Bad Influence (Bad Love 3)
“When you get back.” I check the time on my phone. “I have to get to work, and I think showing up drunk would be frowned upon.”
“Fine, party pooper.”
“You’re just stalling because you don’t want to go home.”
“That, too,” she admits. “But I really am happy for you.”
“Thanks.” Since moving to River’s Edge, I’ve felt…lost. Lacking direction, and like I don’t belong. Having this fall into place is the first thing that’s felt right. Maybe I’m right where I’m supposed to be. I tap out a quick text to Dylan, telling him to meet me at Blackbear tonight so I can deliver the good news in person, then Halston drops me off at work. When I show up, Jake, Grumpy Pete, and a couple of other servers are here, but Jesse’s noticeably absent. The first part of my shift goes by quickly. I’m on autopilot, thinking of everything from the flyers I want to design to the best way to get the word out.
I’m coming out of the bathroom when a hand darts out, pulling me into the back room. “Whoa,” I squeal before I’m pulled into Jesse’s chest.
“Hi,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist, resting on my lower back.
“Hi,” I breathe, my neck straining in order to meet his eyes.
“We didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation earlier.”
“I don’t think now is the time,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to make sure we don’t have an audience, my heart kicking up in speed at the tone of his voice.
“Why not?” He bends down to squeeze my ass in his palms.
“Someone could walk in.”
“That’s half the fun,” he says, one of his hands dipping into the gap in my waistband before curling around the curve of my butt cheek.
I sag into him, my pulse quickening. He takes the opportunity to kiss me, and I open for him, allowing his tongue to brush against mine. Suddenly, his hands are gripping my waist as he sits in one of the chairs, pulling me to straddle him, never breaking the connection.
My hands find his face, allowing myself to get lost in the kiss, unable to resist the pull. Something about Jesse makes all of my common sense fly out the window. He smooths his hands up my back as I grind on his lap, his need evident beneath me.
Mustering every ounce of self-control, I pull back, breathless. “We have to stop.” I clumsily climb off his lap before wiping the corners of my lips and straightening my clothes.
Jesse gives me a lazy smirk, his eyes promising that this isn’t over. I hurry back, avoiding eye contact with everyone I pass, afraid my flustered expression will give me away. When I reach my section, I find Dylan and the guys sitting there.
“Hi,” I say, smiling.
Hunter stands to hug me, then pulls back, gripping me by the shoulders. “Why are you all flushed and shit? Are you sick?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m just excited.” Dylan’s gaze fixes on something behind me, and I look back to find Jesse standing near the bar, watching us with an unreadable expression.
“I bet you are,” Dylan remarks, eyeing Jesse with contempt. Ignoring him, I walk over to hug Caleb.
“I only have a minute,” I start, “but I heard from Victor. He asked me to plan a show for next Friday, so naturally…”
“Naturally, you thought of the most talented fuckers you know,” Hunter supplies.
“Yes. That.” I laugh. “You in?”
“Just name the time and place, baby,” Hunter quips.
“I’m in,” Caleb agrees.
My smile slips when I see Dylan’s expression. He’s not the most expressive person I’ve ever met, but I expected some degree of… I don’t know, happiness? Instead, he’s absently spinning a butter knife on the tabletop, seemingly lost in thought. “Dylan?” I prompt when he doesn’t say anything.
His gaze snaps to mine. “Sounds good, Al. Thanks.”
“If you don’t want to, I could get someone else,” I offer, unable to keep the disappointment out of my tone. I guess I could ask Garrett. “I thought you’d be excited.”
“No.” Dylan shakes his head. “No, this is great.” He stands, his palm flattening on the side of my head before he leans down to press a kiss to my cheek. “I’ve gotta go. Call me tomorrow. We can talk about the setlist.”