Bad Influence

by K.A. Mitchell

  A table of rowdy women landed in Silver’s section, and the need to concentrate on six special orders and four separate checks was enough to blot out the chance of further flashbacks. When he brought the bacon-augmented veggie burger and the sanctimoniously boring one over to Kellan and Nate, the resulting laughter and bitchery made Silver almost too entertained to be pissed when Eli and Quinn showed up an hour early, acting like they just wanted some loaded fries instead of being there to make sure Silver didn’t sneak off.

  THE NEXT morning Silver spent lounging on the couch, poking around on the tablet Eli had given him after he’d chased Silver out of the spare bedroom. One of the walls in that room was taken up by Eli’s computer and graphics stuff, and apparently Eli did more than cook and put out, since he claimed he had to do some work.

  Silver couldn’t really complain, since the couch was comfy and they had streaming services so he could watch pretty much anything. At first it was fun to catch up on the last three seasons of Ice Road Truckers, but that got old fast. Silver didn’t have another shift at With Relish until Thursday.

  He went into the bedroom and flopped on the bed. “I feel like a freaking virgin trapped in a tower.”

  Eli snorted. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel.” He spun around in his desk chair. “You may have the blond locks, but I think you’re past the expiration date on virginity.”

  Crunching his abs, Silver curled up enough to see the computer screen, then jerked to his feet for a closer look. It was a black-and-white picture of one of the ships in the harbor in the pouring rain, and somehow Eli had made it look like there was another layer of water on it. Like if you touched it, your fingers would get wet. Everywhere there were shadows and light that made the picture look 3-D. All of it black-and-white except for a splash of neon reflected on the water.

  “Fuck, Eli.”

  Eli studied Silver’s face, then smiled. “Thanks. It’s for a show. In an art gallery.”

  “Fancy shit.” Silver flung himself back onto the bed. “So this is you now? Quinn’s boy toy slash housewife who makes pretty pictures to keep from dying of boredom.”

  “Yeah.” Eli’s grin was huge. “Isn’t it awesome?”

  “I guess. If you like that kind of thing.” Silver smoothed a lump in the cover he’d thrown over the unmade bed. “You do really like that kind of thing? I heard him the other night. Hitting you.”

  “Spanking me, you mean?” Eli bounced onto the bed next to him. “I fucking love it. I can come just from that and a little friction. Have you ever tried it?”

  Silver smoothed the blanket out again. Eli knew about the hustling. The winter they’d met, neither of them had been doing too well. But Silver hadn’t told Eli about the web stuff. Might as well. “Kind of.” He poked around on the tablet and handed it over. “Here.”

  Eli took it, and his eyes got comically wide. “Holy shit.”

  “I did lots of live subscription web stuff. This is out everywhere.”

  Eli stared back down at the tablet. “Oh my God. Is that Papa Grande?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He is so fucking hot. I can’t believe I never saw this, and now I can’t ever jerk off to it. Ow. Those are some swats.” Eli winced.

  “People paid to keep it going. And they also gave a free six-month membership to someone who could predict how long I could take it before I’d break.”

  Eli turned the tablet facedown on the bed. “I didn’t know.”

  Silver shrugged. “I didn’t tell you. It was after the shelter. We’d lost touch.”

  “You never said why you took off like that.”

  “I was still underage. Was afraid with the social workers and shit that they’d find me.”

  Eli was smart enough not to ask who they were. Eli always had a half a dozen insults ready to go when he mentioned his asshole parents, but Silver’s weren’t worth the effort.

  Eli smoothed the same lump under the cover and then met Silver’s eyes. “Was it better than hustling?”

  “Better in some ways, worse in others. Got fucking sore sometimes.”

  Eli rolled his eyes. “Seems like cake by comparison. At least there’s furniture—and a director to keep an eye on things.”

  “Yeah? You try getting drilled by a dick that size for six hours while they adjust the cameras.” But for the most part, Eli was right. It had felt safer. That first winter wasn’t anything Silver wanted to relive. Eli either. Silver leaned back until he was propped up on his elbows. “Does Quinn know? About you tricking?”

