Bad Habit (Bad Love 1)

I can still feel him between my legs, his fingers on my hips, his teeth in my shoulder. I clamp my legs shut in the passenger seat of my car, looking over at Asher. His left hand squeezes the wheel, hard eyes staring straight ahead. His suit jacket was thrown in the back seat, leaving him in a white dress shirt with rolled sleeves. He glances over and eyes my crossed legs pressed together, knowing I don’t have any underwear on. Giving me a cocky grin, he slides his right hand in between my thighs, gripping the inside of one.

After we caught our breath and the weight of what we did settled around us, we both decided that we needed to go somewhere to be alone. We’re getting careless. Practically begging to be caught. He didn’t say where he was taking me, just snatched the keys out of my hand and started driving us out of the city limits. As we get further west, I realize I know exactly where he’s taking me.

“We’re going to The Tracks?” I ask, equal parts unsure and amused. “That’s an interesting choice.”

He shrugs. “It’s quiet. No chance of being interrupted.”

Yeah, I think, unless fifty high schoolers decide to have the same idea. But, The Tracks has always been his safe place.

We pull up to the old building. It’s pitch-black and eerily quiet, the only sound the crickets chirping and the hum of the cars on the freeway in the distance. Asher takes my hand and wordlessly leads me through the gate, the hole in the fence, and finally into the building. Dapper and demure meet damaged and dilapidated as we walk inside, still in our gala attire. I wonder if this place ever held events like the one we attended tonight. If two star-crossed lovers ever resorted to stolen moments in the middle of a crowded building like we did, I wonder how their story turned out.

We wander around, aimlessly, neither one of us speaking, but both having so much to say. I decide to finally bite the bullet and break the silence.

“Where did you go?” I ask, cutting to the chase. He knows I’m referring to the past three years and gives me a long look before deciding to answer.

“It’s a long story,” he starts. “But the important part is that I ended up in a small town in Northern California called River’s Edge.”

“And?” I prod, needing more of an explanation than that.

“And, I met a guy named Dare who has his own roofing company. He took me in, taught me the trade, and then when he started the process of opening up his own tattoo shop, I sort of took over.”

“Oh.”

I’m not sure what else to say. He always wanted to leave, and I understood why. It’s the timing that never made sense to me. I guess I had it in my mind that there was some big secret that stole him away from me. Like jail or boarding school. But the fact that he just…started over elsewhere? That stings, though it shouldn’t.

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

“What did you do while I was gone?”

I shrug. “School, mostly. Acted as a referee between Dash and Dad whenever they were together. The usual.”

“Still want to be a nurse?”

I look over at him in shock. I mentioned that in passing once, when I was maybe fourteen.

“I do…” I say, trailing off.

“But?”

“But, my dad wouldn’t ever go for it. He’s still pissed at Dash for not going to Harvard.” What he doesn’t know is that I have a pile of acceptance letters that have lapsed in my dresser drawer. I didn’t make a decision, and now it’s too late for any of them.

“Fuck your dad,” Ash says darkly and with more anger than is warranted for this conversation. “What do you want?”

“Honestly? I have no clue. None.” The problem is that I want to do everything and nothing all at once. I can’t commit, and regardless of what I do, I’m letting someone down.

“Then, be undeclared. Or take a year to figure out what you want to do. Life is too short to live for someone else.”

I nod, knowing he’s right, but he doesn’t understand, not really. It’s not easy saying no to my parents.

“Let’s play a game,” I suggest, changing the subject. Asher looks at me war

ily.

“Okay…” he drawls out. “What do you have in mind?” He rakes his fingertips up the sides of my thighs and back under my dress, meeting my bare skin. I already want him again.

“Not that kind of game. A question game. I ask you a question, and you give me a straightforward answer, no bullshit,” I stress. “Then you get to ask me a question. Deal?”