Bad Influence (30 page)

Not sad, but for Eli, quiet. Like he had a lot to think about. Since Eli usually thought things through out loud, the quiet was deafening. It wasn’t as if Silver had wanted Eli to tease about Zeb, but this felt off.

Eli puttered around the kitchen while Silver shoveled in some cereal. Now he handed over a mug of coffee and winced as he sat down in a kitchen chair.

“Jesus fuck, Eli. Did Quinn go too far?” Silver was on his feet before he realized it, adrenaline not particular about details like Quinn being off at work, and Silver and Eli both living in Quinn’s house.

The wide-eyed expression on Eli’s face was more reassuring than his words. “No. Not at all.” He shifted, grimaced and then grinned. “You know I love it.”

Silver sat back down with a grunt. He didn’t get it. But who was he to judge it? Still didn’t explain why Eli was so weird this morning.

“What were you going to do?” Eli raised his coffee mug. “Go punch him in the mouth?”

“I don’t know,” Silver admitted.

“I can take care of myself, thanks.”

But Eli put the mug back down without drinking any, and Silver had to ask, “Then what’s going on?”

“We did have a…thing. About you.”

“Me?” Quinn was the one who’d been so adamant about Silver not sleeping over at Zeb’s. So that must mean it was Eli’s nerves Silver was getting on. “I’ll be out of here before you finish your coffee.”

“Sit down.” Eli snapping at a guy was a lot more intimidating than Silver would have imagined. “Where were you going to go, Zeb’s?”

Silver hadn’t considered it. Back into the city was all he knew. The idea of being where he wasn’t wanted tore a scab off a wound he didn’t even know he had. He shrugged.

“I like having you here. I’m still not used to all this time to myself. Quinn likes you here, because he knows I have someone to talk to.”

“So what’s the issue?”

“You know how yesterday Quinn said I moved in after one date?”

“Yeah.” Silver drank some of his coffee. He wasn’t in the mood for it black but didn’t want to interrupt Eli to go to the fridge.

“It was true. And we got to talking about what was the big deal if you wanted to stay at Zeb’s, and after Quinn did his duty-and-honor shit about the judge, he said it wouldn’t be good.”

What the hell was that about? “I thought he liked Zeb.”

“He does. Says he’s a really good teacher.”

Maybe Silver wasn’t good enough for Zeb? Silver wouldn’t bother pointing that out to Eli, he’d probably get all defensive. “So what’s Quinn’s issue then?”

“I don’t know. He just gave me the don’t-worry-your-pretty-head look that pisses me off and—” Eli cut himself off.

Silver wasn’t sure if he should ask. If he wanted to hear what Eli was trying not to say.

“And?” But it seemed like the least he could do if his being around was fucking up what the awesome thing Eli had going here.

“And if it wouldn’t be good for you to move in with Zeb when you don’t have anyplace else to live and you’ve known each other for years, maybe me being here with Quinn…” That time Eli let it trail away.

“No. No way. You—the way he looks at you? And he is fucking lucky to have you.”

“Damn right he is.” But there was something in his voice to suggest Eli didn’t quite believe his own words.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. Go downtown, buy you something to wear, and when you look hotter than even you usually do, you’ll ask him right out if you being here isn’t the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“You know, that’s kind of a good plan.” Eli gulped down some coffee.

“I know,” Silver said.

“And here I thought you were the one who made stupid, impulsive decisions.”

“Thanks a fucking lot.”

Chapter Nineteen

Silver peered through the glass-fronted cabinets at the ice cream containers. The battle between curiosity and disgust was making the decision hard.

Eli nudged him. “Get the strawberry-basil. Ooo, no, the lavender-Earl Grey tea.”

Feeling guilty about being the cause of whatever kind of thing Eli and Quinn had had, Silver had suggested a treat after Eli was done picking through his favorite secondhand-clothing store. He didn’t expect a place like Take Your Licks.

“It’s so awesome,” Eli had said as he dragged Silver to the counter.

“Blue Crab Ice Cream?”

“It’s Bawl-mer, hon,” Eli had said as he eagerly accepted samples of combinations that should never have existed.

