Bad Influence

by Charleigh Rose

“My dad gave it to me on my fifth birthday.” I smile at the memory. “Most kids would be getting a bike or—I don’t know—dolls. I got a portable CD player and a Jimmy Eat World CD. I’ve had it ever since.” I laugh. “Not as convenient as everything else these days, but I still prefer it. I guess I don’t do well with change.”

  Jesse snorts.

  “What about you?” I look over at him. “What were you like as a kid?”

  He looks out at the black lake. “A punk. A white boy from the hood who couldn’t stay out of trouble.” I think about the picture I saw of him with the skateboard, unable to imagine that sweet little face getting into trouble. “Got kicked out of school a lot. Lo saved my ass, though. On more than one occasion.” He takes a long pull of his beer. “She raised me. Our mom was always more concerned about getting her next fix than remembering she had mouths to feed.”

  “I had no idea,” I say quietly. “I thought you were just some spoiled, lacrosse-playing, party-loving manwhore.”

  Jesse barks out an unexpected laugh at my blunt admission. “I guess that’s what I became when I moved here.” He chews on his bottom lip for a minute, seeming to think something over before he speaks again. “It’s funny. You can’t handle change, and I feel like all I’ve done my whole life is adapt to it. I don’t know what the fuck consistent even feels like.”

  I study him, once again sensing that there’s more to him than his persona. I want to swim in his depths, uncover every little hidden piece that the rest of the world doesn’t get to see.

  “Like a chameleon,” I muse.

  “What?”

  “You adapt to survive.”

  “Seems I’m not the only one.”

  My eyebrows pull together in confusion.

  “Someone incapable of adapting wouldn’t move to a new town, all alone,” he explains.

  I lift a shoulder in response, but I don’t elaborate. They would if they didn’t have any other options.

  We go back and forth, round after round, him avoiding all questions to do with what he does and where he goes when he’s not here, me avoiding anything about my parents. The more we drink, the more sexually charged our questions become. I don’t think Jesse even expects me to answer. I think he just likes to watch me squirm. We aren’t even drinking when we opt not to answer anymore. We’re just drinking to drink. Eventually, we’re both lying on our backs with a graveyard of beer bottles around us. Jesse pulls out something that was tucked behind his ear, and the familiar smell tells me it’s not a cigarette.

  “How many girls have you been with?”

  “We’re really doing this? It’s a little early on in the relationship to have the numbers discussion, don’t you think?” His voice is raspy as he speaks, and then a second later, he lets out a cloud of smoke between us. He holds his hand out to me in offering, a brown blunt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. I shake my head. He shrugs, taking another hit.

  “Not in a relationship,” I correct.

  “Honest answer? I don’t know.”

  “Ballpark.” I look over at him, one arm folded behind his head, the other holding the blunt an inch from his lips, forehead creased in concentration. My eyes have long adjusted to the dark by now, and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol talking, but it hits me out of nowhere that Jesse Shepherd is fucking beautiful.

  “More than ten. Less than thirty?” He sounds anything but sure, but my stomach twists with unexpected jealousy, so I decide not to push for a more concrete answer. “What about you?”

  “Pfft. Way too many to count,” I joke. Jesse chokes, a plume of smoke rushing out of his mouth, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “You’re a liar,” he accuses.

  “Nuh-uh. I’ve been with tons of girls.”

  “You’re so funny,” he drawls.

  “I know.” I feel my smile stretch across my face, but it falls when I notice how he’s looking at me. “What?” I ask defensively.

  “I want to try something,” he says.

  “Okay…”

  “Come here.”

  I roll onto my side, heart pounding, but he hooks a finger into the belt loop of my jean shorts, pulling me until I’m straddling him. I brace my hands on his chest, my thighs cradling his torso. His free hand skates up my leg, and my head swims at the feeling.

  “You’re cold,” he rasps, his voice sounding thicker than it was a second ago.

  “I’m burning up,” I argue. The cold can’t touch me now. Between the lust and the alcohol, I’m on fire. The corner of his lip ticks into an almost-smile.

  “You trust me?”

