Bad Influence

by K.A. Mitchell

  At least he didn’t have to contact them.

  When he’d texted Zeb about some more GED practice, they’d set up a meeting at the Pimlico Branch Library before Silver went in to work on Monday. Not great for seduction, but a cool break during the ninety-minute bus ride.

  Silver dropped the science book in front of where Zeb sat at one of the tables. Ignoring the way he was trying to get Silver in the seat opposite using the power of the Force, Silver dragged over a chair from another table and sat beside Zeb.

  “Guess you decided to skip facing Eli today. He threaten your nuts?”

  “No. In fact, I was surprised when he called to invite me to the opening of his gallery exhibition on Thursday.”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty pumped about it. He’s probably called everyone in his contacts. Just saying.”

  Zeb nodded. “Right. Are you going?”

  Silver hoped like hell he still had that night off. Eli would have a cow, a cat, and a litter of cow-kittens if anyone missed it, but Silver had a job he didn’t want to lose. “If I don’t have to work.”

  “Speaking of work.” Zeb opened the science review book.

  So they were all business today? Zeb was full of praise for everything Silver had worked on, but it was from that safe teacher distance. Like Zeb had never groaned and glanced back over his shoulder, begging Silver to fuck him harder.

  The jump-cut flashback had an annoying effect on Silver’s concentration. His stupidly exact memory skipped through dozens of moments: his first taste of a man’s mouth, his skin, his cock. The first surprising shift in muscles when the cock inside him stopped burning and felt like it belonged there.

  Adjusting the fit of his black slacks around the heaviness of an unwanted semi, he tried to get his attention back on the lame workbook, since that was all Zeb cared about.

  It was a short reading passage and questions on cross-species imprinting. Baby ducks following humans like they were their momma ducks. Was that all it had been? All those feelings, nothing more than that Zeb had been the first cute, available guy in Silver’s life? He’d sexually imprinted?

  If that’s all it had been, then why was what he wanted most right now a hug? A big solid Zeb hug, the kind that felt like there was nothing in the world but the two of them, Zeb’s breath easy and slow, his heart strong and solid against Silver’s chest. A kiss wouldn’t be bad either. Fuck, any kind of attention he couldn’t have gotten from a well-meaning guidance counselor. Something that proved what they’d been to each other.

  Maybe that was the reason behind meeting in the library, the arrangement of the chairs so none of them were on Zeb’s side of the table. Maybe he wasn’t all serenely immune to the fact that it probably wouldn’t take much more than a hug as a reminder of what they’d been so very good at before.

  Silver might not have liked studying science, but he knew how to test a hypothesis. The next couple questions were on chemistry. Stuff about covalents and electrons did not stick in his head. It wasn’t faking to lean closer and shove the book over the top of the one Zeb was reading, working one arm in between Zeb’s to point out the issue.

  “I can’t get this shit to make sense for me.”

  The contact was only in two spots. Knees, though they were both in slacks, and the inside of their arms where they met over the book, also shielded by a layer of cloth. Still, tension flooded into Zeb’s muscles, and the sun-bronzed hair on his forearm prickled and stood on end. That wasn’t very teacher-like.

  The final data in the experiment was when, after a long breath, Zeb said, “Just a second.”

  He extracted himself gently but completely, then stood before walking over to the reference desk. When he came back with some scrap paper, he sat on the opposite side of the table.

  Yup. Experiment supports hypothesis: Zeb was avoiding contact. Too bad Silver couldn’t quite set up an experiment to prove why, though slipping off his shoe and curling his foot over Zeb’s junk ought to have a measurable effect.

  “Okay.” Zeb started to draw a circle. “Now an oxygen molecule—”

  “Wait.” Silver put his hand over the circle. “That’s what’s in the book, and the circles just look like Mickey Mouse’s head to me.”

  “Okay.” Zeb reached into his pockets and spilled out a bunch of change. “This quarter is the oxygen nucleus. Eight is the atomic number so….”

