Bad Influence

by Charleigh Rose

  “Did you hear that?” I ask.

  Moving in slowly, he cages me in, bracing his right arm on the wall above my head, his left hand by my hip. He brings his lips close to my ear, and I fight the shiver that rolls through me. “It’s probably Sierra,” he says, his voice hushed and husky. I swallow hard, looking over his shoulder as he nuzzles closer. We both know it’s not Sierra. My pulse pounds in my ears as his mouth skims across my cheek, stopping at my parted lips. I don’t even know him. I should push him away. I should stop the charade. But instead, I find myself waiting for his next move.

  “Is this convincing?” he asks. He’s so close that I can feel his breath on my lips, and I realize that I want him to close the distance. I want him to kiss me.

  I give a slight shake of my head in response.

  “No?” He smirks. His left hand leaves the wall to curl around my hip and presses his chest to mine. “How about this?”

  “Almost,” I whisper. I wet my lips, and the tip of my tongue grazes his bottom lip. His expression goes from playful to heated in an instant, and then he closes the final distance. It’s soft at first, just a brush of his lips against mine, but then he’s cupping my face with both hands, tilting my head back as his tongue sweeps into my mouth.

  My hands find his shirt, pulling him closer as his mouth fucks mine. Because that’s exactly what this is. This isn’t kissing. Or maybe it is, and I’ve been kissing the wrong boys.

  Jesse groans, fitting a firm thigh between my legs, and the need bubbling inside me threatens to boil over at the sensation. All too soon, he pulls back, leaving me breathless.

  “Convincing enough?” His words are playful, but the glazed look in his eyes tells me he’s just as affected as I am.

  I try to find words, but before I do, we hear it again. The rustling. Both of our heads snap in the direction of the bush just in time to see a racoon dart out and run behind the building.

  “Jesus!” I jump, before laughing, my forehead falling against Jesse’s chest as I calm my racing heart. Except, it’s not calming. It’s beating hard and fast for an entirely different reason. Slowly, I lift my gaze to Jesse’s. His jaw is set hard as he stares down at me, and I feel the thick ridge beneath his jeans. I bite down on my lip as my hips shift into his, seeking the friction. What the hell am I doing?

  With that move, Jesse snaps, bending to grab the back of my thighs as he kisses me again. He moves toward the door, and I fumble, one-handed, to push it open behind me. He carries me past the empty common area toward the dorms, clearly knowing his way around.

  “Room number.”

  “One-oh-eight,” I say, barely getting the words out before his mouth is on mine again. When we reach the door, I slide down his body, digging into my jeans pocket for the spare key Halston gave me. I work fast, not wanting to give myself time to second-guess my very questionable decision to hook up with a guy I barely know in a room that isn’t even technically mine. But maybe Halston was right. Jesse Shepherd is a playboy. I won’t be in any danger of falling for him. Even in the highly unlikely event I did catch feelings, he’ll be two hours away at school by Monday.

  Once I get the door open, Jesse grabs me by the ass, my legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he lifts me. Crossing my ankles behind his back, I toe off my sopping boots.

  I sense him hesitating for a beat, staring at the two beds, trying to decide which one is mine. The answer is neither, but he chooses the one I’m using for the time being, probably guessing that pretty, pink princess-style bedding isn’t me. I don’t know why that thought appeases me. As if him knowing this small detail somehow justifies my willingness to sleep with a near stranger.

  Jesse tosses me on top of the twin bed with my black comforter, fitting himself between my legs. I hook my calves behind the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer.

  “Fuck,” he rasps, pushing his hips into me. I curl my fingers into the bottom of his shirt and pull upward. Jesse sits back to rip it off, his hat falling to the floor with it. Jesus, he’s beautiful. Muscular but lean. Still soft. Messy hair falling into his eyes.

  “I’m not having sex with you,” I say again, just to be clear.

  “You said that,” he mumbles. Leaning down, his hands slip under my shirt, and I freeze when his lips meet my stomach. He looks up at me, kissing and licking his way up each inch of my skin as he pushes my shirt higher. I reach down to thread my fingers in those dark, disheveled locks as I arch into his touch. The pulsing between my thighs is unbearable, almost painful now, and I need more.