  I nod, and then he brings the blunt to his lips once more, taking a long pull. Holding it in, he crooks his finger in a “come here” motion. I know what he wants to do, and with the position he chose, I have to be the one to make the move. Liquid courage fuels my movements as I lean down, my fingers bunching up his hoodie, then I press my lips to his. They’re softer than I remember. He parts them, gently blowing until the smoke fills my mouth. I breathe it in, then pull back, looking down at him as I let it out. His hand tightens on my thigh, and the air is charged as we stare at each other. Jesse swallows hard, and I shift my hips a little lower, feeling how turned on he is through his jeans.

  “You trust me?” It’s my turn to ask. Jesse scrapes his teeth along his bottom lip as he flexes his hips upward, then nods. I bring both hands to either side of his face tentatively before lowering my mouth to his once more. When my tongue peeks out and flicks into his mouth, Jesse groans, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck to deepen the kiss.

  All pretenses and inhibitions go out the window as our tongues slide together, my pulse beating wildly in my neck. Jesse’s hand starts to tremble, and for some reason, I find it endearing. Like maybe he’s just as affected as me. The tightening between my legs becomes almost unbearable, and I shift my hips, trying to assuage the feeling.

  “Fuck,” Jesse groans into my mouth. I pull back, lifting the hem of my shirt, but Jesse’s hand covers mine, stopping me. His nostrils flare, eyes hard. He looks like he’s in pain. “Stop.” His voice is curt, but his thumb circles my exposed navel, as if to soften the blow of his harsh words.

  My jaw goes slack when I realize he’s rejecting me for a second time. I scoff bitterly, letting my shirt fall back into place before pushing his hand away roughly. “Unbelievable.” I lift my leg, rolling off of him, then make quick work of putting my Docs back on.

  “Allie—”

  “Don’t talk to me.”

  Jesse rolls his eyes, shaking his head as if I’m simply being a petulant child. From the corner of my eye, I see him lift his hoodie over his head a second before it lands on my head. I fling it off me onto the sand. Might as well play the part.

  “Put it on.”

  “No.”

  “Goddammit, Allie. Wear the fucking sweatshirt.”

  The temperature has dropped since we’ve been out here, but the chill I feel has absolutely nothing to do with the weather. Jesse bends over to retrieve the sweatshirt before he takes matters into his own hands and pulls it over my head. When I realize he’s going to try to dress me like a toddler if I don’t comply, I reluctantly shove my arms through and then stand.

  “Was that so fucking hard?”

  I don’t respond. Instead, I walk away as fast as I can without running, leaving him to collect the boneyard of bottles behind me.

  * * *

  MY HEADPHONES ARE RIPPED FROM my ears and thrown onto the table in front of me. “Hey!” I yell.

  “Spill it,” Halston demands.

  “How did you find me here?” I mutter, bitter that she found me. After I got back to Lo’s house, the party was still going strong, so I grabbed my forgotten phone off the patio table and called Halston to come rescue me. I got a free pass from her interrogation last night in my sad, drunken state. But I knew all bets would be off today. So, here I am, passing the time in the library on a freaking Saturday, working on an assignment that isn’t due
for two weeks, before my shift at Blackbear starts.

  “You don’t have friends. Where else would you go?”

  I open my mouth to say Dylan’s, but she stops me.

  “And Dylan doesn’t count.”

  “I have other friends,” I grumble.

  Halston shoots me a look before pulling out a chair and makes herself comfortable, her folded hands resting on top of the table, a waxed to perfection eyebrow arched in expectation.

  I sigh, shutting the screen of my laptop. “I almost hooked up with the enemy last night.”

  “If you’re referring to the fucking god you’re living with, that’s a slight exaggeration, don’t you think?”

  “Whatever, Judas.”

  Her eyes roll toward the ceiling. “I see we’re rolling with the dramatic theme. What happened?”

  I debate on how much to divulge. Halston won’t judge, but more than that, I’m genuinely baffled by his behavior, and I could use some advice from someone with more experience in this department. Shoving my pride aside, I decide to tell her everything. Every single detail from the very first night we hooked up in her dorm to last night.