  Silver had done a foot-job customer once. A repeater, so he must have gotten it right. He slipped off the back end of the black Chuck he wore for work. It might be entertaining to watch Zeb’s face as he got hard right here in the Pimlico Branch Public Library.

  Just when you thought it was safe to sit back at the study table….

  There were a lot more coins now. Circles of pennies around the quarter and two nickels. Silver wiggled his toes in his shoe and flexed the sole while Zeb went on talking. “So when the water molecule forms, the hydrogen electrons attach on the ring of oxygen electrons.” He replaced four of the pennies with dimes. “See? But there are still eight oxygen electrons.”

  Silver could see now how to answer that next bunch of questions, yeah. But it was still what-the-fuck-was-the-point stupid. “I see that with three more bucks you can trade your water molecule for a cup of coffee at Starbucks.”

  Zeb’s brow lowered. “Well, molecules do tend to be—”

  “Relax. I got it. Thanks.” Silver couldn’t figure out why he wanted to try to make Zeb feel better. He wasn’t the one stuck learning high school shit out of a lame book instead of having it all done with years ago. But Silver found himself saying, “You’re pretty good at this.” Because it was easier to see with the money to move around rather than the lame circles in the book.

  Zeb smiled. There was something besides the potential for a foot job to be said for sitting across from each other. Silver got to watch the way Zeb’s smile crinkled and sparked in his gold-green-brown eyes. Lots of gold today. Silver used to try to figure out if it was mood or the background colors that made the color shift so much. He’d never been completely sure it was based on how Zeb felt, but gold was a good sign. It had been around a lot back then. And Silver had come to think of it as happy in the Zeb’s-eyes-as-a-mood-ring game.

  Silver finished up the last few chemistry questions, then stretched his arms over his head and behind his chair.

  Zeb leaned back, his legs encroaching on Silver’s side of the table. Did that mean teacher mode was done?

  “What are your plans, Jordan?”

  He didn’t think Zeb meant the seduction plans, though he wasn’t sure Zeb didn’t see through the tutoring excuse to implement them. And then Silver remembered. “You mean after you head off to summer camp?”

  “I mean for your future. The rest of the life that’s ahead of you.”

  Assuming his meds worked and he stayed out of Linwood and didn’t get bashed or killed in jail. Those scary things almost bubbled out of his mouth despite the tight clench of his jaw. He could barely think past the next few hours, and Zeb expected a plan for life?

  “Why? You worried you might be surfing for porn someday and end up having to relive a night with me?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.”

  Was it anger overriding Zeb’s patient tone? Good.

  “Oh, I forgot. You probably don’t watch porn. Guess you’ll be safe from me for good once June 20 rolls around.”

  Zeb glanced away, like he could find patience somewhere over by the reference desk. And he did, because the anger was gone when he said, “You could work with kids.”

  “Are you fucking nuts?” Silver heard his words echo and lowered his voice. “First, I hate kids. Second, with my history no one would let me anywhere near kids. And third, thank God, because I hate the little shits.”

  Zeb sat up, confusion drawing his brows together, chasing the gold from his eyes. “But you were great with the kids at Sunday school.”

  “I was trying to impress you.”

  “It worked.” Zeb swallowed, bu
t his eyes held Silver’s. That color, the darkest one, brown with a hint of green. Either Zeb was turned on or really pissed off. From the way he was leaning forward across the table, Silver was going with choice A, circling it, and putting it on his answer sheet.

  “Jordan—”

  Silver’s phone went off. He thought about ignoring it, but Zeb was already back on the other side of the table, a nonspecific smile on his face, nodding like the phone ringing was something he’d personally arranged at that moment.

  Silver glanced at the number. “It’s the lawyer guy. I have to take it.” But if it was bad news, he didn’t want to have to worry about what his face looked like in front of Zeb. “’Scuse me.” Silver pushed away from the table.

  Based on the disapproving looks from the librarians, Silver decided he’d better take it all the way outside. They got through the greetings right as Silver hit the outside wall of heat.

