Bad Influence

by Charleigh Rose

* * *

  Six months later

  MY DAD ALWAYS SAID THAT both the best and worst things in life are unexpected. They’re the moments that change your life indefinitely, and even if you see them coming, you’re never prepared for the impact. It’s what you do in the aftermath that matters. It’s how you deal with the crisis—or good fortune—that defines you.

  Closing my journal, I look up, seeking Jesse out as I sit on the same bleachers I watched him from a few years ago. Only this time, I’m not hiding underneath them. Since lacrosse is new at Kerrigan and there’s little funding, they’ve been using the high school’s field for practice and fall ball. It has me feeling more than a little sentimental being here, where my dad used to teach, with the boy who healed my broken heart.

  The last six months have been a whirlwind. Technically, we don’t live together, but he sleeps in my bed every single night, so I don’t know who we think we’re fooling. He works with Henry now, and though it’s been a slow process, I can see the change in Jesse. He’s healing, too, and being around Henry has a lot to do with it.

  Crystal showed up in River’s Edge in a desperate attempt to reel Jess back in. She started spitting some bullshit about him being worthless, and I didn’t think. I just swung. I’ve never punched anyone in my life, but she was talking about the boy I love, threatening to undo everything we’ve worked for. I don’t know who was more shocked. I turned, wide-eyed, to Lo and Jess with my hand over my mouth, apologizing profusely. To my surprise, Lo laughed like a hyena. Jess sent Crystal packing before telling me I couldn’t just go around punching people whenever they pissed me off—repeating the same words I told him about Victor—but he couldn’t keep the smile from his face when he said it.

  As for my mom, she moved back to California with her new husband. I’ve got a little brother coming any day now, and she said she wanted to be close enough to see me on a regular basis. I’m cautiously optimistic.

  A whistle blows, pulling me from my thoughts. Jesse jogs toward me, pulling his lacrosse helmet off before pushing his damp hair off his forehead.

  “Hey, Allie Girl,” he says, leaning down for a kiss.

  “Gross, you’re all sweaty!”

  “You like it.” He moves in, rubbing his face all over me, kissing my collarbone, and I laugh, pushing him away.

  “Get a room!” Sully shouts, pulling his helmet up. He joined the lacrosse team, too. Don’t ask me what’s going on with Halston and him. They don’t even know.

  Jesse throws up a middle finger behind him, bringing his lips to mine. I wrap my arms around his neck, slipping my tongue into his mouth, uncaring of our audience.

  He pulls away, eyes shining with lust. “Get in the truck.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” I say, pointing to my journal. He nods before jogging over to grab his stuff, and I open my journal once more.

  Dad was right. The best things in life are always unexpected, and loving Jesse Shepherd is definitely the best thing in life.

  Nothing gold can stay.

  Nothing perfect and beautiful can last forever.

  Nothing except Allison Parrish.

  * * *

  First and foremost, to the readers, whether you’re just discovering me or have been there since the beginning, thank you. I’m so grateful that you’ve taken a chance on me.

  To my husband, who probably wished he could divorce me while I spent hours upon hours writing, thank you for being the fun parent and the most understanding, supportive person on the planet.

  Leigh, thank you for listening to me bitch about this book and for always keeping it real. You’re the Blair to my Serena. The Brooke to my Peyton. The Mary-Kate to my Ashley. But, like, in their New York Minute days. Not now.

  Sarah Sentz! Thank you for busting your ass and cheering me on every step of the way. Your excitement for Jess and Allie, and your support means more than you’ll ever know.

  Sasha, you’re a badass per usual. Thanks for being the sweetest.

  Clarissa, you’re selfless and supportive and one of the most genuine people I know. Thank you for everything.

  Thank you to my amazing editor Paige Smith for working a miracle. I’m sorry if you need counseling after trying to whip this one into shape. Please don’t break up with me. Letitia Hasser for never giving up until it’s absolute perfection. You love me. Remember that for next time.