  Right when he exposes my black bra, his phone rings from his back pocket. He reaches behind to silence it, and then he’s back, unhooking the front clasp of my bra. I hold my breath as he starts to peel the fabric away from my skin, my nipples already sensitive and hard as rocks from anticipation. Jesse scrapes his teeth against the swell of my breast as my bra falls to my sides, exposing me completely. I shiver, arching into him, but then his phone rings again.

  “Someone better be dead,” he snaps, sitting back on his heels to fish his phone out of his pocket. When he sees the name flashing across his screen, his entire demeanor changes. His eyebrows pull together, his expression grim. He looks from me to the phone, then back to me again, regret written all over his features. Regret that he’s hooking up with me?

  “I have to go.”

  “Is something wrong?” Something better be wrong. I’d accept a sick relative. A dead pet. Things happen.

  “I…” He frowns at his phone again, and it slips from between his fingers, landing at my feet. I don’t see much, but I do see a name. A very feminine name.

  My mouth pops open for half a second before I snap it shut. Did I just get traded in for a better option? I suddenly feel cold. Like a bucket of ice water was dumped over the fire that was building inside me. I avert my eyes, pulling my shirt down to cover my tits that are still wet from his mouth.

  “Al—” he starts, but I stand and scoop his shirt up off the floor before tossing it to him. Giving him my back, I reach under my shirt to fix my bra, feeling stupid. So goddamn stupid. I don’t turn around, and he doesn’t try to explain. After a moment, I hear the door open and shut behind him, leaving me alone with my bruised ego.

  Stupid, stupid girl.

  * * *

  Two months later

  “WHAT THE FUCK WAS UP with Travers?” my teammate, Riley, asks, scrubbing a towel across his wet hair. Despite Travers ignoring the plays I told him to run and trying to sabotage me anytime I got the ball in my pocket, we won the game tonight.

  “Still pissed he didn’t make co-captain, I guess.” I shrug. Lacrosse is a real douchebag’s sport. Lots of rich, preppy, entitled assholes in polo shirts and fuckin’ boat shoes. They don’t like it when someone like me comes along, and Travers has had it out for me since day one. He likes to bait me into fighting him in hopes of getting me kicked off the team, since he knows I’m already on Coach’s shit list.

  I look over toward Travers who’s smirking at me like a cat that got the canary. Like he’s in on something I’m not, and I don’t like it. “There a reason you’re smiling at my dick, Travers?” I ask just as I drop my towel. The entire team turns his way, everyone erupting in laughter.

  The smirk falls off his face, his cheeks turning red.

  Riley laughs, turning back to me. “Hurry up. I want to get back to the house before everyone shows up and drinks all the good shit.”

  If it’s a weekend, it’s a safe bet that there will be a party at Riley’s. If we win a game, it’s not even a question.

  “Shep!” Coach shouts, prowling through the locker room, not so much as pausing to greet the team. “A word.”

  “What’d you do?” Riley frowns.

  “Fuck if I know.” A look at Travers’ smug face has me feeling even more on edge. Coach has given me several warnings about my temper, so I tamp down the urge to hit him as I cross the short distance to Coach’s office.

  “Shut the door,” he instructs
from his place behind his desk. “Sit down.” He points to the blue plastic chair in front of his desk. He’s silent for a minute, rubbing at his forehead as he looks down at his cell phone, seemingly conflicted. As the silence stretches, my palms start to sweat.

  “You missed another practice this week.”

  I stand stock-still, waiting for him to deal the blow that I know is coming. To be honest, I’m surprised I lasted this long.

  “You got anything to say?” he asks.

  “I had an emergency—”

  “What about last week?” he asks, cutting me off. “And the week before that? Your grades are suffering. You’re missing classes and practices.” He ticks off my transgressions on his fingers. “You’re distracted on the field.”

  When I say nothing, he leans forward, folding his hands on the desk. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Is this too much pressure?”

