EXCERPT:
It was almost midnight by the time Terrence Nelson turned his Honda Accord into the driveway of the house he shared with his college student tenant, Chanci. He was late. Again. It was happening more and more often these days and he knew why. It didn’t have anything to do with the fact that he’d been at an estate auction in Virginia for most of the day or that he’d had a lot to do ensuring he had all the proper paperwork from the auction house. No, it had nothing to do with any of that. He just hated being home with Chanci nowadays, hated her petulant moods, hated the way she wouldn’t listen to anything he told her.
Most of all he hated the way she made him feel as she pranced around the house wearing those tight short–shorts of which she appeared to have an endless supply. Terrence had decided to take in a boarder earlier in the year when it became apparent that the economy had worsened to the point that much fewer people were buying antiques. Truth was, if things got much worse he might even have to close his shop but, at least, having a tenant helped. Of course, he was finding it hard to resist coming over all paternal and asking the pretty girl to tone down her clothing. Did young girls nowadays really have to show so much skin? But, whenever he mentioned it, it caused a row.
“I can move out tomorrow,” she’d shout. “I’ll go, and you’ll never see me again.” And Terrence always backed down because, after all, he liked having her around. It made him feel less lonely.
Chanci’s sea–green eyes and ash–blond hair reminded him so much of his dead wife that he often caught himself staring at the girl, lost in happy memories. But, sometimes, when he saw Chanci in her ‘booty shorts,’ as she called them, wearing one of her tiny tight t–shirts, he felt like doing a lot more than staring. His cock would come to life in his pants reminding him that he’d only gotten laid three times in the last two years. Those were inappropriate thoughts for a landlord to be having about his tenant, very inappropriate. He knew that. He knew that wanting to see Chanci naked, wanting to suck her nipples, and finger that sweet pussy he sometimes caught a glimpse of when she was in the pool, all of those things were wrong. Chanci was almost thirty years younger than him.
He suspected that the arguments and tension in the house recently weren’t all Chanci’s fault or the fault of her wardrobe. No, it could be that he was to blame, too, because he was having sinful thoughts about the twenty year–old, sexy–as–hell young lady
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