Bad Influence (7 page)

Quinn put his hands on Eli’s shoulders. “He’s a friend. And he’s a guest.” Quinn’s calm was usually a nice contrast to Eli’s flail over everything, but right now it got on what was left of Silver’s nerves. Quinn started to back Eli into the kitchen. “And he’s here to apologize.” Quinn looked back for a second and raised his brows in Silver’s direction.

Nice for someone to ask permission in running his life. Silver rolled his eyes and said, “Fine,” mostly for Eli and Quinn’s benefit.

Zeb, looking earnest and so damned sure his sorry would fix everything, provided a perfect opportunity to cut him to pieces, let him know nothing would ever be all right. Because there was no fix for what had happened after that night. But instead, Silver’s toes curled and gripped inside his sneakers, and he found himself fighting the urge to back away, swallowing the words to send Zeb out of his life for good this time.

“Jordan—or should I call you Silver like your friends do?”

It didn’t matter. Because Silver wouldn’t let Zeb be around long enough to let it matter.

Silver shrugged. “Jordan’s fine.”
Silver
sounded weird coming from Zeb. As long as it wasn’t Jordie—Silver blocked the memory of the way Zeb had whispered it, voice full of awe.

“It suits you though. Silver. With your hair and eyes.”

As if Silver didn’t know what he looked like. White-blond hair and gray eyes, thin and tall. One of the tweakers he’d met when he first landed in the city had given him the name. He’d liked it enough to keep it.

He couldn’t keep his feet still anymore, so he let them take him into the living room, plopping in a chair and swinging his feet up so he could press and flex them against the coffee table.

Zeb took the couch. “I owe you an apology.”

Well, that was the fucking understatement of the decade. “Yeah? What for?”

“Getting you in trouble.”

It sounded like someone from church talking about a girl who was pregnant. Silver arched his brows.

“Getting you arrested. I should have listened to you the other night. Seeing you—I didn’t think. I only wanted to know you were okay.”

The
other
night he should have listened? The
other
night he wanted to know if Silver was okay? Last Saturday was the only night he was going to apologize for?

Silver’s tongue was thick enough to choke him. It was the only excuse for the fact that none of the words were making it out of his mouth.

Zeb went on, “If your friends hadn’t stepped in—I want you to know, I would have done anything to get you bailed out. I was praying I could get enough from selling my car, but your friend Jamie said they had it covered.”

“He’s Quinn’s friend.” A lame protest was what Silver came up with? Every reason in the world to tell Zeb what he could do with his lame-ass apology, and Silver whined something about the cop not being his friend. Pathetic didn’t begin to cover it.

Zeb’s smile showed off one dimple and crinkled his eyes. “Arguing with you would be a lousy way to apologize, but I think he is your friend too. You have good friends. Great friends. Though I’m not surprised.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve always seen something amazing in you, Jordan. Like a light to draw me in.”

The last little piece of bullshit from Zeb’s sanctimonious mouth finally shook something loose. Silver snorted in disgust. “Drawn to wanting to fuck me, maybe.”

“That’s not true.” Zeb’s protest was instantaneous, but Silver caught the quick glance aimed at his crotch.

Sitting down or not, Silver knew how to show off. He shifted his weight and crossed one leg so the ankle rested at his knee, lowering his lashes and giving Zeb a shy smile.

Zeb blinked.

“Or”—Silver hardened his voice—“wanting to fuck me over.”

Zeb squared his shoulders, and his cheek lost its dimple as his jaw tightened, though his voice was soft. “I’m so sorry, Jordan. For everything that happened.”

It wasn’t really an apology. He said it the way people said
I’m sorry
when you had a bad day. Or at funerals. Not the way you should say it when you were the one who tripped the guy into the grave.

But maybe Zeb would be sorry. If there was something he wanted, counted on like Silver had needed Zeb back then, maybe he’d feel what it was like when he couldn’t have it.

Zeb still had an itch he figured Silver could scratch, the look had been plain enough. Wouldn’t take much until the guy was gagging for it. And then Silver could dish out a little payback. Nothing like what he’d been through, standing outside Zeb’s apartment, needing to check with a hand on his stomach to be sure his guts hadn’t actually been ripped out.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Silver gave Zeb a smile like that half-assed nothing of an apology made the sun shine bright. “So, you want to stay for dinner?”

Over Eli’s dinner of enchiladas, rice and salad, Silver tried to study Zeb as if he were a guy Silver planned to pick up. After all, he used to do it to stay fed, so it shouldn’t be too hard.

When was the last time he’d fucked anyone just for fun? Jason? No, Jason had been fun, and things had been good, but their relationship had been as much about getting to stay in Jason’s gorgeous apartment as Jason himself. The boyfriend before him. Austin. Neither of them had had much of anything, and it had been all about having a good time. Silver had sometimes found himself wondering when the drama would kick in, but it didn’t, even when Austin said he’d gotten the job offer of his dreams and moved to Charlotte—never suggesting Silver come with him. Following the announcement, it was two weeks of almost constant fucking and then a
Been fun. Have a nice life.
Silver had texted after he got the positive test, but the
Not Austin’s number anymore
was a dead end.

