Knockout Boys

Chapter 3: Resident Punching Bag

I was getting ready to go home, packing my back and cleaning out bucket loads of Vaseline from my locker, when I felt a light squeeze on my arm. I jumped back, startled. My large eyes took in an ice blue glare, a sharp jawline, slicked back black hair.

"Kevin," I stammered. "Hi." I thanked God it wasn't Paul.

"You're a clueless idiot, you know that?" His lip was curled in mild disapproval. "Anyone could have snuck up on you."

"Forgive me if I don't act like I'm in a war zone," I huffed.

"Well, you're in one. Start acting like it." He slammed my locker shut, almost catching my fingers in the metal. "Got your stuff?"

"Yeah, give me a moment. Some asshole covered my locker in Vaseline." I paused, the implication of his words settling in. "Wait, I'm coming with you?"

"No duh, stupid," he snapped. "You think we have time to piss? You could be dead tomorrow." I wanted to ask him to stop calling me names and quit being so moody, but I had to take the insults. It was that or his fist, I was sure. Miserably, I followed him as he stalked away. I was not in the mood to be pushed around since he already knocked me out once today.

I dialed my Dad on the phone as we walked out of the building. "Hey Dad, it's me," I said. "I uh- I'm hanging out with ... a friend. So don't worry about picking me up."

"That's great, Rocky!" I winced at my Dad's triumphant hoots, holding the phone away from my ear. "Look at you, making friends. I'm so proud."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the backhanded compliment."

"Is your friend a girl?" At that, I hung up. "All right." I said aloud for myself. Let's do this. "Kevin, where's your car?"

"I don't have a car," he smirked, taking keys from his black leather jacket. He hopped onto a black and red motorcycle - a Harley perhaps? - and stuck the key in the ignition. "You'll have to sit behind me. I hope you don't mind, Rocky." He said my name mockingly, like a challenge. But my petrified look was not because I was afraid of motorcycles. I was afraid to be in such close proximity with a hot guy who smashed my face. What if I popped a boner? Dear Lord, he'd throw me off in front of a car and watch me get run over, then he'd do the same until I was roadkill for sure -

"Rocky. Get. On. The. Bike," he commanded in a growl. I hastily obeyed.

"Uh, no helmets?" I asked nervously.

"In the back, you sissy." I opened the back compartment and pulled out a sleek black helmet. It was made for style rather than safety, like a shiny hat. I clamped it on my head and kept my mouth shut. "You gonna hold on?" He revved up the bike and shot off just as I hesitantly put my arms around his waist. I yelped and clung tighter. Kevin laughed as he sped out of the school parking lot into the road. He flipped off a bunch of guys we passed. I recognized Paul in the crowd, his jaw dropped in complete shock.

I couldn't help but grin like a fool. How did I end up on the back of a sexy bad boy's motorcycle? I could be dead tomorrow, but I was going to enjoy this moment. For the first time in months, I felt free. The exhilaration of flying past the small, broken down town into the horizon, the feeling of his rock hard abs under my arms, my body wrapped around his ... Uh oh, slow down, Rocky. Think about your mom's daisy patterned underwear.

By the time we reached what I assumed was Kevin's home - a run down apartment complex besides a gas station - I was mentally exhausted and overwhelmed from blocking out sexual thoughts. If it wasn't clear by now, I was 100% a virgin. I'd never even kissed anybody.

"Welcome to my shit home," Kevin muttered, dismounting the motorcycle. I jumped off as well. "If you see roaches the size of small cats, don't freak out. They're our roommates."