Bad Influence (Bad Love 3)

I roll my eyes. Traitor. “What’s with the box?”

“I missed your birthday.” He smirks.

I walk past him, opening the front door. He follows me inside, eyeing the place curiously. It’s a modest cabin-style home. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. It’s not much, but it’s perfect for me. Jess sets the box on the kitchen counter, then takes a seat at one of the barstools.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction. It’s hard to stay strong when all I want to do is be the way we were before it all went to shit.

“But I am.” He smirks again. “Aren’t you going to open your present?”

“If I do, will you leave?”

He shrugs. “If you want me to.”

I blow out a breath, pulling the lid off the box. The inside is full of Dum-Dums, all butterscotch except for one strawberry. My face heats at the memory of Jess and the way he used the sucker on me, and with one look at his face, I can tell he’s thinking the same thing.

“Keep looking.”

I dig around the box, pulling out a stack of CD cases. I hold them up, my eyes questioning his.

“Open them.”

I open the first case and inside it reads, Songs I’d like to fuck you to. On the inside sleeve, the tracks are listed. Everything from “Lollipop” by Lil Wayne to “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails. I laugh, closing the plastic case. “Very funny.”

“Keep going,” he says, but his expression isn’t playful like I’d expect.

“Okay…” I open the next one. Songs I’ve actually fucked you to. “Colorblind” by Counting Crows is listed, and I pause, peering up at him. “You remember that?”

He nods.

One by one, I open the rest. Songs that remind me of you. Songs for when you’re sad. Songs for when I fuck up. Songs for when you miss your dad.

“Jess,” I whisper around the lump in my throat.

“Thought you might want some new listening material,” he says.

Moving toward him, I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him tight. This is the most ridiculous, thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me. I take i

n his scent. His warmth. He feels like home.

“Does this mean you forgive me?”

I pull back, sniffing. “I forgive you, Jess…”

“I feel a but coming on.”

“But what’s changed?” I search his eyes.

“I’m here, Allie.”

“For how long?”

“Look in the bottom of the box,” he says, flicking his chin toward it.

I feel around, plucking an envelope from the bottom. I open it up, reading the letter with the Wildcats logo. My eyes snap to his.

“Does this mean what I think it means?”

He nods. “I’m staying for good. Coach Standifer’s starting MCLA lacrosse at Kerrigan next year. It’s not as prestigious as the NCAA, but I get to be part of a team again.” He tugs me closer by my belt loops. “And I get to go to school with you.”