“Neither,” I grit out. “Maybe it’s because you tried to get with me approximately five minutes before hooking up with someone else.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” Jesse says, taking a step back. “Considering you were just doing the same fucking thing with Kurt Cobain over there,” he says, flinging a hand toward the door. I clamp my mouth shut before I can deny it. I don’t owe him an explanation. Jesse’s eyes narrow into slits, assessing. “Unless you didn’t.”
I roll my eyes, turning to leave, but he blocks my way.
“You didn’t, did you? How long has it been, Allie? Is that why you were touching yourself in the hot tub?”
Oh my God.
“That’s none of your business,” I say, feeling my face burning.
“I mean, you have had sex, right?” His eyebrows jump toward his hairline.
“I’ve had sex!” I yell, before remembering where I am and what time it is. Lowering my voice, I continue. “I have lots of sex.” Jesse smirks, like he doesn’t believe me. “Like…a lot. All the time.” Jesus Christ, why can’t I stop talking? You’re making it worse, Allison.
“So let’s have sex then. Right now. If you’re such a pro,” he challenges.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t like you, for starters.”
He chews on his lip for a minute before speaking again. “Liar.”
“And you couldn’t pay me to touch you after being with her.”
“You sure about that?”
I shake my head, annoyed. “You’re a lot more obnoxious than I remember.”
“And you’re a lot bitchier than I remember.”
“Manwhore,” I shoot back.
“Guilty.” His lips curve into that infuriating cocky grin of his. I snort, shaking my head before moving past him without saying another word.
This time he lets me go.
* * *
I SIT BACK ON THE couch, scrubbing a hand through my hair. When Allison left with that douchebag in the flannel instead of hanging out with me, I felt stupid as hell. I smoked a blunt and had a few beers before trashing the candy and shit I brought over. Lo and Dare came home around midnight, but Allison was still out. I was staring at that goddamn sucker she left on the table, brooding like a little bitch, when I got a text from Sierra. She’s been hitting me up since I’ve been back, but I never responded. I try to avoid her brand of crazy like the plague. Until tonight. You’d think she’d have moved on, considering that little mishap with her sister. Apparently, that only increases the appeal for her.
She pulled out all her best moves, doing the most to impress me. But all I could do was stare at that stupid fucking sucker taunting me from the coffee table. How Allison’s tongue licked at it, how her lips wrapped around it. Whatever Sierra was doing down on her knees wasn’t cutting it. Like an asshole, I told her to leave. She only sucked harder.
I leaned forward, grabbed Allie’s sucker, and stuck it in my mouth before leaning back on the couch, arms crossed behind my head as I closed my eyes, pretending it was her mouth around me. If I was solo, that thought alone would get me off, but this felt all wrong. It pissed me off, knowing that Allison had gotten into my head and under my skin enough to ruin a perfectly good blow job.
“What’s wrong?” Sierra asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when it was clear that something wasn’t working.
“I think we’re done here,” I said, feeling tired and high and nowhere near coming. My dick was hard, but it wasn’t for her.
“Let me help you,” she said, trying to sound coy as she pushed back on my shoulders and reached under her skirt to slide her panties to the side.
“I said we’re done here.”
Pride good and wounded, she righted her dress, swiped her purse off the floor, and stormed toward the door.
“You should see a doctor for that little issue,” she said.
“It’s not me. It’s you,” I said flatly.
She growled, flinging the door open, only to reveal Allison and her little hipster boyfriend out front. Allison’s face changed when she took in the scene in front of her. Her expression went from shocked to…hurt, if I wasn’t mistaken. It was subtle, but I saw it. I should have told her that it didn’t get that far. That she managed to cockblock me without even being here. But I was too busy relishing in the fact that she did want me on some level. She just needs a little push.
I hear the shower start above me, the water rushing through the pipes, interrupting my thoughts. I groan. This is torture. Pure fucking torture. The only girl I want, in this moment, is naked right upstairs. And I can’t have her. Probably not anytime soon, after tonight.