  “It just doesn’t make sense. He pursues the shit out of me, and then when we’re right there—” I smack the table for emphasis, earning a glare from a nearby student with thick, black glasses with round frames. “He pulls back. Twice, now. Am I some kind of a game to him? Oh God, what if I’m a bet?”

  “What?” Halston laughs at my outlandish rambling.

  “You know, like those teen romance movies circa 2002. The popular guy goes for the nerd slash loner girl and she fucking falls for it, only to learn she was just a bet all along.”

  “First of all, you’re not a nerd. You’re a hot chick with questionable fashion sense. Big difference.”

  “That’s really comforting. Thank you for your sage words of wisdom. Really, I feel so much better now.”

  “Jesus, Allie.” Halston’s eyes grow wide. “You really like him!” she accuses, her voice increasing in volume. The same kid from before shushes us, but we ignore him.

  “That’s ridiculous.” I scoff, shaking my head in denial, and this time, it’s my voice that’s rising in pitch.

  “Can you two airheads go ponder the meaning of life somewhere else? Some of us actually have work to do.”

  “Pack it in, Potter!” Halston growls, glaring at him. “Or I’ll tell the librarian what you’re really doing over there.” She points a manicured finger, gesturing at his screen, as a devious grin spreads across her face.

  His cheeks turn tomato red and he snaps his mouth shut.

  “That’s right,” she taunts. “I saw your screen when I came in. I’m pretty sure watching anime porn on school grounds is frowned upon.”

  A laugh spills out of me as he fumbles to pack his things up, tripping in his haste on the way out.

  “You wouldn’t care if you didn’t like him,” she continues, as if nothing happened.

  My smile slips a little. “Okay, so maybe I like him a little,” I admit. “It’s just a crush. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Exactly. So, why not ask him what’s up with the Jekyll and Hyde act?”

  “Uh, because then he’ll know how I feel…”

  “Pretty sure you showed him exactly how you felt when you threw that little hissy fit last night.”

  “Whose side are you on?” I bristle at her words, even though I know she’s right.

  “Hey,” she holds up her hands in mock surrender, “I’m not saying I wouldn’t have done the exact same thing and kicked him in the balls to really drive my point home. But don’t write him off without hearing him out. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Well, he’s not exactly beating my door down to explain.”

  “You don’t have a door. You’re homeless.”

  “You’re an asshole,” I say, but I can’t hide my smile.

  “You love me.”

  “I do. Anyway, enough about my crap. What’s up with you? Have you been talking to Sullivan?”

  She lifts a shoulder. “Here and there.” I try to read her expression to no avail. Seems I’m not the only one keeping secrets. “Are you staying for Spring Break?”

  “Yep.” It’s not like I have anywhere else to go. “You?”

  “I wish.” She sighs. “My parents are forcing me to go to some bullshit vineyard for the week.”

  I scrunch my nose. That sounds like my idea of hell. “At least your parents want you around.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud, and the look on Halston’s face is exactly why. I didn’t mean to make her feel guilty.

  “Are we hanging out before you go?” I ask quickly in an effort to get the look of pity out of her eyes.

  “What time do you work tomorrow?”

  “Evening shift.”

  “I’ll pick you up around eleven. We’ll get pedis—my treat—and drink champagne.”

  “Yay,” I deadpan, waving an invisible pom-pom.

  I manage to make it through my shift at Blackbear unscathed. I didn’t think Jesse would pass up an opportunity to harass me, but he never showed. He’s probably moved on to his next willing victim by now.

  “Why are you pouting?” Lo asks. I look up to see her watching me, propping a hand on her hip.

  “I’m not pouting.”

  “You’re scowling.”

  “I’m a scowler,” I say, lifting a shoulder. “I’m not exactly Little Miss Sunshine if you haven’t noticed,” I joke, but her pinched lips and narrowed eyes tell me she’s not buying it.

  “Where’d you disappear to last night?”

  I straighten, clearing my throat. “Halston called. Boy trouble. I went to stay with her.”

