Bad Influence (Bad Love 3)

I smirk, remembering last night’s festivities. Last time I checked, he was sandwiched between two naked coeds.

“Judging by the look on your face, I don’t even want to know.” Lo laughs, sliding a glass of ice water toward me.

“He’s…occupied.” I’d be surprised if he was able to peel himself out of bed this early after last night.

“You gonna see Henry before you take off?”

My jaw tenses. “Probably not.” It’s not exactly a priority to see the man we thought was our father up until recently. He took off when I was a kid, leaving Lo and me with an unfit mother and a whole host of daddy issues. When shit hit the fan back in Oakland, Lo moved us out here to stay with him, only to find out he wasn’t our real dad after all.

Good times.

“He’s trying, you know.”

“So am I.” Trying to change the fucking subject.

Lo gives me her big puppy dog eyes and reaches under my hood, mussing up my hair like I’m a kid. When you grow up like we did, it’s hard not to resent the adults who did a shit job protecting you. And blood or not, Henry walked out on us instead of taking us with him.

“Shit, the food truck is here,” Lo says, already heading toward the back of the restaurant. “Be right back. And don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

I nod, giving her a thumbs-up, and the door chimes, drawing my attention toward a girl with headphones over her ears. A Nirvana shirt peeks out from under her denim jacket with a fuck-ton of patches sewn on. Elbows propped on the bar top, I study her. She’s in her own world, bobbing her head to the music only she can hear as she approaches. She stops about a foot away from me, fishing around in the bowl of Dum-Dums on the bar, oblivious of my presence before settling on one. Butterscotch. She peels the wrapper off and stuffs it into her jeans pocket before wrapping her lips around the sucker, making my dick twitch at the sight.

Sensing my gaze on her, she lifts her eyes to mine, and I do nothing to hide the fact that I’ve been staring. Gray-blue eyes widen for a fraction of a second before narrowing into slits. Then she walks away, heading for the dining area.

The fuck was that about?

The door chimes again, but this time, it’s Sierra Hayes. And she’s on a mission if the furious expression on her face is anything to go by.

Probably has something to do with the fact that I unknowingly hooked up with her older sister.

Sully came down for one of my games a few weeks back. We ended up partying with some senior sorority chicks, and it wasn’t long before they dragged us upstairs. We’d barely stepped foot into their room when the one with red hair had my pants around my ankles and my dick in her mouth. I arched a brow, shooting my eyes over to Sully who covered his mouth to smother his laugh. Her two girlfriends just giggled, pushing Sully toward one of the two queen-sized beds while the redhead kept sucking away, uncaring of the fact that we had an audience. I, on the other hand, didn’t necessarily feel like busting a nut in front of another dude.

I cupped my hands around her face, prepared to pull her suction cup of a mouth away when Sully interrupted with his stream of angry expletives. “Fuck, Shep, tell me you have a condom,” he called out.

The girl on her knees in front of me froze before pulling back and releasing my dick with a pop. “Shep? As in Shepherd?” she asked warily. I nodded. “As in Jesse Shepherd?”

“The one and only.” I smirked. It’s funny. Being a Shepherd in Oakland was synonymous to white trash. Here, it carries a whole new meaning.

She fell back onto her ass, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh my God, I just had my sister’s ex-boyfriend’s penis in my mouth.” I mentally went through the short list of girls who could have ever been considered my girlfriend. I dated, sure. Hooked up, definitely. But girlfriend? That was a title reserved for…well, none.

“Sierra Hayes?” she prompted upon seeing my confused expression. I groaned. Just hearing that name is enough to make my dick shrivel up and run away. Not because she isn’t fuck hot, but because the girl is certifiable.

“She was never my girlfriend,” I corrected, pulling my jeans back up and zipping my fly. That’s the truth. Sierra liked to call herself my girlfriend, and I let her, mostly because I didn’t give a shit. She could label it all she wanted. Didn’t mean I was going to play the part of a doting boyfriend. She knew the deal. When I left town for school, I cut it off.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you just…just…double-dipped!” I heard Sully snort out a laugh half a second before I broke, my lips stretching into an unintentionally amused smile. How the hell was I supposed to know this was her sister? I didn’t bother arguing. Before making a hasty exit, I simply told Sully to hit me up when he was done.

Without thinking twice, I jump off the barstool before she has a chance to say anything and catch up to Dum-Dum Girl. I’m not equipped to go head to head with Sierra in my current state. As casually as I can manage with someone I’ve never met who seems to somehow already despise me, I circle an arm around her hip as I fall into step with her. Her body stiffens, and she jerks back, looking at me like I’m a lunatic.

I pull the headphones off one ear, leaning in close. She doesn’t shiver or give me that dreamy stare I’ve become accustomed to, and I start to second-guess my half-assed plan. “You’re my girlfriend,” I say quietly. From the outside, it would seem like I’m whispering sweet nothings into her ear as opposed to accosting a complete stranger.

Her eyebrows pull together, the end of her sucker sticking out from her pursed lips, and I can tell she’s not thrilled at the prospect of playing along.

“Okay, pretend you’re my friend,” I amend, growing desperate as Sierra gets closer. Dum-Dum Girl pulls her headphones off with a huff, stuffing them into her bag, and that’s when I realize they’re attached to a CD player. A fucking portable CD player. I have to stop myself from asking her if she’s also got a pager in her bag of tricks. Maybe a floppy disk.

She slides into the closest booth and I scoot in behind her, sealing my side to hers. Her spine is ramrod straight, big gray eyes side-eyeing me as I sling an arm around her shoulders. “Relax,” I whisper into her ear right as Sierra makes it to our table. Still no shivers.

“You’re a prick,” Sierra accuses, pointing a finger at me. I lean back in the booth, bringing my leg up to rest my ankle on my other knee as Sutton, one of the servers and my sister’s friend, maneuvers around Sierra to drop off a couple of glasses of w

ater.