  To the bloggers, thank you for busting your asses all day every day. I appreciate you. I probably won’t ever have my shit together, and I’m so beyond thankful for everything you do to fit me into your busy schedules.<3

  Lastly, my reader group—my sweet baby angels—I fucking love you. You’re my happy place. Thank you for your endless support.

  Preview of Bad Habit

  Prologue

  Then

  Three years ago…

  THE FIRST TIME I LAID eyes on Asher Kelley, drunk and bleeding, I decided two things. The first being that he was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen in my entire life. I was sure of it. And the second thing? He was the kind of boy that I should never, under any circumstances, get involved with. But, even my pre-pubescent self knew on some level that I’d gladly reach inside my own chest and offer him my beating heart if he’d only ask.

  What I didn’t know then was that would be the first of many nights just like that one. Turned out, Asher’s dad was a little bit of a drunk, and a lot of an asshole. If it wasn’t his dad, it was some poor soul who decided to cross Asher. He was always looking for trouble, it seemed. Or maybe trouble just knew where to find him.

  My brother, Dashiell, was always quick to kick me out of his room on the nights Asher snuck in. It became routine to them. Just another Thursday night. But seeing him tumble through my brother’s window never ceased to break my heart and make it beat faster all at once.

  Over the past three years, Asher has pretty much become a permanent fixture in our lives. My parents are either oblivious or don’t care enough to question why he’s always here, or why he occasionally dons a black eye or a split lip. Part of me hates them for it. They’ve made their feelings on Asher clear. They don’t like him hanging around, think he’s a bad influence. But Dash is stubborn, and loyal to a fault. So, they tolerate Asher at best.

  I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor of Dash’s room playing Guitar Hero on his Xbox when I hear the telltale tapping on the window that signals Asher’s arrival, and I’m immediately uneasy. Dash was supposed to meet Asher and their other friend, Adrian, at a party earlier. Alarm bells go off, and I drop the guitar, scurrying over to the window on my knees. I help him slide it open, and he hefts himself over the sill.

  “Asher? What happened? Where’s Dash?” I reach for the lamp on Dash’s bedside table, and when it illuminates his swollen, bloody face and T-shirt, I gasp, my hand flying to my heart.

  “Asher!” I run to his side and help him to the bed. He stumbles over the laces of his untied combat boots, almost taking us both down.

  “Oh my God, say something!” I panic, warring between getting my dad or calling the police.

  “Calm down.” He chuckles darkly. “You’re going to wake up your pops.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” I snap, before turning on my heels. Someone needs to do something for once. And being a pretty powerful attorney, my dad is someone who can actually help. I feel a hot hand grip my wrist, and despite the circumstances, my already racing heart quickens at his touch.

  “Come on,” he says in a hushed, gravelly tone. “It’s just a little cut. You should see what he looks like,” he tacks on with a hint of a smirk tugging at his full lips.

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I ask, trying to jerk my arm out of his grasp, to no avail. “Because it doesn’t. Not even a little.” Tears start to fill my eyes, and his own soften at the sight.

  “I’m okay, Briar,” he promises, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Just hang out with me for a while until Dash gets back.” Indecision swirls in my gut, an
d I bite my lip, contemplating my next move.

  “Fine.” I sigh. “I’ll be right back.” I tiptoe out into the kitchen, my bare feet sticking to the hardwood floor. I grab a washcloth and run it under the sink before snagging a bandage out of the cabinet. I’m no nurse, but it’s better than nothing. When I come back to the room, Asher is sitting on the bed with his elbows on his knees and his hands fixed on either side of his neck. I drop to my knees in front of his spread ones and gently brush his dark hair off his forehead. His eyes snap up to mine—one green with yellow flecks, and the other a honey brown with flecks of green. He swallows, his throat bobbing with the motion. I avert my eyes and bring the damp washcloth up to dab at the dried blood crusted near his eyebrow. He clenches his jaw, but says nothing as I do my best to clean him up.

  “Where’s my brother?” I question, if only to distract myself from his close proximity. Up until recently, I’m fairly certain Asher has only ever seen me as an annoying little sister. Lately, things have been…different. Like all the air is sucked out of the room when we’re in it. And I can’t help but wonder how no one else feels it when it’s suffocating me.