Silver declined Eli’s spoon sharing and kept staring at the demented blends. On the
Just Vanilla, We Promise
was a neon orange tag labeling it
For Wimps
. Silver wasn’t ready for Blue Crab, but that was too much of a dare to ignore.

“Chipotle chocolate,” he told the girl behind the counter.

“Damn,” Eli said, “I’ve already had that one.”

Sometimes Eli took the notion of sharing a little too far. He hemmed and hawed for a few minutes before deciding on Old Bay-Caramel-Bacon.

Silver paid an insane price for two cones, and Eli tugged him toward a plate-sized table and chairs made out of wire.

“It’s too hot to eat ice cream outside.”

The chairs were about as uncomfortable as they looked, but Silver spun it around to straddle it, and that was better.

“Mmmm.” Eli licked the cream off his lips and pushed his waffle cone toward Silver. “Want some?”

“I’d rather blow a syphilitic wino.”

“Not much money in that.”

“No, thank fuck.” Silver shuddered.

“How’s yours?” Eli went back to giving enthusiastic head to his unnatural mix of ingredients.

The inside of Silver’s mouth was on fire, but the chocolate was rich and intense. He kind of loved it.

“Not bad.”

Eli’s sneaker thudded into Silver’s bare shin.

“Ow.”

Eli didn’t miss one deep lick of his cone. “What are you going to do?”

Silver stopped rubbing his shin and looked at Eli. Knowing what Eli was asking and knowing how to answer him were two different things. And it made his brain go back to chasing its tail over what Quinn had meant about it not being good for Silver to move in with Zeb—as if he’d been planning on it. Maybe Quinn had been referring to Zeb leaving for two months.

Stalling, he lapped at the spicy chocolate, broke off a piece of the waffle cone and chewed. Sweet and still crunchy, it was perfect with the burn on his tongue.

Eli paused, ice cream at his lips, looking at Silver through thick dark bangs. It was one hell of a sexy look. But it was ice cream, not a dick. And it was Eli, so Silver was relatively immune, if not completely unaffected.

“I mean, since there’s not a lot of money in the syphilitic-wino clientele.” Eli sucked on his cone. “Not that you can’t stay with us for awhile, even after you see the judge.”

“After I see the judge, I might be staying in jail, Eli.”

Eli flapped his hand like that was impossible.

“I know Gavin got me a good lawyer, and I owe you both for that, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to jail.”

“’Kay, but suppose you don’t.” Eli dropped that part of the argument. “You can stay with us. And no matter what the bug up Quinn’s ass is about it, I can tell Zeb would be happy to let you stay with him.”

They were barely at the point where they didn’t keep using the past to carve big slices in each other. “Except Zeb’s not going to be here much longer.”

“What?” Eli’s hand slapped down on the table. “Where’s he going? If Quinn knew—”

“Save the drama, please. Your eight-dollar ice cream cone will melt. Zeb is going back to work at that camp where he met Quinn. I assume your daddy is staying home to tuck you into bed every night.”

Eli’s cheeks flushed, and he shifted on the chair. Whatever kind of tucking-in had gone on last night, it must have been one hell of a time.

“He’s leaving the Friday after my court date. I don’t even know if he’s keeping his apartment. Guess Quinn wins this round. I won’t be moving in with Zeb.”

“Bastard. I hate having to tell Quinn he’s right.” Eli pouted. “And how could Zeb just leave after all you guys have been through?”

“I don’t know what the fuck’s going to happen with Zeb, but if I don’t go to jail, I’m hoping to get an apartment closer to the restaurant. I can manage a security deposit off what I’ve saved since I went full-time there. Course the lawyer says I’ve got to tell ’em my real social and start paying taxes and not get paid under the table.”

“How’s that going to go over?”

“The owner’s kind of a stoner-hippy type, so if I tell him I was in witness protection, he’d probably buy it.”

Eli snorted into his puke-colored Old Bay-caramel-bacon ice cream. Spit could only be an improvement.

