Bad Influence

by Charleigh Rose

  Copyright © 2019 by Charleigh Rose

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Bad Influence

  Cover Designer: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs

  Cover Model: Carter Liechty

  Photographer: Mark Mendez

  Interior Formatting: Stacey Blake, Champagne Book Design

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Preview of Bad Habit

  About the Author

  Other books by Charleigh Rose

  “Nothing gold can stay.”

  —Robert Frost

  * * *

  MY DAD ALWAYS SAID THAT both the best and worst things in life are unexpected. They’re the moments that change your life indefinitely, and even if you see them coming, you’re never prepared for the impact. It’s what you do in the aftermath that matters. It’s how you deal with the crisis—or good fortune—that defines you.

  It’s safe to say I failed miserably in that department.

  The needle pricks my finger and I let out a hiss, dropping my jacket onto the bed before sucking my finger into my mouth. I peer down at my dad’s old jean jacket, every surface full of colorful patches from his favorite bands. Social D. Pennywise. Rancid. NOFX. The list goes on. I cut the too-long sleeves off on a whim, deciding to sew on my sleeves and hood from an old sweatshirt so I can wear it. I bring it to my nose and inhale, trying desperately to catch a whiff of his scent. I haven’t worn it or washed it, afraid I would lose the smell forever, but I think now—more than half a year after his death—it’s finally gone.

  Most days, I’m fine. Other days, the grief is so potent it feels like it was yesterday.

  “Allison!” my mother shouts, her voice child-like even when she’s yelling.

  I pull one of the headphones away from my ear, looking up at her expectantly from my bed.

  “I know it’s your birthday and I’m supposed to let you call the shots, but are you sure you don’t want to do anything? I have a sushi date tonight. You could join us?”

  I roll my eyes. Yes, I’d love to spend my eighteenth birthday with my mom and her flavor of the week eating food I hate.

  “I’m good.”

  I see the relief flash in her eyes, but she conceals it quickly. She doesn’t really want me to go to dinner, but how would that look if she didn’t at least invite me on my birthday of all days? Pushing off the doorframe, she walks toward me. I flip my journal shut, stashing it under my pillow.

  “You should go out. Call Courtney and Maddison.” She reaches a slender hand out to twirl a strand of my hair between her fingers.

  I laugh bitterly. I haven’t been friends with those girls since freshman year when they grew tits and decided nothing else mattered but boys and parties. “Okay, Mom,” I say just to pacify her.

  “Good. I’m going to meditate before my date,” she informs me, standing. If Snow White and Willie Nelson had a love child, it would result in my mom. She’s tragically beautiful, soft-spoken, and charismatic. Her smile is infectious, and everyone loves her. She’s also the biggest pothead I know. Flighty. Self-absorbed, yet somehow painfully insecure. She’s a walking contradiction.

  I pull my headphones back over my ears, effectively ending the conversation. Once she leaves, I flip my phone over to see a voicemail from my dad. Shit, I must not have heard him over my music. I take my headphones off once more, bringing the phone to my ear.

  “Alllllliisonnnnn,” he greets in the tune of Elvis Costello’s famous song. The one he serenades me with every time I see him. “Don’t worry. I won’t sing the whole song this time. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. This is also your daily reminder to try to be nice to your mother. It’s not her fault the weed has started to turn her brain.”

  I crack a smile. My parents met when my dad was touring with his band in the late nineties. They fell hard and fast, and after a few months, she traded her cushy life in for a tour bus. She got knocked up almost immediately. My dad quit the band, bought a house, and tried to put down roots. That’s when the trouble started. My mom resented my dad for getting her pregnant. My dad resented my mom for having to leave the band. Long story short, they split when I was born.

  When my mom deemed me old enough, summers were spent in River’s Edge with my dad, and the rest of the year with my mom here in Southern California. They don’t get along, always throwing jabs at each other’s expense, but my mom has never truly moved on—even though she’s had more boyfriends than Cher and Taylor Swift combined.

  “Anyway, I wish I could be there, but we both know it’s best that your mother and I don’t occupy the same zip code. I’ve got a birthday slash graduation present waiting for you here. I’ll give you a hint—it has four wheels and it’s sitting in my garage.”

  A car!? I flop backwards onto my bed, barely containing my excitement.

  “Can’t wait to have you here permanently. Happy birthday, kid. You’re the best thing I ever did. I love you.”

  I smile, wishing he was here, but in just a few short weeks, I’ll be staying with him and starting college in River’s Edge. The line goes silent for a second and I think he’s hung up, but then I hear him again.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” He clears his throat, and I groan, knowing what’s coming next. “Haaaaappy birthday to you,” he sings, his raspy voice obnoxious and loud. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Allie. Happ—”

  His singing stops abruptly, followed by a curse, and my heart nosedives into the pit of my stomach. It all happens in a split second—the sound of tires skidding, metal colliding with metal, glass shattering, my dad’s anguished scream. Then, I hear nothing at all other than my heart pounding in my ears.

