Bad Influence

by Charleigh Rose

  “Not happening.”

  “Why the fuck not? I want you. You obviously want me.”

  “Oh, obviously, huh?”

  “If I touched you right now, would you be wet for me?”

  “And there you go again. You can’t just say things like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know,” she admits.

  “Because you like it?”

  She doesn’t have a response for that.

  “That night was a momentary lapse of sanity. And now that I’m staying with your sister, I just think it’s best if we don’t… I don’t know.” She fumbles to find the words. “Complicate things.”

  “What’s complicated about it?”

  “Sex is always complicated.”

  “Whatever you say, Allie Girl.”

  “So, we’re on the same page?”

  “We’re not even reading the same book.”

  She sighs, plopping down onto my bed. “Please. I really need this to work out.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” I don’t tell her that I played a part in getting her here. I know what it’s like to not know where you’re going to sleep that night, or when you’re going to get your next meal. I don’t know Allison’s situation, but the fact that she was sleeping in a booth tells me it isn’t all sunshine and roses.

  “It’s only temporary.”

  “You said that part already.”

  She glares at me. “I was living at the dorms with Halston without permission. I got kicked out, but in two months, I’ll have a place to stay.” She gives me a bratty smile, crossing her arms. “Happy?”

  Two months of living with Allison? This should be fun. “Ecstatic.”

  * * *

  “THIS IS THE LONGEST DAY in the history of ever,” I grumble to Halston, who’s sitting on the bench next to me. After my run-in with Jesse, I couldn’t sleep. My body was buzzing with the unfinished orgasm, while my mind was buzzing with thoughts of him. Why is he so persistent? Why me? I tossed and turned all night.

  “Well, wake up. It’s Friday, and your ass is mine.”

  “Shit. I forgot.”

  “Forgot what?”

  “I have plans tonight. I totally spaced it.”

  “With Jesse?” she asks, nudging my shoulder with hers.

  “Nope.”

  “Dylan?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then who? You don’t have friends.”

  “Garrett.”

  “Who the hell is Garrett? How many boyfriends do you have?”

  “Zero.” I laugh. “He’s just a guy in my marketing class.”

  “I can’t believe you’re going on a date and didn’t tell me.”

  As if on cue, I spot Garrett walking through the quad, heading right toward us.

  “First of all, it’s not a date,” I correct. “Second of all, pipe down because he’s coming over here.”

  With all the subtlety of a bulldozer, Halston whirls around to check him out before nodding in appreciation. “He’s cute in that grungy, fuck-him-to-piss-off-your-parents kind of way.”

  She’s not wrong. He’s wearing a white thermal with a black zip-up hoodie over it, a beanie covering the short blond hair that I know is underneath, and a smirk on those upturned, full lips.

  “Hey, Allison,” Garrett says, stuffing his hands into his front pockets.

  “Hey.” I smile up at him, using a hand to shade my eyes from the sun. “This is Halston.”

  “Garrett,” he greets her with a jerk of his chin. Polite, but not overly enthusiastic. Interesting. Everyone wants Halston. “So, you still coming tonight?” he asks, rocking back on the heels of his worn Chucks.

  “I think Halston’s going to take me,” I say, bumping her shoulder with mine.

  “Actually,” she pipes up. “I can’t make it. I have this thing.”

  “What thing?” She doesn’t have a thing.

  “You know.” Her eyes widen, wanting me to play along. “Anyway, you should have Garrett here take you.”

  Garrett scrapes his teeth along his lip, eyebrows raised. “You have my number. Let me know if you want me to pick you up.”

  I nod, and he walks away, probably feeling uncomfortable after that painfully obvious lie.

  “Real smooth.”

  Halston laughs, throwing her head back. “He’s hot. Have fun on your date.”

  “It’s not a date!” I whisper-shout, not wanting to chance him still being in earshot. I stand, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

  “Does he know that?”

  “Yes.” I think.