I feel my phone buzz somewhere underneath me, and I stick my hand in the crack between the cushions until it finds the cool, hard case of my phone. Turning it over in my palm, I see a text on my screen.
Tomorrow. 5741 East Baker Rd. 10P.M.
I clench my jaw, simultaneously hating being under someone’s thumb while itching for the thrill that’s sure to come. Plus, I could use the extra money. I punch out a reply.
I’m in.
As if I have a choice in the matter.
I went to bed feeling irritated, but when I woke up Saturday morning and found the trash can full of unopened snacks, I felt a twinge of guilt, which is ridiculous. I couldn’t have known he planned that for me. And if he wanted to hang out, he could have—oh, I don’t know—asked me?
The next few days go by without any more Jesse sightings. I try to casually ask Lo where he’s been during my shift at Blackbear Sunday, but she laughs and says it’s better that she doesn’t ask. At first, I was glad I didn’t have to face him, but when Thursday rolls around, and he still hasn’t shown his face, the disappointment sets in. I find myself wondering where he disappears to. And why isn’t he in school? Why is he so hot and cold with me? But mostly, why the hell do I care?
“Albert.” Dylan snaps his fingers in front of my face.
“Sorry.” I shake thoughts of Jesse from my head. “What were we talking about?”
“The show,” he reminds me, tuning his guitar while we sit at his kitchen table.
“Right. So, there’s this new venue called The Lamppost. I went with this guy from school Friday, and you guys have to try it out. The place is massive. You remember Victor from The Cold Snap?” I ask, and he nods.
The Cold Snap was a hole-in-the-wall venue in town that Victor owned. I don’t know what happened, but it’s a sandwich shop now. “He owns it. Turns out, he doesn’t have the first clue as to how to throw an event.”
“Shocker,” Dylan says, full of sarcasm.
“He gave me his card—”
“He has a card?” Dylan laughs, his beer bottle halting at his lips.
“I know.” I smile. “Anyway. He wants my help with the next one. And naturally, I thought about you.”
“Sounds fun.”
I nod. “I have a good feeling about it. You in?”
Dylan nods. “Our schedule’s not exactly full. Can we play your song? You can sing it with me.”
I shoot him a look as if he proposed kidnapping the president. There’s a better chance of me doing just that than getting up on a stage and singing, no matter how small the crowd. “You’re high. That’s not happening.”
Outside of singing to whatever my dad plays—played—on guitar, and the occasional song with Dylan for fun, I’m no singer. It’s not what I want to do. Songwriting? Maybe. Owning my own venue, or even producing music? Definitely. I always thought I’d do it with my dad. The plan was to open our own place together when I graduated college—hence the music business major—but now, everything seems like one giant question mark.
“When’s the last time you wrote, anyway?”
“Not in a while.” I used to write in my journal daily, and not just lyrics. My every thought, frustration, hope, and dream. Since my dad died, I haven’t written a word. Writing about it means thinking about it, and thin
king about it means feeling it.
“It’ll happen,” Dylan says, reading my thoughts. I bite down on my lip, swallowing hard.
I reach for his beer, taking a swig before pasting a smile onto my face. “So,” I say, slapping the table, “let me hear what you’ve been working on.”
The front door swings open, and we both swivel our heads around at the sound. Hunter, the bassist for their band The Liars, walks in wearing only a pair of basketball shorts and a backwards hat. He’s six-foot-four—I know this, because somehow, it always ends up being the topic of discussion—and has to be at least two hundred and fifty pounds. Between his ginormous frame, his tattoos, and his beard, chicks cling to him like cellophane. Caleb, the drummer, is right behind him, clothed and a few inches shorter, but never lacking in the female department with his blond hair and blue eyes. Total boy band material. That face was made to grace the bedroom walls of teenage girls everywhere.
Caleb has a girl riding piggyback and another few pour in behind him.
Hunter smacks a girl’s ass, and she twirls around. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?” She giggles.
“Nah, she died,” he says, sporting his best puppy dog eyes, bottom lip jutting out.