  Eli stretched out on his back and folded his hands across his stomach. “As much as he can?”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means I told him. But I don’t know how much he gets it. How much anyone else can. Any time it comes up, he gets super protective. Which is sweet, kind of, but I don’t want to be packaged in bubble wrap in order to leave the house, you know?”

  Silver didn’t know. No one had ever really given a shit about protecting him.

  Controlling him, yeah.

  When he’d been with Zeb, things had gone like they had the night in the cell. Silver having to look out for himself while Zeb floated around in his flower-child, Jesus-loves-you bubble. How the hell had Zeb managed two years in Haiti? Only in private did Silver ever get to see the real Zeb. The one with the wry smile and the absurd sense of humor.

  Silver rolled onto his side, careful not to touch Eli. Didn’t matter. Eli didn’t get the concept of boundaries. He reached over and shoved Silver.

  “So how come you’re not loaded, Mr. Porn Star?”

  “Pretty twinks who’ll fuck on camera aren’t hard to find. I had to do the spanking and bareback stuff to make much. And it was hard to hang on to without a bank account.”

  Eli shot off the bed. “Bareback?”

  Silver had known the explosion was coming. Figured now was as good a time as any.

  He gave Mr. Safe-Sex Lectures a bored look.

  “Is that where you got it?”

  “Which? Gonorrhea or HIV?”

  “My God—”

  “Save it, Eli. I’m not stupid. And there’s no guarantee it was the modeling.” Silver’s mouth quirked in a half smile as Eli responded to the euphemism with a predictable echo of modeling and flinging his hands over his head. “I did have two boyfriends.”

  “And you weren’t safe with them?”

  “Come off it. Don’t tell me you aren’t getting bred by Daddy every night.”

  Eli stopped flailing and folded his arms defensively across his chest. “We waited. And got tested.”

  “How poster-child perfect of you.” Silver rolled off the far edge of the bed and started for the door.

  “Silver, wait.” Eli caught his wrist. Not roughly, not anything Silver couldn’t yank free of, but if he was going to get an apology, he’d stick around for it.

  But Eli pushed him onto the bed. “You are a serious mess, my friend.”

  “Fuck you.”

  What was it with everyone thinking they could give Silver the tough-love lecture? First that fucking cop, and now Eli? Bad enough he had to stay here, but he didn’t need the lectures on top of it. If he couldn’t leave, he could sure as fuck check out. He picked up the earbuds he’d been using, but before he could take the tablet and turn his back, Eli yanked the cord out of the tablet.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Eli demanded.

  “To who?”

  “Me, dickhead.”

  Silver shrugged. “You didn’t owe me anything. Why was any of it your problem?”

  “I thought we were friends.”

  “So?” Silver whipped the cord out of Eli’s hands. “That entitles you to hear about all my problems?”

  “No, that entitles you to tell me about them. And me to help you if I can.”

  “By help you mean I get whisked away to Boringland with you and Quinn?” Silver rolled his eyes.

  Eli shook his head. “I mean you could have been safe.”

&n
bsp; Chapter Five

  SAFE. FOR the rest of the day Silver turned that word over and over in his head. What the fuck did Eli mean by safe? Usually when it came out of his mouth, it was as a pair, one word. Safesex. But Silver didn’t think that was all Eli meant this time. What? Safe like they’d been in the shelter, barely off the freezing street, surrounded by drunks? Safe like Eli was, trapped here in suburbia, cooking and cleaning like a good little housewife? Or safe like they’d offered at the clinic, under the supervision of case managers and social workers crawling into every bit of his life?

  He hated this feeling. Eli acted like there was some kind of simple answer that Silver couldn’t see, when he’d been trying everything to keep himself safe.

  The sound of the front door opening had Silver ready to retreat to his room in case Quinn launched into his own version of the your-life-sucks-and-it’s-your-own-fault speech. But when their paths intersected in the hall, Silver saw Quinn had brought home a nice safe target for Silver’s anger.