  I dig through my suitcase in search of a clean shirt, flinging clothes behind me. Most of my stuff is still in my grandparents’ garage, and I make a mental note to do some laundry soon. I pull out a white NOFX tee and bring it to my nose, making sure it passes the sniff test. Bingo. I shrug it on over my head, then check myself out in the bathroom mirror. My shirt falls below the hem of my black shorts. Black tights. Burgundy Docs. Good enough. This isn’t a date, after all. It’s a show with a friend at what is most likely going to be a crammed, dirty, smelly venue.

  I toss my wavy hair up into a high ponytail, swipe a few strokes of mascara onto my lashes, and I’m done. I hear the front door slam downstairs and I pause, listening. Both Dare and Lo are at work, and it being Friday night, I don’t expect either one of them to be home this early. I pocket my phone and grab my small black purse, fixing the strap across my chest. I scoop my dad’s jacket off the bed and tie it around my waist before heading down the stairs. Once I’m near the bottom, I peek around the corner, attempting to see who’s here.

  Movement by the fridge catches my eye, and then it slams shut, revealing Jesse. Why does he have to be so obnoxiously attractive? Backwards hat. White tee. Gray sweats. Don’t look at his crotch. Do not look at his crotch.

  “Are you looking at my dick?”

  I jerk my eyes away at the sound of his voice. “What? No.”

  Jesse smirks, rounding the counter and heading for the couch. “Wild Friday night?” I ask, eyeing his setup. There are bags of chips, sodas, beers, and… Are those Dum-Dums laid out across the coffee table? Netflix is pulled up on the flat screen.

  “Didn’t feel like going out.” He shrugs, plopping down onto the couch, legs spread wide. I sit on the arm of the couch, reaching forward to steal a sucker. I don’t waste any time unwrapping it and taking a lick. Jesse watches my mouth intently and I try not to squirm under his attention.

  “What are you watching?” I ask, if only to break the silence. Jesse clears his throat and adjusts his sweatpants, making no attempt to hide the bulge there. Why do my eyes keep wandering toward his crotch? I don’t particularly like dicks. I haven’t even seen very many of them in person. It’s not like I’m a connoisseur.

  “Not sure yet. You pick.”

  Me? Does he want me to watch a movie with him?

  The doorbell rings, not giving me a chance to answer. I set my sucker on the wrapper on top of the table while Jesse stands, beer in hand, and makes his way for the door. Garrett. I sent him Lo’s address after I got home, letting him know I’d need a ride after all.

  Jesse swings the door open, revealing a slightly confused-looking Garrett. “I’m here to pick up Allison,” Garrett says, leaning back to check the number on the house, like maybe he got the wrong address.

  “Hey,” I say, stepping into view. Once he sees me, his mouth quirks up into that mischievous grin of his as his eyes scan my body. “Nice choice,” he says, pointing toward my shirt.

  Before I can respond, Jesse shuts the door in his face. I jump back, shooting him a glare before I open the door again. “I’ll be out in a second,” I explain, holding up my finger. “I’m just going to grab my stuff.”

  He nods, luckily not appearing to be too offended, heading for the truck parked in front of the curb.

  “What the hell was that?” I ask Jesse.

  “He bored me.”

  “So you s
lammed the door in his face? Instead of walking away? Since, you know, he’s my guest and all.”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Oookay,” I drawl. “I’ll see you later then.”

  Jesse doesn’t say anything, so I turn for the door.

  “Boyfriend?” Garrett asks when I climb into his truck.

  “God no,” I say, laughing. “He does like to make my life hell, though. I hear relationships do that to people.”

  Garrett pulls out onto the street and reaches forward to turn the music down. We spend the rest of the way talking about our favorite bands and listening to music. Garrett is easy to be around and could quite possibly be my musical soulmate. We’re a good forty-five minutes away when he swings into a dark parking lot. No lights. No signs.

  “Did you bring me here to kill me?” I look over at him with an eyebrow raised.

  “Where’s the trust?” He climbs out of his truck, rounding the hood before he’s opening my door and helping me out. “Come on.”

