Bad Influence (Bad Love 3)

“You’re pretty upset for someone who claims to be cool with casual relationships,” I say. She hasn’t let him off the hook since that night Sierra was on him in the hot tub—not that I’m saying she should—but the more she avoids him, the harder he tries. We both know it’s only a matter of time before she caves.

She scowls at me. “Okay, let’s talk about how you fucked Jes—”

I cover her mouth with my hand. “We’re both idiots. Point taken.” As soon as I saw Halston when she got back Sunday night, she knew I’d slept with him. One look is all it took. Don’t ask me how. I told her how we spent the whole week together, before he bailed. Again.

“Still nothing?” she asks. I shake my head. Six days. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve heard from Jess. I hate that he can leave me so easily, but I hate it even more that I actually miss him when he’s gone. It makes me feel weak. Dependent. Two things I never want to be.

“It’s time to pull out the big guns.”

“Such as?”

“Show him what he’s missing.”

When I still don’t pick up her meaning, she rolls her eyes, stopping in her tracks to face me. “Send him a nude!” She reaches out to pop the top two buttons of my ribbed V-neck shirt with black, red, and white stripes. “You have great tits. Start there.”

I smack her hand away, bringing the stack of flyers up to cover my chest. “You’re an insane person.”

“It’s why you love me.”

Lying in bed, I stare at my phone, debating on whether or not to take Halston’s advice from earlier. At first, I didn’t even consider it, but now that I’m in bed feeling all kinds of frustrated—sexually, and otherwise—it doesn’t sound like such a terrible idea.

Fuck it.

Standing, I pull my shirt up, stopping when the ruffled hem just covers my nipples. I hold my phone below me, angling it so you can only see my bare stomach and my chest that stretches the fabric of my shirt. I might be stupid enough to send risqué pictures, but I’m not stupid enough to show my face.

I hit send before I can second-guess my decision. My fingers tap against my phone, anxiously waiting for his response. When I see the three little bubbles pop up, telling me he’s typing, my stomach flips.

But then they disappear.

I wait a few more seconds, and when they don’t pop back up, I toss my phone onto the bed. Well, that was anticlimactic. Deciding to call it a night, I head for the shower, feeling more than a little bitter.

It isn’t until the water turns cold that I finally pry myself from the shower, wrapping my towel around me. When I open the door, I freeze, not expecting to find Jesse sitting at the foot of my bed, elbows braced on his knees, head hanging low. When he hears me, his head snaps up, his eyes filling with heat as they roam my body. I swallow hard under his perusal.

When he doesn’t speak, I decide to be the one to close the distance between us. His eyes flare, almost imperceptibly, before he schools his expression. His jaw is set hard, his hands rolling into fists as I come to a stop between his spread knees. I reach down to brush a wayward lock of hair from his eyes, and he squeezes them shut, as if he’s being physically tortured by my touch.

I take the opportunity to study his features, running my fingertips along his dark eyebrows, the

crease between them, and the faint freckles across his nose. He inhales deeply but doesn’t stop me. When I get to his lips, he snatches my wrist, his gaze burning into me. He releases me, never breaking eye contact as his hand moves toward the knot in my towel. He hesitates, waiting for me to shut it down, but I can’t bring myself to do anything other than stand here, willing him to undo my towel. And that’s exactly what he does. The white towel flutters to our feet, my bare ones and Jesse’s boot-covered ones.

“I got your picture,” he says, breaking the silence between us. My wet hair drips beads of water onto my chest and he leans forward to catch a drop that rolls down my sternum with his tongue. When his tongue hits my skin, every nerve ending tingles, my skin prickling with goosebumps. “Was someone missing me?” He circles my nipple with the tip of his finger, light as a feather.

“You’re such an asshole,” I snap, hitching a leg over his, my knee resting on the mattress.

“But you want me anyway.” He makes quick work of unbuttoning his jeans, shoving them just low enough to pull himself out, already thick and hard. I bring my other leg up, straddling his lap, not wanting to prolong this for another second. Jess’ hands find my hips as I lower myself onto him, sliding down his length.

“Fuck,” he rasps, sounding pained, and my head falls back at the sensation.

“Six days is too long to go without this,” I breathe, holding onto his shoulders for support.

“I’ve created a monster,” he says, his voice taunting as he flexes his hips upward. “Tell me you missed me.”

“No.”

“Your pussy did,” he says, tugging my earlobe between his teeth. “Missed me so much it’s crying for me.”

I feel myself clench around him and he groans, squeezing my ass, and before I know what’s happening, he’s flipped us around so I’m on my hands and knees. I look over my shoulder to see him fetch a condom from the drawer and roll it on, tossing the wrapper onto the floor.

At least one of us is thinking clearly.