  “Silver, I’m afraid there’s been a slight hitch in acquiring the identification documents from your parents.”

  Big fucking surprise. “But we can still get my birth certificate from the county where I was born, right?”

  “Ah. Apparently the Monongalia County Clerk is on a fishing trip and will not return until Wednesday.”

  Silver heard the rustle of paper and the tap of a keyboard, pictured the flash of gold from the cufflinks under the expensive suit jacket.

  There was irritation in the polished-sounding voice. “And Monongalia County has yet to join even the twentieth century. No one else is empowered to authenticate the document.”

  Without his birth certificate, he had no proof he was now using his legal name. He couldn’t register to take the GED or open a bank account. All the things the lawyer said they’d need to show the judge. And the court date was only two weeks away. He was seriously screwed. Again.

  “Is there any other way to get my birth certificate?”

  “There is a potential remedy. I realize it’s a less-than-desirable outcome, but I spoke with your father’s attorney. He says your father will release the documents only to you, in person.”

  “Can he do that?”

  “I’m afraid he can. They are in his possession. Even if we could legally compel him to provide them, that would take additional time.”

  “Right.” Which left him with saying Fuck you, Thomas Barnett and probably going to jail, or finding a way to haul ass up to New Freedom. Once he had the papers, he could still tell him to fuck off in person. He did some quick calculating. He could take the bus on his day off, assuming Thomas would give him an appointment. He started walking back into the library. The librarians could just chill about his phone call; he needed a bus schedule. “I can make it up on Thursday.”

  “I’ll get back to you as soon as I have more information.”

  Silver yanked the 83 commuter bus schedule out of the rack and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. Now he’d probably miss Eli’s opening. Not that Silver really gave a shit about the art, but it was a big deal to Eli, and Silver owed him. A lot more than just showing up at a gallery.

  He flopped back down in his chair and yanked the book as close as he could, propping up his forehead on his fists to hide his face as he tried to make the marks on the page turn into words. They didn’t, so he dug his knuckles into his closed eyes until he saw bright patches of purple and blue against the black.

  The touch was so light, he thought it had to be a brush of air at first. A stroke through his hair. But then there was another, tingling his scalp. Then firmer. A caress. Comfort.

  Zeb was petting his hair in the middle of the library? Silver sat up. “Don’t go losing your job.”

  Zeb yanked his hand back as if he’d been burned. “Bad news?”

  “Wow. You must be psychic or something. I guess we don’t have much time left. I gotta catch the bus.” He shoved the book into his backpack.

  Zeb put his hand over Silver’s on top of the canvas. “Jordan. Are you going back to jail?”

  Silver glanced down at Zeb’s hand, and he pulled it back. “Not yet.”

  “You don’t have to leave now. I’ll drive you in.”

  “I’m not exactly in the mood to concentrate on anything.”

  “I’ll still drive you.”

  Silver didn’t care about the lame plan to get his revenge anymore. It felt like nothing he did mattered. Everything he’d been through, and he still wound up being jerked around by his father. Right now all he wanted was to get away from the other half of why he’d sworn he’d never go anywhere near New Freedom again.

  “Why?” he demanded. “You think a couple of rides and some GED tutoring will make up for everything?”

  Zeb looked at Silver with an infuriating calm. “I think we both know there’s nothing I can do that will ever make up for what happened.”

  Damn right. “So what the fuck difference does it make if I take the bus?”

  “Because it’s ninety-four outside, my car has air-conditioning, and I hope you’ll tell me what happened.”

  Silver would have sworn when he left the library he was headed across the street to the bus stop, but he found himself next to the passenger door of Zeb’s Pontiac. His Chucks were sticking to the blacktop.

  After Zeb popped the locks, Silver slung himself in and waited for the even greater blast of heat in the car to blow out the open windows as the AC took over. It wasn’t until the second light that Zeb said “Watch your fingers” and rolled up the windows. “How’s your elbow, by the way?”