  I clench my jaw so tight it feels like my teeth are going to crack. Pressure? Yeah, you could say I’m feeling the fucking pressure. Funny thing about lacrosse scholarships—they don’t cover shit. I can barely afford to be here. Working is prohibited while I’m on the team, so I’ve had to resort to finding creative ways to make money. It’s damn near impossible juggling it all.

  “No trouble,” I grit out.

  “I can’t work with you if you don’t give me something,” he says, his voice tight with frustration. This isn’t convenient for him. It’s probably the reason I’ve gotten away with breaking the rules so long, and the reason he waited until after we played one of the toughest teams to broach the subject.

  “All right,” Coach stands, his voice resigned. “You’re suspended for the season. Take the rest of the year to get your shit together.”

  I knew it was coming. Practically dared him to kick me off the team. Disappointment settles over me, and it’s almost a relief. I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. This life wasn’t meant to be mine. It never felt real anyway. College. Sports. This shit isn’t me, no matter how hard I try.

  When I leave the office, the rest of the team has cleared out. Everyone but Riley, and judging by his dejected expression, I’m guessing he heard enough to know what went down.

  “Just like that?” he asks, hands braced on his sides.

  “Just like that,” I confirm. He scoffs as I walk past him to clear out my locker.

  “Did you even try to fight it?”

  “No.”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  I slam my locker shut, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I force a casual stride as I make my way outside. Riley jogs to catch up to me, and I know words are coming out of his mouth, but I don’t hear anything once my eyes lock onto Travers. He glances up, cocky expression plastered to his mug before blowing me a kiss.

  I flex my fingers, wanting nothing more than to knock his fucking teeth out. And now, I don’t have any reason to reel it in.

  I drop my bag, prowling straight for him. He stands his ground, confident that I won’t possibly do anything to get myself in even hotter water. What he doesn’t know is that I’m already done, and I’m prepared to go out with a bang. I see the moment the fear sets in. He tries to conceal it, but his eyes widen once he realizes I’m not stopping. I send my fist into his jaw as hard as I can, and he drops like a sack of fucking rocks.

  “What the fuck!” he shouts, cupping a hand under his chin to catch the tooth he spits out. Well, whaddya know? My wish came true.

  “Shep!” Coach hollers, marching toward us. “Get the fuck out of here!”

  I huff out a humorless laugh before spitting on the floor next to Travers. “I’m gone.”

  * * *

  “YOU WHAT?” MY SISTER, LO, shrieks. I curl my fists at my side, forcing myself not to react. I knew she wasn’t going to take the news well. Should’ve done it over a phone call to give her a chance to calm the hell down before I got here.

  “I dropped out,” I say again.

  “I heard you. I just can’t figure out how you could do something so goddamn stupid,” she snaps. She starts walking around her living room, picking up random things and roughly putting them away. It’s what she does when she’s mad. She’s an angry cleaner. And finding out her little brother is dropping out of college when she worked so hard to make it happen is right at the top of the list of things that would piss her off.

  “Changed my mind,” I say simply. Lo stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind, her eyebrows pulling together as her expression morphs from shocked to infuriated. She doesn’t speak, and a silent Logan Shepherd is the one thing I’ve learned to fear, which says a lot considering I grew up in the worst part of Oakland where drive-bys and break-ins were a weekly occurrence.

  “Lo,” I say, stepping forward, but before I have a chance to explain, the front door opens and her boyfriend, Dare, walks in. His eyes dart between us, taking notice of the look on Lo’s face.

  “Fuck.”

  “Nice to see you, too,” I mutter.

  Dare makes his way over to the kitchen and tosses his keys onto the counter before grabbing three bottles of beer from the fridge. He looks up at me and I give a slight shake of my head, silently conveying to him that this calls for something stronger. He raises an eyebrow and puts the beers back, opting for a bottle of Jack from on top of the fridge. I nod, and he curses under his breath, knowing this isn’t going to be pretty. The last time I broke out the whiskey, I ended up drunk, naked, and bleeding in his hot tub.

