Bad Habit (Bad Love 1)

Dare. That man. He’s equal parts intimidating and beautiful. Jet-black hair peeking out from under his beanie and striking blue eyes. Both of his arms were covered with vibrant, intricate art, and his eyebrows were cinched together in a perpetual scowl. He was the broodier version of Asher, and that’s saying a lot.

Asher was quiet on the way home, but so was I. I think we were both contemplating what our futures held. The deeper we fell, the harder it was to hide. So, tonight, when I got a text from Ash earlier, saying he wanted to talk, it was just vague enough to worry me. I can’t help but think he already has one foot out the door. That our secret is already taking its toll.

My dirty black Vans struggle to keep up with Natalia’s nude pumps as she quite literally drags me toward the music blaring from the two-story house that’s only a few minutes’ walk from the university. Of course, Adrian’s spoiled ass wouldn’t even entertain the idea of staying at the dorms. Unless they were co-ed. He’s going on his fourth year of college, and I’m convinced he’s only here for the parties and fresh meat. It took a fair amount of time convincing me to come, so there’s a good chance that we’re the only sober ones. And judging by the two chicks that are trying to lift their friend, who is doing a fantastic impression of a limp noodle off the lawn, I’d say that’s a safe assumption.

I wasn’t going to come tonight. Wasn’t in the mood after receiving that text, but Nat insisted she needed a wingman. Apparently, she and Adrian have some kind of bet going on, so, she went full-on predatory female tonight. With her incredibly tight, incredibly short, black bandage dress from her mom’s boutique, you’d think she was hitting up the Las Vegas strip instead of a college party. Her dark red, messy hair is tussled in that perfectly imperfect kind of way. Adrian doesn’t stand a chance. Me, on the other hand? I’m wearing black jean shorts, a black tank, and a flannel. Her pursed lips told me that she wasn’t happy with what I chose to wear, but she knew better than to argue once I agreed to come if she wanted a wingman.

We step over the drunk girls, who are now all three sprawled out on the ground, and walk in the front door. “Do Re Mi” by Blackbear assaults my ears as we shuffle through the sweaty, drunk bodies and the cloud of smoke from some dude’s bong rip. Natalia is on a mission, pulling me by my elbow straight toward the kitchen, ignoring the looks and whistles. Once we’re in the kitchen, I’m immediately aware of Asher’s presence. I haven’t even spotted him yet, but I know he’s close. And like a magnet, my eyes find him through the glass patio door, sitting on the beer pong table, smoking a cigarette with my brother. He nods as someone talks, but I know he’s not paying attention, not really. I’m focused on those thick, calloused fingers and the way the cigarette sits between them. The way he draws it up to those full lips and his eyebrows tug together before taking a drag. I hate smokers—I hate that Ash is a smoker—but there is something undeniably sexy about watching the act. I’m just glad he only does it when he’s drinking these days.

“Here.” My attention snaps back to Nat when she shoves a blue plastic cup of God knows what into my line of vision.

“What is it?” I ask, raising a brow.

“Whatever that is,” she says, gesturing toward some mysterious red juice in a bowl. She takes a tentative sip. “Vodka. I think.”

I take the cup, but I don’t drink it. I’m not in the mood tonight.

“So, where is he?” I look around for Adrian, but I don’t see him.

&nb

sp; “Oh, he’s here,” Nat says, looking like she’s preparing for battle with the way she scans the room for her victim, eyes narrowed to slits. “Somewhere.”

Just then, Adrian walks around the corner, and his jaw drops when his eyes land on Nat. She ditches her drink and saunters toward him with a victorious smile. He checks her out from head to toe, biting his bottom lip as she gets closer. Once she’s within reach, he holds out his hand, but she bypasses him instead, wrapping her arms around some random guy’s neck. The guy is clearly caught off guard, but he doesn’t dare complain. She leads him into the living room where the music is, and his hands land on her hips, squeezing. She’s putting on a show, rolling her body seductively, and the poor guy doesn’t even know it’s not for him. Adrian’s eyes burn a hole into the back of his head, and I can’t help but laugh. When I grow up, I want to be just like Natalia. Balls of steel.

I stand near the counter, not really wanting to venture outside, but also not having any desire to mingle with randoms. I recognize a lot of these people—some of them friends with my brother, and others that graduated when I was a freshman—but I don’t know any of them well enough to call them friends.

“Hey, little Vale, right?” a guy who’s vaguely familiar says, invading my personal space. He has light brown hair and kind eyes. Very red, high on marijuana eyes, but kind nonetheless.

“Heyyyy,” I say, letting the word linger between us, unsure of his name.

“Tanner,” he supplies.

“Right.” I snap my fingers. “You graduated with my brother. How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Just graduated from MIT and came back for a visit.”

A stoner engineer. Impressive. Before I can respond, the sliding glass door opens, and Asher is suddenly at my side.

“Can we talk?”

“What, now?” Surely he wouldn’t break it off in a public place. Right?

His nostrils flare, cutting a glare at what’s-his-face, probably not liking the fact that I’m making him talk in front of him.

“Yeah, now.”

I lift a brow.

“Please,” he grudgingly tacks on.

I give an apologetic wave to stoner engineer guy and reluctantly follow Asher.

“I really don’t think this is the place,” I say, pausing before the stairs. “My brother is here. All his friends are here. And this,” I say, gesturing between us, “does not look good.”

“I don’t give a fuck what it looks like, and I don’t give a fuck who knows anymore.”

There it is. That little spark of hope that Asher is so good at giving me, just enough to keep me on his string. I hate that it’s there. I hate that some part of me believes it’s different this time. And I hate that it has me accepting his proffered hand and following him upstairs.