Monty After Dark

Chapter 2

The next day after dryland, I stopped by the school to shoot some hoops with some of the guys, and a bunch of the pucksluts were hanging out by the ball diamond bleachers.

Chris and I invited them back to my place to watch us play road hockey.

At around 7, Chantelle came outside with an armful of black nylon cases, a tripod, cables and a case of some kind.

"Chan, I'll help you," I said, dropping my hockey stick while the sluts gawked.

I helped her carry a ton of stuff, which seemed to be camera equipment. Fuck I want her to ride me in the backseat of that car. Or suck my cock while I'm driving it ... when I get my licence, at least.

I opened her door for her and winked at her when she said, "Oh, Matt, you're such a gentleman."

"Well, thanks," I said. She made me feel a little hot when she said it.

"Don't break those girls' hearts over there," she said giggling. Oh fuck, she's sexy as hell.

"I don't make promises I can't keep," I said and walked back over to where I'd dropped my stick and toe-dragged my way to a sick gino.

"Monty," said Chris in a hushed voice as Chantelle peeled up the street.

"I know, man. Trust me."

I started doing shit intentionally so she'd look at me. Every night after supper, if we didn't skate that night, I'd be shooting tennis balls on the driveway. Some evenings were a little chilly, but some were warm enough that I could go without a shirt. I'd stickhandle up and down the driveway, make ridiculous plays, hoping Chantelle would either come or go or at least look out the window.

She tended to leave a lot in the late afternoons, and sometimes not until after supper when the sun was getting close to the mountains.

I had been over to her place one other time since Dad and I had gone for dinner. She had wanted me to help her hang a large picture over the white leather couch in her living room.

It was another photo. This one was a black and white print of a snowy scene with bare trees and a light post.

"I took that when I lived in Quebec," she said when we were finished.

"Do you miss all these places when you leave?" I asked.

"Some," she said. "But Vancouver seems okay so far." Definitely flirting.

I hadn't asked her who exactly she worked for now. But it must've been something important, since she was always heading out in the evenings. I didn't read the papers or anything so I don't know if she worked for the Sun or the Province or a magazine or what.

Sometimes when she left, she would be wearing her regular jeans and T-shirt combos. She seemed to like most sports, BoSox, the Canadiens, the Alouettes, the Patriots ... and she sometimes wore band T-shirts from old rock bands. Def Leppard, Van Halen, Bon Jovi.

Other times, she would leave dressed to the fuckin' nines. Creamy boobs spilling out of some ridiculous top, tight pants clinging to her bubble butt.

Always with her bags and tripods and giant purse in tow.

It was Tuesday afternoon. Chris and I were sitting in the caf. Scheming.

"I got it ... " I said. "I'm going to go home tonight, Dad's working afternoons, so he won't be home until after 11. I'll tell her I forgot my keys."

After lacrosse practice, the guys were all heading to the showers. I just grabbed my bag and went straight home, sweaty, tired, and probably smelly.