  Garrett leads me toward the entrance, and if it wasn’t for the faint sounds of a bass guitar floating from the building and the parking lot full of cars, I might think he was taking me to some rapey abandoned building. Once inside, it looks like a normal venue. Two bars on each side of the floor, stage up front—though no one is up there yet.

  “Drink?” Garrett asks over the music, gesturing toward the bar to our right with the shorter line.

  I pull him closer, trying not to announce it to the entire bar. “I’m not twenty-one.” Garrett laughs. “No one is. They don’t give a fuck here.” Taking my hand, he pulls me through the crowd where a chick with a blue bob and a spiked leather choker mans the bar.

  “Whatcha havin’?” she asks, leaning over the counter that separates us.

  “Whatever you have in a bottle,” I say. I’m not picky.

  “Two,” Garrett adds, holding two fingers up.

  I dig into my purse, trying to find the loose cash that I know is floating around somewhere, but Garrett beats me to it, slapping a twenty down onto the bar.

  “Thanks,” I tell him. Not a date. Not a date.

  “Let’s get a good spot,” he says, gesturing toward the stage. There’s a solid crowd here, but I’m surprised there aren’t more people. We weave through the staggered groups of bodies, easily making our way toward the front. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man approach. I turn to face him, taking in his pressed jeans and untucked white button-up.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he says with a smile in his voice.

  “Victor,” I say, smiling in return. He brings me in for a hug, and when he pulls back, I see the pity in his eyes, even in the dimly lit venue. “Sorry to hear about your Pops,” he says, uncharacteristically solemn. Victor is maybe mid-thirties, but he’s a perpetual child. The only time his serious side comes out is when it comes to business. Or, when he’s extending his condolences, apparently.

  “Thanks,” I say so quietly I don’t even know if it’s audible over the noise. “This is—”

  “Garrett,” Victor answers for me. They slap hands in greeting. “Glad you could make it,” he says, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s sarcasm I detect in his voice.

  “The lady needed a ride,” Garrett says with a shrug.

  “Yeah, well, the lady is a family friend, so be good to her.” Victor points a stern finger at him.

  His phone flashes in his hand and he looks back at me. “I have to take this, but find me before you leave, huh?”

  I nod, and then he turns around, disappearing into the crowd. When I look back to Garrett, his eyebrows are at his hairline.

  “What?”

  “How do you know Victor?”

  “He’s a friend of my dad’s.” I keep it vague, not wanting to have the whole dead dad conversation right now.

  “You just keep getting more and more interesting.” He smirks.

  “I’m just full of surprises,” I deadpan. My cold fingertips remind me of my untouched drink, and I bring it to my lips, letting the cool liquid slide down my throat.

  Suddenly, the lights lower, the music over the speakers cuts out, and a guy with a faded electric guitar—Squier, by the looks of it—takes the stage.

  “We’d love to play a show for you guys, but unfortunately, it seems our drummer has decided that now is a good time to chat up a hot chick.”

  I laugh, scanning the crowd, but I’m surprised when Garrett throws up a middle finger and shakes his head. “Hold this for me?” he asks, handing me his bottle.

  “Uh, sure,” I say, feeling more than a little confused. Garrett gives me a sheepish smile before effortlessly pulling himself up onto the stage.

  “We’ll get him back to you in about twenty minutes,” the guy with the guitar says, pointing his finger at me and sending a wink my way.

  Garrett takes his seat behind the drum kit, clicking his sticks together to start the song off. The band—consisting of two guitar players and one bass player—seamlessly follows suit. I bob my head as the song pulls in the crowd around me. Their sound is good—really good. They’re that perfect blend of pop punk with enough of an edge to be distinguished from boy band status. Catchy chorus and lyrics, fast tempo. I’m impressed. Garrett has sweat dripping down the side of his face, the biceps I didn’t know he had flexing with each hit. Why the hell didn’t he tell me he was playing tonight?