  “Dad!”

  I shake the memory from my mind, focusing on the sleeve I’m stitching. It’s been eight months since the accident. For the first couple of months, I holed up in my room, doing a whole lot of nothing. I missed my start date at Kerrigan University, and the few friends I did have dropped me when I wasn’t fun anymore. My mom was too lost in her own grief to give
a shit about me—even though they had been divorced for years—and quickly jumped headfirst into a new relationship.

  When my mom informed me that she was moving to Hawaii with her latest victim, another one of those fun little unexpected moments, I knew it was time to move on—as if I had a choice in the matter.

  I tie off the thread before holding up the jacket to inspect my handiwork. I slide my arms inside the sleeves, pulling it over me. Grabbing onto the handle of my suitcase, I take one last look at my childhood room, at the posters, drawings, and lyrics plastered on every surface of my black-painted walls. This feels like one of those defining moments my dad spoke of. The only question is, will I sink, or will I swim?

  * * *

  “LATE NIGHT?” MY SISTER, LO, asks, arching a brow at me from the other side of the bar from where I’m sitting. It felt like I had only just passed out when she barged into the room she keeps for me at her place, demanding I come have breakfast at Blackbear—the bar slash restaurant where she works—so we could hang out before I leave. Still half-drunk, I grabbed my bag and followed her out to the car.

  Lo dumps a bucket of ice into the ice bin, and the sound has me clenching my eyes shut. She chuckles, shaking her head.

  “No more than any other night.” It was Sully’s birthday and my last weekend in River’s Edge for a while. Come Monday morning, Coach is going to ride my ass and it’s back to school with little-to-no booze, no fights, no parties, and no drugs. In a nutshell, no fun.

  “Where’s your friend?”

  I smirk, remembering last night’s festivities. Last time I checked, he was sandwiched between two naked coeds.

  “Judging by the look on your face, I don’t even want to know.” Lo laughs, sliding a glass of ice water toward me.

  “He’s…occupied.” I’d be surprised if he was able to peel himself out of bed this early after last night.

  “You gonna see Henry before you take off?”

  My jaw tenses. “Probably not.” It’s not exactly a priority to see the man we thought was our father up until recently. He took off when I was a kid, leaving Lo and me with an unfit mother and a whole host of daddy issues. When shit hit the fan back in Oakland, Lo moved us out here to stay with him, only to find out he wasn’t our real dad after all.

  Good times.

  “He’s trying, you know.”

  “So am I.” Trying to change the fucking subject.

  Lo gives me her big puppy dog eyes and reaches under my hood, mussing up my hair like I’m a kid. When you grow up like we did, it’s hard not to resent the adults who did a shit job protecting you. And blood or not, Henry walked out on us instead of taking us with him.

  “Shit, the food truck is here,” Lo says, already heading toward the back of the restaurant. “Be right back. And don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

  I nod, giving her a thumbs-up, and the door chimes, drawing my attention toward a girl with headphones over her ears. A Nirvana shirt peeks out from under her denim jacket with a fuck-ton of patches sewn on. Elbows propped on the bar top, I study her. She’s in her own world, bobbing her head to the music only she can hear as she approaches. She stops about a foot away from me, fishing around in the bowl of Dum-Dums on the bar, oblivious of my presence before settling on one. Butterscotch. She peels the wrapper off and stuffs it into her jeans pocket before wrapping her lips around the sucker, making my dick twitch at the sight.

  Sensing my gaze on her, she lifts her eyes to mine, and I do nothing to hide the fact that I’ve been staring. Gray-blue eyes widen for a fraction of a second before narrowing into slits. Then she walks away, heading for the dining area.

  The fuck was that about?

  The door chimes again, but this time, it’s Sierra Hayes. And she’s on a mission if the furious expression on her face is anything to go by.

  Probably has something to do with the fact that I unknowingly hooked up with her older sister.

  Sully came down for one of my games a few weeks back. We ended up partying with some senior sorority chicks, and it wasn’t long before they dragged us upstairs. We’d barely stepped foot into their room when the one with red hair had my pants around my ankles and my dick in her mouth. I arched a brow, shooting my eyes over to Sully who covered his mouth to smother his laugh. Her two girlfriends just giggled, pushing Sully toward one of the two queen-sized beds while the redhead kept sucking away, uncaring of the fact that we had an audience. I, on the other hand, didn’t necessarily feel like busting a nut in front of another dude.

  I cupped my hands around her face, prepared to pull her suction cup of a mouth away when Sully interrupted with his stream of angry expletives. “Fuck, Shep, tell me you have a condom,” he called out.

  The girl on her knees in front of me froze before pulling back and releasing my dick with a pop. “Shep? As in Shepherd?” she asked warily. I nodded. “As in Jesse Shepherd?”