  We’ve had a few almost moments. I thought he might even kiss me once. I was walking out of the bathroom in my towel, and there he was, waiting on the opposite wall with his arms crossed. His eyes raked down my damp body, my long, blonde hair dripping water onto my pink toes, leaving a puddle at my feet. His nostrils flared. I squeezed my towel tighter, and he moved toward me. He extended his arm, and I could feel the heat of his skin at my hip, even through my towel. I sucked in a breath, closing my eyes. Then…nothing. I opened my eyes to see that aloof smirk back in place, his face mere inches from mine. His hand gripped the doorknob I was standing in front of.

  “I need to take a piss,” he said, moving past me. I swallowed my embarrassment, rolled my eyes at myself for thinking he might actually kiss me, and scurried back to my room, leaving him chuckling behind me.

  “He’s at the party,” he says, bringing me back from the past. I feel my cheeks heat from the lingering mortification of that day.

  “I never made it there,” he clarifies. “I just thought I’d chill here for a while.” He doesn’t elaborate, but I know what he means. Until he cools off. Until the alcohol catches up with his piece of shit dad, and he finally passes out.

  Rising on my knees, I blow on the gash above his eyebrow to dry it off a little before applying the Band-Aid. His eyes squeeze shut, and one hand comes up to grip the back of my bare thigh. I freeze, feeling that tightening low in my stomach that only seems to happen when Asher is near.

  “It doesn’t look that bad now,” I say quietly, reaching forward to pluck the Band-Aid off the bed next to him. I feel his thumb rub small circles on the back of my thigh, and I try not to gasp. Crazily, I wonder what that hand would feel like between my legs. I shake that thought from my head and smooth the bandage over his cut with my thumbs.

  “Head wounds tend to look a lot worse than they really are,” Asher says, clearing his throat and pulling away. I back up, still dazed, as he stands and reaches behind his neck to pull his blood-speckled white tee off his back before balling it up and tossing it to the floor. I think he’s going to take one of Dash’s shirts, but he doesn’t. He plops back down on the bed, exhaling roughly, running a hand through his hair. I gulp watching the way his forearms flex with the motion, and when he lies back on the bed, displaying the muscles on his stomach, I have to look away.

  He’s always been magnificent to me, with his onyx hair that hangs in his dark, mismatched eyes. His full lips and slightly pointed nose. The dimples that I didn’t even know existed for an entire year into knowing him, because the boy never really smiles. Smirks, yes. Taunting, mocking, sarcastic grins. But a full-blown Asher Kelley smile is rarer than a blue moon. Now that his shoulders are broader, his chest and arms bigger, and his jaw more chiseled…he’s a man. And he’s perfection. Suddenly, I’m all too aware of my small breasts that visibly harden beneath my tank top and my tiny baby pink sleep shorts. I’m looking every bit of fourteen, feeling so inferior kneeling in front of this young god.

  Asher scrubs a hand down his face, and I notice that his knuckles are bloody, too, but the sight is nothing new.

  “Do you want ice?” I ask as I stand up, gesturing toward his hands.

  “What, this?” he asks, examining his knuckles. “I’m fine.”

  “Do you want me to go?” I fidget with the hem of my shorts. His eyes follow the movement, then move up my body until his eyes lock on mine.

  “No.” His tone is firm, but he doesn’t elaborate. My stomach flips with nerves, and I nod, biting on the corner of my lip.

  “Do you…want to watch a movie?”

  A shrug. “Sure.”

  “What do you want to watch?”

  “You pick.”

  I look around for Dash’s remote before finding it underneath a sock and start flipping through the channels. I stand in front of the TV awkwardly, not knowing if I should take my spot on the floor or join him. Asher pats the bed next to him, seeming to sense my hesitation.

  “I won’t bite, Bry.”

  I sit next to him and settle on one of my favorite movies. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, I always have to watch it when it’s on.

  “Really? Tombstone?” Asher cracks a real smile at that.

  “Hell yes. It’s my favorite.”