  By the time their set is over, I’ve finished both mine and Garrett’s beer. After clearing off the stage, he waves me over. I cut through the bodies that have started to disperse, making my way over to him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I slap his shoulder.

  “I’m full of surprises,” he teases, throwing my earlier words back at me.

  “Apparently.” I laugh.

  Victor appears from behind me, clapping Garrett on the back. “Good set,” he praises.

  “You guys were pretty amazing,” I agree.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hell yes. But why are you playing this shitty venue? This could’ve been a much bigger turnout.”

  “You think?” Victor asks. I turn my attention to him.

  “One hundred percent.”

  “What would you do differently?” he asks, crossing his arms.

  “I’d make a kickass flyer, then start by blasting it all over social media. Target the college kids. Even if it’s not their typical scene, this town is small. Everyone would show up simply due to the lack of things to do around here.”

  “Is that all?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’d also ask the owner about having half-priced drinks for the first hour. The only thing we like more than alcohol is cheap alcohol.”

  Garrett smothers his smile with his hand, and I look between them, confused.

  “What?”

  “This is my venue,” Victor says gruffly.

  “Oh.” Shit. “I’m sorry—”

  “You think you could do it better?” he asks, cutting me off. “Call me, and I’ll let you try your hand at it.”

  “Really?” I ask cautiously. He pulls out a card, handing it to me.

  “Tonight was a trial run for me. But you have good instincts, and even more importantly, you’re from the right generation.”

  Speechless, I take the card that sits between his first and middle finger.

  “Get her home safely,” he tells Garrett.

  Garrett salutes him, and then Victor’s gone.

  “What…the hell just happened?”

  “Surprises, Allison. Full of surprises.”

  For the rest of the night, Garrett and the lead singer of his band, Mark, stay close to me, drinking and talking shit. Gutterpunk plays, and they’re the same old sloppy punk band I remember, even though they’ve got to be pushing fifty by now.

  “Thanks for tonight,” I say as I almost lose my footing on the uneven walkway outside Lo’s house. Garrett grips my arm as I right myself, and I laugh at my clumsiness. I’m not drunk, but I’m feeling a lit
tle buzzed. But it’s a good buzz. Warm and fuzzy and happy. Garrett is fun to be around, and I don’t get the impression that he’s interested in me, so my guard is down. It feels good.

  “I’ll see you Monday?” I scrounge for my key in the small purse that hangs by my hip. But before I can locate it, the front door swings open. A familiar tall blonde appears in front of me, lipstick smeared and eyes wide with surprise before her face transforms into a slow, devious grin. Victorious would be the word I’d use to describe it. Sierra. Again.

  I narrow my eyes at her as she swings the door open wider, allowing me the opportunity to see Jesse zipping his jeans. She watches me closely for a reaction. One that I won’t give her.

  “Well, this was fun,” I say lightly before turning back to Garrett. My stomach is swirling with something that feels a lot like disappointment—or maybe the alcohol is starting to rear its ugly head and I’m about to be sick—but I don’t show it. “Thanks for the ride,” I say. Sierra trots past me, knowing she’s not getting the reaction she wanted. Garrett looks over my shoulder, taking in the scene behind me before meeting my eyes. “Call me if you need anything.”

  I nod, giving him what I hope is a convincing smile, before closing the door. Taking a deep breath, I turn back around. Jesse sits on the couch with his thighs spread wide. No shirt. Hands crossed behind his head like he doesn’t have a care in the world, but the tension in his jaw tells me otherwise. Who hooks up in the middle of the living room when people are home? Jesse fucking Shepherd, obviously.

  “You’re gross.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  “Your sister is right upstairs,” I whisper-shout, gesturing above us.

  “She’s seen worse. Trust me.”

  I scoff, shaking my head. Jesse cocks his head to the side, inquisitive, before he stands, eating up the distance between us. “Why are you really mad, Allie Girl?” He twirls a lock of hair from my ponytail in his fingers. “Is it because I was hooking up with someone on the couch, or because you wish it was you?”