The girl gasps, her smile dropping. “I’m so sorry. How did it happen?”
“Plane crash.”
“Oh my God…”
“Help me forget?” Hunter pulls her to his front and kisses her. Hard.
Dylan looks over to me, raising a brow, knowing that’s a load of shit. Hunter’s ex is alive and well. “I guess we’re partying.”
“Can’t.” I pout. “I have class tomorrow.”
“Allie!” Hunter shouts after he comes up for air, like he hasn’t seen me in years. “What’s up?” he asks, dipping down to hug me in the chair where I sit. I laugh, circling my arms around his neck, and he takes the opportunity to lift me up, spinning me around. It’s impossible to be in a bad mood around Hunter.
“Allie Cat,” Caleb says, shucking the girl off his back, letting her land on the couch before coming in for a hug of his own. “What are you guys up to?”
“Trying to talk your lead singer over here into playing a new venue.”
“I’m in,” Hunter declares, clearly unconcerned with the specifics.
“Fuck yeah,” Caleb agrees. “As long as it’s not during finals.”
Hunter and Dylan share a look, and I know it’s because they feel like Caleb has one foot out the door. The band isn’t his life, like it is for Dylan and Hunter. I get the impression that Caleb is just passing time with the band until he graduates.
“Talk him into it,” I say, flicking my chin toward Dylan. “I’ve gotta go.”
Dylan stands, reaching into his front pocket for his keys. “I’ll be right back,” he tells the guys. “I’m gonna take her home.” The girls, now all three huddled up on the couch, eye fuck Dylan as we walk through the living room, but he doesn’t so much as acknowledge their existence.
“So, how are you liking your new digs?” he asks, once we’re on the road.
“It’s good for now,” I say, leaving it vague. “Getting to school is a pain in the ass, but it’s free and Lo’s cool.”
The distance between Dylan and Lo’s house is only a couple of miles, but with the windy roads through the woods, it feels much farther. “Turn here,” I say, pointing. Once we’re pulling into the driveway, Dylan turns to me, looking like he wants to say something.
“All—” he starts but stops when another vehicle swings into the driveway next to us. A black truck. And out comes none other than Jesse fucking Shepherd.
Dylan works his jaw and I close my eyes, dropping my head back against the headrest. “He doesn’t live here,” I say. I don’t owe Dylan an explanation, and he has no say in where I decide to stay or whom I decide to spend my time with, but for some reason, I get the impression that his feelings are hurt.
He bobs his head, not saying a word. Jesse, obnoxious as always, opens the passenger door.
“Going in?” he asks, ducking down so his face is visible. I shake my head at him, trying to convey that now is not the time.
“Go inside, Allie,” Dylan says, starting the engine back up. I look over at him, but he stares ahead, not meeting my eyes.
“Fine. Be a baby.” I step out of the car, sidestepping Jesse when he tries to help me. I hear Dylan pull out of the driveway before he flies down the road.
“You really have a knack for showing up at the wrong time,” I mutter.
“It’s part of my charm.”
I snort. “Whatever you say.”
“He has a lip ring. What is it, 1999? I did you a favor.”
I roll my eyes, pushing open the front door, noticing a duffle bag and a pile of clothes on the floor inside. “What’s this?” I ask, kicking the bag.
“My stuff.” He moves past me, bending over to throw his duffle bag over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even though I have a pretty damn good idea of where this is going.
“Putting my shit upstairs,” he says, like the answer is obvious, walking up the steps.
“Why?”
He pauses mid-step, looking at me over his shoulder with an infuriating grin. “Because I’m your new roomie, roomie.”
“What?” I ask, charging up the stairs after him.
“You heard me.”
“But why?”
“You ask a lot of questions.” Jesse passes my door, then the bathroom, before opening door number three. I follow him into the room I’ve never been inside before. Another empty room, this one doesn’t even have a bed. Because I have his bed.