  “Mhm.”

  “You went upstairs. Jesse said you’d be a while.”

  “Whatever’s got you upset wouldn’t have anything to do with why Jess has been stomping around, slamming every door in the house, would it?”

  I shake my head, not wanting to outright lie.

  “You’re a shit liar,” she says. “But I’ll let you keep your secrets for now.”

  Once Lo lets me off the hook, the rest of my shift goes quickly. It’s just Grumpy Pete and me closing and naturally, I get full control of the song selection, so the day isn’t all bad. By the time I get home, Dare and Lo are upstairs watching a movie, and Jesse is nowhere to be seen. After a quick shower, I don’t bother putting on more than underwear and an old Metallica shirt that’s five sizes too big. It’s probably older than I am, and it’s faded from black to a dingy gray color, but the material is soft and it’s my favorite thing to wear to sleep. I crawl into bed, too tired to bother with my headphones tonight.

  I don’t know what time it is or what wakes me, but it’s still dark when I tiptoe down the stairs to get some water. My bare feet pad across the cold wood floor as I head for the kitchen. Grabbing a black cup with a neon pink heart with the words Bad Intentions through it, I turn for the fridge, using the dispenser to fill it up. Faint laughter hits my ears half a second before the back door to my left slides open, scaring the shit out of me.

  Three girls in barely-there bathing suits clumsily barrel inside, dripping wet and drunk, if their incessant giggling and shushing is anything to go by. “I told you they weren’t together,” the one girl I do recognize says, her voice sounding smug. Sierra. I tiptoe backwards into the hall, a sick feeling rolling through me. Are they talking about me?

  “How do you know?” another girl asks.

  “The fact that he was practically dry humping me in the hot tub was my first clue,” Sierra says dryly.

  I’m not with Jesse. The last thing I want is a relationship—with anyone. Why should I care about who he’s hooking up with? I have no claim to him. So why are my eyes burning with unshed tears, and why does my stomach feel like it’s suddenly full of lead? I take a step backwards, not wanting to hear any more, when I bump into something. Or someone. A hand comes around my mouth, muffling my yelp.

  “S
hh,” Jesse says. I fight against his hold, not wanting his hands anywhere near me, but his arms band around me in a vise grip.

  “Doesn’t mean anything,” another voice chimes in, and I stop my struggling, if only to avoid drawing their attention. “He doesn’t exactly strike me as the monogamous type.”

  “I don’t really give a shit, to be honest,” the devil in the form of a Victoria’s Secret model says flippantly. “As long as he gives me that big, fat—”

  Having heard more than enough, I bite down on Jesse’s fingers, causing him to hiss, but he doesn’t pull away. He pushes me forward, my chest pressed against the wall. I attempt to kick him in the balls, but it’s a fail from this angle, and he simply arches out of the way. “Stop and listen,” he growls into my ear. I blow a piece of hair out of my face.

  “Why?” I whisper. Why the hell does he want me to hear this? “I fucking get it, okay?”

  “I wonder if he’s good in bed,” one of them muses. “Just because he has the equipment doesn’t mean he knows how to use it.”

  “Please.” Sierra scoffs. “Of course he does.”

  I jerk against his hold once more as hurt morphs into anger. Anger is good. Much better than feeling sad. Jesse tightens his hold, bringing his lips close to my ear. “Just listen,” he says, his voice soft, almost apologetic. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me by making me hear this shit.

  “And Jesse doesn’t care that you’re going for his friend?” This is from another voice I don’t recognize.

  I freeze in Jesse’s hold, realization setting in. They’re not talking about him. When he senses me soften, I feel Jesse’s smile against my neck. The stretched-out collar of my oversized shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, and he skims his lips back and forth on my exposed skin.

  “Once he sees someone else playing with his toy, he’ll want it back.” She laughs.

  “No, he won’t,” Jesse argues low in my ear. His hand leaves my mouth, trailing down toward the hem of my shirt. I stiffen, but don’t object as he reaches under, softly stroking my thigh before cupping me between my legs. “I have exactly what I want in the palm of my hand.”