“Manager’ll be pissed. But right now he barely has bodies to cover the shifts, so he won’t fire my ass. And you’ve got ice cream all over your nose.”

Eli licked as much as he could before giving in and using the skimpy napkin wrapped around the cone.

“Not one of your sexier moments, my friend.”

“Good thing there was only a friend around to see it then.” Eli stuck out his tongue.

“Don’t be pissed at Quinn. He had a point about Zeb. So don’t think it has anything to do with you guys. Me and Zeb—there’s a lot of past shit involved. And there isn’t with you two. ’Sides, when you think of it, I owe Quinn a blow job or two for letting me crash in his house. You have to make good for me.” Silver stuffed the rest of his cone into his mouth. “If you can.”

There might be too much past shit to know where he and Zeb were going, but things inside Silver still did a happy skip at the sight of the Pontiac next to the curb in front of Quinn’s house. They’d timed it perfectly to get back right at four.

It had been a hot, thirsty walk from the bus stop with the chipotle chocolate burning in Silver’s mouth. He’d have a big glass of iced tea, and then he’d see if the leftover chilies would sizzle Zeb’s tongue. But as they got closer, Silver noticed two things that were seriously going to fuck up his plans.

Zeb wasn’t in his car. Silver had forgotten Zeb and Quinn had gone into school together. And Marco sat on Quinn’s front steps, an overstuffed backpack next to him.

“Hey.” Marco jumped to his feet as Silver and Eli came closer. “Eli, I hope you don’t mind I sat on the steps while waiting for Silver.” To Silver, Marco added, “I wanted to hang out but when I went to the restaurant I found out it was your day off. Lucky for me, huh?”

Marco sucked at faking casual. The knot of oh-shit that had started in Silver’s stomach when he saw the backpack got fatter, more tangled.

He cut to the chase. “What happened?”

Marco slumped back on the stairs like someone had cut off his legs. “I can’t. I can’t be there anymore. It—he makes me hate everything. Hate myself.”

Eli took a seat on the step under Marco’s. “Your brother?”

“He made me go to the priest. He told the priest to fix me.”

“Did he? The priest, I mean.”

Marco and Eli both snapped their heads up to look at Silver with almost identical expressions of irritation.

Then Marco smiled. “No. But he was very nice. The priest, I mean. And cute.” Marco winked.

“What are you doing here, Marco?” Silver asked.

“’Kay. I loved being here for dinner. You don’t know how much. Like heaven to sit and eat and not get sick with the yelling. When I went back, it was so much worse. You and Eli made out okay. So I thought you would know what I should do.”

“Marco, Silver and I didn’t have a choice.” Eli said it more nicely than Silver would have put it.

“And we lived on the street for a while. I told you about being a hust—whore.”

“Oh.” Marco’s inquisitive look at Eli went unanswered.

Eli tapped Marco’s thigh. “Did your brother tell you you couldn’t live there anymore?”

“No. But—” Marco’s eyes widened. “
Mierda.
”

Silver spun around. He’d have known they were in deep shit without Marco’s curse. There couldn’t be two cars with those toxic-green rims, even in East Baltimore.

“Jesus, Marco. Does he have a LoJack on you?”

Marco patted his jeans like he was taking that seriously, and then said, “
Seré tonto
, the GPS, I used it in Ernesto’s car. I didn’t think to erase it.”

The fact that the black Firebird had to park two doors down to avoid driveways and a fire hydrant didn’t give Silver much time to plan.

“Never mind.” Marco picked up his backpack. “I’ll go with him. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I can.”

Eli put his hand on Marco’s shoulder. “Wait.”

Marco’s brother slammed the passenger door and started charging up the sidewalk.

“Timo?” Eli muttered.

“Yup.”

Timo wasn’t much taller than Marco, but a hell of a lot more thickly muscled. Premature gray bristled at the temples and in the stubble standing at attention on his angrily jutting jaw. But with Eli and the house behind them, they could handle Timo. The serious worry was the other guy, who looked like professional muscle. Since he’d been driving the car, Silver hoped he was Marco’s brother-in-law Ernesto and not a hit man.