  He stood in front of Zeb. “So what are you supposed to be? My gentleman caller? Is he on the approved list, Daddy?”

  Before Quinn could answer, Eli came out of the kitchen. With a sneer in Zeb’s direction, Eli got up in his boyfriend’s face. “Did it follow you home? I’ve told you to wipe your feet before you come in.”

  Quinn put his hands on Eli’s shoulders. “He’s a friend. And he’s a guest.” Quinn’s calm was usually a nice contrast to Eli’s flail over everything, but right now it got on what was left of Silver’s nerves. Quinn started to back Eli into the kitchen. “And he’s here to apologize.” Quinn looked back for a second and raised his brows in Silver’s direction.

  Nice for someone to ask permission in running his life. Silver rolled his eyes and said, “Fine,” mostly for Eli and Quinn’s benefit.

  Zeb, looking earnest and so damned sure his sorry would fix everything, provided a perfect opportunity to cut him to pieces, let him know nothing would ever be all right. Because there was no fix for what had happened after that night. But instead, Silver’s toes curled and gripped inside his sneakers, and he found himself fighting the urge to back away, swallowing the words to send Zeb out of his life for good this time.

  “Jordan—or should I call you Silver like your friends do?”

  It didn’t matter. Because Silver wouldn’t let Zeb be around long enough to let it matter.

  Silver shrugged. “Jordan’s fine.” Silver sounded weird coming from Zeb. As long as it wasn’t Jordie—Silver blocked the memory of the way Zeb had whispered it, voice full of awe.

  “It suits you, though. Silver. With your hair and eyes.”

  As if Silver didn’t know what he looked like. White-blond hair and gray eyes, thin and tall. One of the tweakers he’d met when he first landed in the city had given him the name. He’d liked it enough to keep it.

  He couldn’t keep his feet still anymore, so he let them take him into the living room, plopped in a chair, and swung his feet up so he could press and flex them against the coffee table.

  Zeb took the couch. “I owe you an apology.”

  Well, that was the fucking understatement of the decade. “Yeah? What for?”

  “Getting you in trouble.”

  It sounded like someone from church talking about a girl who was pregnant. Silver arched his brows.

  “Getting you arrested. I should have listened to you the other night. Seeing you—I didn’t think. I only wanted to know you were okay.”

  The other night he should have listened? The other night he wanted to know if Silver was okay? Last Saturday was the only night he was going to apologize for?

  Silver’s tongue was thick enough to choke him. It was the only excuse for the fact that none of the words were making it out of his mouth.

  Zeb went on, “If your friends hadn’t stepped in—I want you to know, I would have done anything to get you bailed out. I was praying I could get enough from selling my car, but your friend Jamie said they had it covered.”

  “He’s Quinn’s friend.” That pathetic protest was what Silver came up with? Every reason in the world to tell Zeb what he could do with his lame-ass apology, and Silver whined something about the cop not being his friend. Pathetic didn’t begin to cover it.

  Zeb’s smile showed off one dimple and crinkled his eyes. “Arguing with you would be a lousy way to apologize, but I think he is your friend too. You have good friends. Great friends. Though I’m not surprised.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve always seen something amazing in you, Jordan. Like a light to draw me in.”

  The last little piece of bullshit from Zeb’s sanctimonious mouth finally shook something loose. Silver snorted in disgust. “Drawn to wanting to fuck me, maybe.”

  “That’s not true.” Zeb’s protest was instantaneous, but Silver caught the quick glance aimed at his crotch.

  Sitting down or not, Silver knew how to show off. He shifted his weight and crossed one leg so the ankle rested at his knee, lowering his lashes and giving Zeb a shy smile.

  Zeb blinked.

  “Or”—Silver hardened his voice—“wanting to fuck me over.”

  Zeb squared his shoulders, and his cheek lost its dimple as his jaw tightened, though his voice was soft. “I’m so sorry, Jordan. For everything that happened.”

  It wasn’t really an apology. He said it the way people said I’m sorry when you had a bad day. Or at funerals. Not the way you should say it when you were the one who tripped the guy into the grave.