  Silver glanced down as if he could see it through the black sleeve of his work shirt and the gauze he carefully taped down after his shower.

  “It’s okay.”

  He dug the tie out of his backpack and put it over his head. The air felt good, and he leaned his face into it, let it lift his hair. Which reminded him of Zeb playing with his hair in the library. He sat back. Zeb not asking him about the phone call was just as annoying as if he’d nagged.

  And more effective.

  “I need to have proof of my legal name before my court date. We’re having trouble getting my birth certificate from the county where I was born, and my father will only hand over the official copy and my social security card if I show up in person.”

  Zeb nodded, but Silver saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel. It had to be scorching his palms. Silver couldn’t even rest his forearm against the door panel.

  “When is your next day off?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to do it. One night in jail was enough.” I hope.

  “When?”

  Okay. Nagging was definitely more annoying. “Thursday. That okay with you?” That shut him up for a while.

  “You’ll have to make a left up here on West Mulberry,” Silver pointed out.

  Traffic on Mulberry was stuck at every light. Silver wanted to get out and push the car. Pedestrians cut in front of them, ignoring the crosswalks—which was pretty much what Silver did all the time, but trapped in the car with Zeb with what felt like all their baggage plus Silver’s parents watching from the back seat, it was enough to make him want to scream.

  “I’ll get out at the next light. Charles Street is one-way in the wrong direction.”

  “I’ll take a personal day and drive you up Thursday,” Zeb said as if Silver hadn’t just told him how desperate he was to not be in this car anymore.

  “You need more get-out-of-hell-free points? How about this? I forgive you. There. It’s all fine. I’m sure Jesus is fine with it too.” Silver reached for the door. Which was locked. He forced down a sharp breath. Zeb hadn’t done it on purpose; Silver had heard the doors lock automatically as they left the library lot. But it took his last bit of self-control not to start kicking at it to make it open. He’d think after surviving that night in jail, he’d be over that locked-in panic attack. Every locked door wasn’t the one on the Reflection Room at Path to Glory.

  “I want to do it.” Zeb pulled the car over into a spot right under a “No Stopping
or Standing Tow Zone” sign. For a guy who used to be so intent about doing the right thing, he sure bent a lot of laws.

  “You don’t have to do it.”

  Zeb released the door lock. “Actually, I think I do.”

  Silver climbed out. “I told you, I don’t need you to.”

  Zeb’s voice was calm, but there was a determination in it that made the hair on the back of Silver’s neck stand up.

  “I didn’t say I was doing it for you.”

  Chapter Ten

  WHATEVER THE fuck Zeb had meant by “not doing it for you,” the only reason Silver dropped his ass into the passenger seat of Zeb’s Pontiac two days later was because of Eli, and Silver said that immediately.

  “I don’t know what you plan to get out of the trip, but whatever it is, we need to be on our way back by five thirty.”

  Thomas Barnett had dictated a four-thirty appointment. Silver owed it to Eli to be at that opening. Not only was Eli the reason Silver got to walk around free in a space bigger than a jail cell, he couldn’t stand to imagine the sad puppy eyes if he missed it.

  “Understood. My business won’t take long.”

  “Why are we leaving so early, then?” Silver dragged the seat belt across to the buckle.

  “I didn’t think you’d want to risk being late.”

  It was true Silver hated to give Thomas any reason to go back on the deal, but not having a car didn’t mean he was also lacking a brain. “I don’t.” And because Zeb had spoken in that irritatingly reasonable teacher voice he’d been using lately, Silver tacked on, “But don’t think because you’re helping me with the GED you need to plan out the rest of my business. I’ve been living on my own for years.” Thanks to three of the people whose faces I have to see today. Shoving the seat back as far as it would go, he slipped off his Chucks and put his bare feet up on the dash, knees bent close to his face.

  As the GPS dictated their trip to I-83, Zeb said in a voice about as full of life as the computer’s, “Have I mentioned that I don’t trust other people’s driving?”