  “The one and only.” I smirked. It’s funny. Being a Shepherd in Oakland was synonymous to white trash. Here, it carries a whole new meaning.

  She fell back onto her ass, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh my God, I just had my sister’s ex-boyfriend’s penis in my mouth.” I mentally went through the short list of girls who could have ever been considered my girlfriend. I dated, sure. Hooked up, definitely. But girlfriend? That was a title reserved for…well, none.

  “Sierra Hayes?” she prompted upon seeing my confused expression. I groaned. Just hearing that name is enough to make my dick shrivel up and run away. Not because she isn’t fuck hot, but because the girl is certifiable.

  “She was never my girlfriend,” I corrected, pulling my jeans back up and zipping my fly. That’s the truth. Sierra liked to call herself my girlfriend, and I let her, mostly because I didn’t give a shit. She could label it all she wanted. Didn’t mean I was going to play the part of a doting boyfriend. She knew the deal. When I left town for school, I cut it off.

  “Doesn’t change the fact that you just…just…double-dipped!” I heard Sully snort out a laugh half a second before I broke, my lips stretching into an unintentionally amused smile. How the hell was I supposed to know this was her sister? I didn’t bother arguing. Before making a hasty exit, I simply told Sully to hit me up when he was done.

  Without thinking twice, I jump off the barstool before she has a chance to say anything and catch up to Dum-Dum Girl. I’m not equipped to go head to head with Sierra in my current state. As casually as I can manage with someone I’ve never met who seems to somehow already despise me, I circle an arm around her hip as I fall into step with her. Her body stiffens, and she jerks back, looking at me like I’m a lunatic.

  I pull the headphones off one ear, leaning in close. She doesn’t shiver or give me that dreamy stare I’ve become accustomed to, and I start to second-guess my half-assed plan. “You’re my girlfriend,” I say quietly. From the outside, it would seem like I’m whispering sweet nothings into her ear as opposed to accosting a complete stranger.

  Her eyebrows pull together, the end of her sucker sticking out from her pursed lips, and I can tell she’s not thrilled at the prospect of playing along.

  “Okay, pretend you’re my friend,” I amend, growing desperate as Sierra gets closer. Dum-Dum Girl pulls her headphones off with a huff, stuffing them into her bag, and that’s when I realize they’re attached to a CD player. A fucking portable CD player. I have to stop myself from asking her if she’s also got a pager in her bag of tricks. Maybe a floppy disk.

  She slides into the closest booth and I scoot in behind her, sealing my side to hers. Her spine is ramrod straight, big gray eyes side-eyeing me as I sling an arm around her shoulders. “Relax,” I whisper into her ear right as Sierra makes it to our table. Still no shivers.

  “You’re a prick,” Sierra accuses, pointing a finger at me. I lean back in the booth, bringing my leg up to rest my ankle on my other knee as Sutton, one of the servers and my sister’s friend, maneuvers around Sierra to drop off a couple of glasses of w
ater.

  “I’ll just…give you a minute?” she asks with a knowing grin. I nod.

  “Nice to see you, too, Sierra.” I rub my thumb along Dum-Dum’s collarbone and Sierra’s eyes zero in on the movement before narrowing. No doubt feeling awkward, the girl next to me avoids eye contact, ditching her sucker in a napkin before reaching for the ice water in front of her.

  “Can we talk?” Sierra clips out as she sizes up the girl I’ve got my arm around, trying to deduce whether she’s a threat or not. She’s not my typical type, but there’s no denying she’s hot. The kind of hot she couldn’t hide even if she tried, which I think she might be. Trying to hide, that is. Her clothes aren’t necessarily baggy, but they’re definitely not formfitting. She doesn’t appear to be wearing much makeup and her light brown hair is slightly wavy, coming to rest on top of two perfect tits. Sex hair. That’s what it looks like.

  “Now’s not a good time. I’m trying to have lunch with my girlfriend.”

  The girl next to me chokes at the word girlfriend and sets the glass back down on the table. “Sorry.” She pats her chest. “Went down the wrong pipe.”

  A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, but I flatten my lips to hide it.

  “You have a girlfriend?” Sierra asks, arching a disbelieving brow.

  “Yup.” I smirk.

  Sierra crosses her arms, eyes darting back and forth between the two of us, and dammit. This chick’s uptight body language is a dead giveaway. “There’s no way. Not buying it.”

  “I don’t really give a shit what you believe, but if you’ll excuse me, my girlfriend and I are trying to spend some time together before I have to leave.”

  “Since when?” she presses, ignoring my blatant dismissal.

  “It’s new.”

  “Does your girlfriend know where you were a couple weeks ago?”

  Well, fuck. I didn’t think she’d start an interrogation. But I’m nothing if not a quick thinker. “Like I said, it’s new. Really new.”

  “So, you met her after hooking up with my sister, and now she’s your girlfriend? Is that right?”