  Dare unscrews the cap, taking a big gulp straight from the bottle, before walking it over to me. Lo is still staring daggers at me, jaw clenched tight, as I take a swig. It burns my throat, warming my insides as it goes down. Dare makes his way back over to Lo and presses a kiss to her forehead, but her eyes stay pinned on me, arms folded across her chest.

  “Someone going to tell me what the fuck happened?” Dare asks. Lo ignores his question, directing her words toward me.

  “After everything I sacrificed.”

  “Figures you’d make this about you,” I say, working my jaw back and forth. I knew she’d be pissed, but she’ll get over it. We’ve been through worse. It’s always been us against the world. Drug addict parents. Drug dealing. Abuse. Poverty. Countless fights over the years. None of it has ever been enough to make Lo turn her back on me. That’s not what we do.

  “Is it not about me? I dropped out to take care of you. I made sure you got to school every day. I made sure you had food and a bed to come home to.”

  “I didn’t come here for another Lo lecture,” I say, my voice devoid of any emotion.

  “No,” she agrees, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You just came here to tell me you’re pissing away your shot. You came here to tell me you’re going back to the fucking life we had to crawl our way out of.”

  I swallow hard, the guilt hitting my gut like a brick. “I got kicked off the team, okay?” I shout. Her mouth snaps shut.

  “It was only a matter of time, right?” I take another swig. “I’m not meant for that life anyway. I’m not meant for college. Besides, you have Dare to take care of you now.” My meaning is clear. She always said I was the only one who could amount to anything. I was supposed to be our ticket out of that life, but Dare swooped in like a goddamn Disney prince, fixing all our problems.

  Something flashes in Lo’s eyes, but before she can respond, I pick up the duffle bag at my feet, shrug it over my shoulder, and raise the bottle of Jack in Dare’s direction. “I’m taking this.”

  “For such a smart kid, you’re being a dumbass,” Dare says, disappointment written all over his face. I bob my head. Fair assessment. Lifting the hand with the bottle, I give them a salute before walking out the door.

  * * *

  THE ONE GOOD THING ABOUT working nights at Blackbear Bar? The fact that I get to be in charge of the music selection. Green Day blares from the speakers as I make my rounds, making sure the remaining customers are set before last call. I applied the day I met Dylan here, and the manager, Lo, hired m
e on the spot.

  As soon as the last person pays his ticket, I crank the music louder. Technically, we’re open for another hour, but it’s Thursday, so it’s probably safe to start closing down. Jake, the owner slash bartender, shakes his head, amused, as he holds out the bowl of suckers, knowing my routine. I pluck out my favorite flavor—butterscotch—before I set to wiping down the tables.

  “You can take off, Allison,” Jake tells me as he slaps a stack of bills onto the bar top for me. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “You sure?” I ask. I don’t want to skip out early. I’m still the new girl.

  Before he gets the chance to answer, the door flies open. I startle, head whipping in the direction to find a group of people stumbling in. They’re loud and, by the looks of it, drunk. My eyes widen before narrowing with annoyance when they meet a familiar pair of hazel ones.

  Jesse fucking Shepherd. Some girl is curled around his bicep, and I can’t tell whether she’s using him to hold herself up or if she’s just trying to send a very clear signal that she’s interested.

  He sends a smirk my way, but I roll my eyes, already annoyed. Embarrassment rolls through me when I think about how he left me that night, but I straighten my spine, unwilling to show any signs of weakness or insecurity. In fact, he did me a favor that night. The embarrassment I’m feeling now is only a fraction of how I’d feel if I let things go any further.

  “We’re closing soon, Jess,” Jake informs him, but Jesse simply swaggers up and parks his ass in a booth, his friends following suit.

  “We’re celebrating,” he explains with a hollow smile.

  I look over to Jake who gives me a reluctant nod, letting me know to go ahead and serve them. I grab a couple of menus and head over to their table, trying to keep my face neutral. “What can I get started for you guys?” I ask after I take the sucker out of my mouth. I should’ve ditched it, but I can’t do it now without it being awkward. Not having anywhere else to put it, I place it back in my mouth and stare at my notepad, waiting for their orders.