  But maybe Zeb would be sorry. If there was something he wanted, counted on like Silver had needed Zeb back then, maybe he’d feel what it was like when he couldn’t have it.

  Zeb still had an itch he figured Silver could scratch; the look had been plain enough. Wouldn’t take much until the guy was gagging for it. And then Silver could dish out a little payback. Nothing like what he’d been through standing outside Zeb’s apartment, needing to check with a hand on his stomach to be sure his guts hadn’t actually been ripped out.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Silver gave Zeb a smile like that half-assed nothing of an apology made the sun shine bright. “So, you want to stay for dinner?”

  OVER ELI’S dinner of enchiladas, rice, and salad, Silver tried to study Zeb as if he were a guy Silver planned to pick up. After all, he used to do it to stay fed, so it shouldn’t be too hard.

  When was the last time he’d fucked anyone just for fun? Jason? No, Jason had been fun, and things had been good, but their relationship had been as much about getting to stay in Jason’s gorgeous apartment as Jason himself. The boyfriend before him. Austin. Neither of them had had much of anything, and it had been all about having a good time. Silver had sometimes found himself wondering when the drama would kick in, but it didn’t, even when Austin said he’d gotten the job offer of his dreams and moved to Charlotte—never suggesting Silver come with him. Following the announcement, it was two weeks of almost constant fucking and then a Been fun. Have a nice life. Silver had texted after he got the positive test, but the Not Austin’s number anymore was a dead end.

  In the middle of his musings, he realized things had gone quiet, except every time Eli put a dish down, there was a loud thunk.

  Silver glanced over at Zeb, but all the lines he might have used tasted blander than water. Zeb wasn’t a trick. He wasn’t Jason or Austin or anyone else. There was too much history, and it was hard to keep the image of Zeb cutting into his enchilada at Quinn’s dining room table from mixing with the funny, sexy, shy man Silver had fallen for four years ago. No matter how much concentration he poured into hating this Zeb, someone whose rejection had hurt him more than any of the shit that happened afterward, having Zeb here made it impossible to forget that this was also someone who’d once loved him.

  After another noisy meeting between Eli’s water glass and the table, Silver went with a question he actually wanted the answer to. He glanced at Zeb. “How did you meet Quinn?”

  �
��Last summer we were both working at a camp in Pennsylvania for children with cancer.”

  Sounded like Zeb all right. Good deeds. The Zen bubble he always seemed to float around in was a little more drawn in, like he’d toned down some of the eagerness, and along with it the way he’d taken everything as a new way to experience the world.

  Quinn paused with a fork to his lips. “When I heard a teacher in the district was retiring at winter break, I got in touch with Zeb about the position.”

  “So you ended up back here.” Silver wrapped things up, nodding at Zeb.

  Zeb’s smile at Silver held the dimple plus a shared secret and history Silver had to ignore before his brain exploded all over Eli’s pastel tablecloth. “Well, this isn’t exactly New Freedom, is it?”

  “New Freedom?” Eli’s voice went high. “Fuck me, that sounds like a cult. Wait.” He stabbed his fork at Silver, eyes wide under the black bangs. “Were you in a cult?”

  “No. It’s a small town right over the border on the Pennsylvania side,” Zeb said.

  “Fucking felt like a cult growing up there.” Silver rolled his eyes at Eli.

  “Uh-huh.” Eli pushed his chair back. Coming to stand behind Silver, he said, “Gimme a hand in the kitchen,” and yanked on Silver’s collar until he could get strangled or get up.

  Eli’s height forced him to shift his grip from Silver’s collar to a belt loop to finish propelling him into the kitchen. A sudden twist and release spun Silver into the counter next to the stove.

  “What the fuck is going on? You call me from jail and tell me that guy’s the reason, and now I’m fucking feeding him enchiladas?”

  Silver settled his T-shirt back onto his shoulders with a shrug. “He apologized for everything. It was just some ex-boyfriend drama.”

  “Really?” Eli’s brows arched under his bangs. “Even Quinn’s ex-boyfriend drama didn’t land anyone in jail.”