Monty After Dark

Chapter 1

I was outside shooting hoops on the driveway when the moving truck rolled up.

The house nextdoor to mine had been the home of one of my favourite people – Mrs. Murphy was like a grandmother to me. I knew my life would never be the same after she died. She had been one of the constants in my life.

My mother left when I was five. Dad worked all the time, burying himself from the hurt. I don't think he ever got over her walking away.

I did alright. Strong and tough and good at sports. I knew I was going to get a scholarship if I could keep my grades up. It was just a matter of hockey or lacrosse.

Lacrosse or hockey.

Box lacrosse, field lacrosse, and varsity hockey. It'll be a tough decision, but I've still got another couple years to figure it out.

Two men in uniforms began unloading boxes from the back of the truck. That's when the black Mustang with tinted windows rolled up with out-of-province plates.

I waited, poised to shoot a three-pointer.

That was the first time I saw her. I was expecting some Barbie – fake blonde hair, fake boobs, high heels.

Not even close. Flip flops, jeans, a Montréal Canadiens T-shirt, Molson Canadian hat that came free in a case of beer, and aviators.

"Hi," she said.

"Sup," I said, sinking a perfect basket. I dribbled a little, collected myself and walked across the lawn I had been cutting every week of every summer since I was 10.

"I'm Matt," I said.

"Chantelle," she said, extending a hand.

She looked like she was maybe 20. Wonder how she can afford a place like this? She must do well for herself.

She wasn't the best looking girl in the world, but she had a cute face, nice rack, bit of a bubble butt, looked soft in all the right places. I'd give her a go.

Ha. I wiped sweat off my forehead with my shirt, she'd get an eyeful. I had been growing my hair out since the playoffs started last season, and now it was long and shaggy, it looked pretty legit under my helmet, but right now it was sticking to my face.

I gave her an obvious once-over. This wasn't my first rodeo.

"Welcome to the neighbourhood," I said and disappeared inside the house.

That night, when my dad got home from work, I was sitting on the couch looking at the new lineup of helmets from Bauer on my laptop. He asked about the new neighbour.

"She's about an eight ... and way too young for you, she looks about 20," I said, laughing.

"Where are her parents?" Dad asked.

"She's not that young," I scoffed.

I didn't see her the next day. Not that I was trying. I went about my business, went to work, came home. My two best friends since Grade 2, Sean Fraser and Chris Carmello, were over playing some 21 and enjoying the warm September day.

Chantelle stepped outside, walked down the driveway to her car.

"Hi, Matt," she said, aviators on, no hat this time.

"Hi Chantelle," I said. She got in her car and peeled out. Does she always fuckin' drive that thing like she stole it? And always with the tunes cranked.

"Fuck," said Chris, who was mostly my wing-man. "Nice tits on her."

"I'd put it in her," agreed Sean.