  “I’ll be your huckleberry,” he says, quoting the movie.

  “Shut up.” I give a weak smile, still feeling helpless in this situation, but I toss a pillow at him in an effort to appear unfazed.

  “Shit!” he growls, bringing his hands up to his face.

  “Oh my God! I’m an idiot! I’m so sorry!” I say, crawling over to his side of the bed, feeling terrible for already forgetting.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, prying his hands away, but when I do, he’s laughing.

  “Jerk,” I huff, turning away, but he grasps my wrists and flips me onto my back. His body hovers over mine.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “But you were looking at me like my dog just died. I had to do something to lighten the mood.”

  He still has my hands pinned above my head, and he’s close enough that I can smell his spearmint gum and the faint trace of cigarettes.

  “I worry about you,” I admit, not making any effort to escape. His eyes clench shut, like it physically pains him to hear those words.

  “Don’t,” he says. “The last thing an angel like you should be doing is worrying about a fuck-up like me.”

  “You’re not a fuck-up. And I’m no angel.”

  Asher drops his forehead, rolling it against my own.

  “You are,” he insists, his lips trailing from my cheek down to my ear, leaving goose bumps in their wake. “And this is the last fucking thing I should be doing with you.”

  “What are you doing with me?” I whisper.

  “Touching you,” he says, rubbing my wrists with his thumbs. A small noise slips from my mouth, and he lowers his body onto mine. Instinctively, my legs part to make room for him. He groans once he fits his hips between them.

  “I need to leave,” he says, his voice thick and strained.

  I lick my lips, mustering up all the courage I can when I ask, “Can I kiss you?”

  He makes a pained noise, but he doesn’t deny me. He presses his lips to the skin just beneath my ear, then he trails his lips back across my cheek, down to my chin, and finally, his mouth is on mine. I’ve kissed a few boys, even though Dashiell, Asher, and Adrian, have done their best to run them off, but this is so much more than just a kiss. At least, for me it is.

  Asher licks the seam of my lips before tugging the bottom one into his mouth. He sweeps his tongue inside, and tentatively, mine flicks out to tangle with his. I don’t know what I’m doing, but he must like it, because his hips flex, grinding into me. I feel him harden beneath his jeans, and I spread my legs further, wanting more, more
, more. I pull my hands out of his grasp and bring one to the back of his neck, kissing him harder. The friction between my legs is something I’ve never experienced, and I don’t think anything could stop me from chasing this feeling. I feel it building, much more intense than anything I’ve ever done alone in the privacy of my bedroom. I wrap my legs around his back and rock into him, uncaring of seeming too eager.

  “Fuck. Stop,” he rasps. I don’t.

  “Briar, that’s enough,” he says, pinning my hands to the bed once again, this time using his demanding tone that brooks no argument. But I don’t listen. I tilt my hips up again, and he groans. Before I know what’s happening, I’m flipped over onto my stomach, my arms trapped at my sides by his knees as he straddles me.

  “You’re fucking fourteen, Briar. I’m not even in high school anymore, for fuck’s sake.”

  “I don’t care,” I say stubbornly. “I’m old enough to know what I want.” My hair is in my face, muffling my words. He brings a finger to my cheek and sweeps the strands behind my ear.

  “You have no idea what you want,” he counters. “What you’re asking for.”

  His condescending tone makes me feel childish and inferior, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I could feel his want for me digging into my backside, I’d probably feel hurt, embarrassed, and rejected. In a brazen move, I arch my backside and move against him.

  “So, show me,” I say, looking over my shoulder at him. His eyes are fixed on my pajama shorts that have ridden up, exposing my cheeks.

  “No,” he says harshly. I drop my face into the mattress. God, my brother’s mattress. I’d tell him to take me to my room if I thought for one second he wouldn’t come to his senses and put a stop to this—whatever this is.

  He shoves off me, horrified, and sits as far away from me as Dash’s queen bed will allow. “Fuck!” he yells, tugging at his hair. Seeing him like this is enough to make me feel guilty, but not enough to regret anything.