. “Hey, Mads,” I whispered.

“What took you so long?” she hissed.

“I got stuck in traffic.”

Madison wrinkled her nose. “Why do you smell like coffee?”

“Long story,” I groaned. I considered skulking to the nearest bathroom to rinse my feet in the sink, but my coffee odor would have to wait.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, “I’ll email you my notes later. You haven’t missed much.”

That was for sure. Fundamentals of Accounting. One of the lower division classes for my major. Gag. I was on the fast track. I couldn’t wait to graduate and get my CPA. My mom and dad would be so proud. Yay. Sort of. Who
really
wanted to be an accountant?

I pulled out my laptop and turned it on. I had a moment to look around at the other students in the room. They all seemed to be earnestly following the professor’s every word. Was I the only one who didn’t really want to be taking accounting? I mean, I know college is an amazing opportunity that not everyone gets. But why did my major have to be something sensible and boring like Accounting?

Because you’re good with numbers
, my mother had encouraged. Rah, Mom.
Because accounting is a safe, dependable career
, my dad had said. Go, Dad. Maybe they were right. I screwed up everything else I tried. I had the scars to prove it. Maybe something safe and dependable was exactly what I needed.

Might as well make the most of it.

Samantha Smith, CPA.

Groan. My name was as boring as my major.

THANKS FOR READING!

FEARLESS

The Story of Samantha Smith #1

AVAILABLE NOW!!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Devon Hartford spent most of his life in Southern California frequenting many of the locations in Cover Model. Devon is an artist and musician, and drew upon his experiences with both while writing his previous romance series The Story of Samantha Smith and The Story of Victory Payne.

OTHER BOOKS BY DEVON HARTFORD:

ROMANTIC COLLEGE COMEDY

Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1)

Reckless (The Story of Samantha Smith #2)

Painless (The Story of Samantha Smith #3)

ROMANTIC NEW ADULT COMEDY

COVER MODEL

ROMANTIC HIGH SCHOOL COMEDY

Stepbrother Obsessed

NEW ADULT ROMANCE

The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity

BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE

ONE YEAR LOVE - Part One

ONE YEAR LOVE - Part Two

ONE YEAR LOVE - Part Three

ONE YEAR LOVE - Part Four

ONE YEAR LOVE - Collected Edition (Parts 1-4)

ROCKER ROMANCE

Victory RUN 1 (The Story of Victory Payne)

Victory RUN 2 (The Story of Victory Payne)

Victory RUN 3 (The Story of Victory Payne)

Victory RUN 1-2-3 (The Story of Victory Payne - Collecting Parts 1-2-3)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A HUGE thanks to all my passionate and fantastic beta readers:
 

Neicy Cassidy, Steffini Walker Texas Ranger, Rosanne Triegaardt, Her Highness Samantha Sheeley (Queen of All Typos), Stephanie Svajgl, Natasha Slater, Elizabeth Pawelczyk, Bethanie “The Typo Hammer” Melander, Mandy Jamerson, Miss Constanza from Puerto Vallarta, Jackie Barnett, Mandy Karsa, Maria Combee, Nicki Hewitt-Hart, Cyndi, Megan C Christmas, and The Ever Special Mel Bushell for invaluable feedback and encouragement! You guys rock the typo sauce!

Hayley Picknell for slick Brit Pimpin’ and awesome reviews everywhere!

Michele McKenzie for equally all-star pimpin’ and typo-snyping.

Amy Cossio for always rocking the Awesome Saucio.

Everybody’s ever luvin’ cowbag, Lindsey Melia for ghetto ghood pimpin’.

Chrissy Zent Sharp for awesome book pimpery via The Book Whore-der's Delights. Be sure to check them out if you’re a Romance reader.

And last but not least, for last minute typo-snyping of the highest order and in the face of great personal danger, I award a Typo Heart to
Colonel Melanie Starr
, the one and only
Comma Bomber
, who saved this mission from certain disaster at the 11th hour, but not without significant personal sacrifice on her part. Colonel, I salute you!

Thanks to everybody else who has helped make this book a reality!