“It’s convenient, don’t you think?” He tosses his bag into a corner unceremoniously before turning back toward me with a smirk, hands on his hips.
“Excuse me?” I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the way my stomach flips at the way he’s looking at me.
He moves toward me, and instinctively I step backwards until my back is flush with the door. “I want you. And I’m sick of playing this game.”
I swallow hard, feeling the warmth of his skin without even touching him. “That’s not why you’re here,” I say, calling his bluff.
“No,” he admits. “But it definitely sweetens the deal.”
“You had your chance. The offer’s expired.”
“Is that so?” he asks, moving closer. “And what’s changed?” He pinches my chin between his finger and thumb and tilts it up so I’m forced to meet his gaze.
“Everything.” I don’t know why my voice comes out as more of a whisper. I can’t think when he’s this close. I notice a faint red mark on his cheekbone. Without thinking, I reach forward, brushing my thumb over it. Jesse sucks in a breath before clamping his mouth shut. When my brain catches up to my actions, I drop my hand to my side. “What happened?”
“It’s nothing,” he says, but his voice is huskier than it was a second ago. He clears his throat, taking a step back.
“Want to know the best part about being roommates?” he asks, the playful demeanor firmly back in place. How does he do that? Shift gears so effortlessly? Better yet, what made him learn?
Jesse opens a door off to the right, waving me over. Hesitantly, I walk over to see—oh my God.
“We get to share a bathroom.” He bounces his eyebrows.
“Joy,” I deadpan, walking through, opening the opposite door that leads to my room. I saw the door to his room, obviously, but I thought it was a damn linen closet.
“We could conserve water? Shower together?”
“Not happening.”
“Every drop counts.”
I slam the door without a response, hearing a muffled chuckle behind me.
After doing some schoolwork, I grab a towel from my room. I brush my teeth and take a quick shower—making sure to lock the adjoining door—then throw an oversized shirt on. Crawling into bed, I pull the covers over me, then reach for my headphones and CDs from my nightstand. I flip through t
he square black case with doodles from my silver Sharpie decorating the front and back before finding my sleep mix. I pop it in and snuggle into my pillow as “Mix Tape” by Brand New croons in my ear.
Keeping my thoughts from drifting to the boy on the other side of the bathroom is a feat damn near impossible. Why is he so persistent? And what happened to his face? The more I get to know him, the higher my list of questions piles up. I hate that I’m starting to see him in a different light. He was this one-dimensional, manwhore of a jock before, and now, there are layers. Layers that I want to peel back, even though I know I’ll get burned in the process. How am I going to resist Jesse Shepherd when we’re under the same roof for two whole months?
And as I’m weighing the pros and cons of giving into temptation, I also give in to sleep.
* * *
“WHAT’S SO FUNNY?” LO ASKS, as I’m smiling down at my phone during my shift.
“My grandma seems to have just figured out how to use emojis,” I explain, showing her my phone screen. She messaged me to let me know I could access the garage where all my dad’s things are, followed by every heart, rainbow, and flower available.
“Damn.” She laughs. “She’s better with that shit than I am. I repel technology.”
“That’s sad, Lo.”
“This coming from the girl who rocks a portable CD player?” She shoots me a look, moving past me with her hands full of plates.
“Touché.”
“Finish up with your table, then take your break,” she instructs, jerking her chin toward the elderly couple who’s been taking up residence in my section for going on three hours, yet has ordered nothing besides two coffees and the soup of the day. Spoiler alert: it’s creamy tomato bisque. It’s always creamy tomato bisque.
“I could be waiting a while.” I sigh.
“Look on the bright side. Doesn’t look like they’ve got much time left,” Lo jokes.
“You’re going to hell.” I smother a smile.
Thankfully, the couple doesn’t stay much longer. I put in an order with Grumpy Pete for a grilled cheese and eat it at the bar, making small talk with Lo while she serves up drinks. Glancing at the clock, I realize I have a few minutes of my break left, so I can’t resist leaning forward to grab a butterscotch sucker out of the bowl.
Bad Influence Page 9