In the middle of his musings, he realized things had gone quiet, except every time Eli put a dish down, there was a loud thunk.

Silver glanced over at Zeb, but all the lines he might have used tasted blander than water. Zeb wasn’t a trick. He wasn’t Jason or Austin or anyone else. There was too much history, and it was hard to keep the image of Zeb cutting into his enchilada at Quinn’s dining room table from mixing with the funny, sexy, shy man Silver had fallen for four years ago. No matter how much concentration he poured into hating this Zeb, someone whose rejection had hurt him more than any of the shit that happened afterward, having Zeb here made it impossible to forget that this was also someone who’d once loved him.

After another noisy meeting between Eli’s water glass and the table, Silver went with a question he actually wanted the answer to. He glanced at Zeb. “How did you meet Quinn?”

“Last summer we were both working at a camp in Pennsylvania for children with cancer.”

Sounded like Zeb all right. Good deeds. The Zen bubble he always seemed to float around in was a little more drawn in, like he’d toned down some of the eagerness and along with it the way he’d taken everything as a new way to experience the world.

Quinn paused with a fork to his lips. “When I heard a teacher in the district was retiring at winter break, I got in touch with Zeb about the position.”

“So you ended up back here.” Silver wrapped things up, nodding at Zeb.

Zeb’s smile at Silver held the dimple plus a shared secret and history Silver had to ignore before his brain exploded all over Eli’s pastel tablecloth. “Well, this isn’t exactly New Freedom, is it?”

“New Freedom?” Eli’s voice went high. “Fuck me, that sounds like a cult. Wait.” He stabbed his fork at Silver, eyes wide under the black bangs. “Were you in a cult?”

“No. It’s a small town right over the border on the Pennsylvania side,” Zeb said.

“Fucking felt like a cult growing up there.” Silver rolled his eyes at Eli.

“Uh-huh.” Eli pushed his chair back. Coming to stand behind Silver, he said, “Gimme a hand in the kitchen,” and yanked on Silver’s collar until he could get strangled or get up.

Eli’s height forced him to shift his grip from Silver’s collar to a belt loop to finish propelling him into the kitchen. A sudden twist and release spun Silver into the counter next to the stove.

“What the fuck is going on? You call me from jail and tell me that guy’s the reason, and now I’m fucking feeding him enchiladas?”

Silver settled his T-shirt back onto his shoulders with a shrug. “He apologized for everything. It was just some ex-boyfriend drama.”

“Really?” Eli’s brows arched under his bangs. “Even Quinn’s ex-boyfriend drama didn’t land anyone in jail.”

“At least not yet.” Quinn’s voice rumbled from the archway as he joined them in the kitchen. “Guys, the man out there isn’t an idiot, and the walls aren’t soundproofed.”

Silver rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

“Silver…” Quinn looked him in the eye, “…if there’s a reason you don’t want this guy around, tell me, and I’ll respect that. But he sounded sincere about wanting to apologize, and my gut tells me he’s a good guy.”

Eli’s cough sounded exactly like the word “Peter.”

Quinn hipped Eli into silence.

“Thanks. I can handle it. I’ll go talk to him.” Silver went back through the archway to find Zeb pushing away from the table.

Again, Silver’s brain froze trying to figure out which Zeb he was talking to, the one he’d loved or the one who’d turned him away.

“I’m sorry to have made everyone uncomfortable, so I’m going to go. I appreciate you hearing me out, Jordan.”

Well, this was fucked. How was he supposed to execute his plan when he couldn’t keep the guy around for dinner? Silver realized he liked this self-assured version of Zeb. It seemed as if the more priggish, self-righteous part of him had grown into a guy who didn’t have to draw attention to doing the right thing.

“I’ll walk you out.” Silver managed to keep from crossing his arms over his chest.

Zeb gave him a sharp look, like the offer was a surprise.

Without any talking, the trip to the car was full of sounds Silver usually wouldn’t have heard. Maybe it was the humidity in the air that made the front door opening and closing so thick, the brush of Zeb’s loafers and slap of Silver’s bare feet echo off the cement walk.

As soon as Zeb started the car, the window whined down. Silver went around to the driver’s side, only to watch Zeb slide his seat belt into the buckle as he said, “They care about you. A lot.”

“At least somebody does.”

“Jordan.”

If his name had been spoken in that patient, scolding tone Zeb had always used when Silver bitched about life in New Freedom, Silver would have backed away. But there was a note in his name, a pleading completely unlike Zeb’s sexy begging in bed, and it sure didn’t fit with his new confidence.

“What?” Silver waited.

“I wish—I
hope
maybe sometime we could be friends again.”

Silver’s throat was too tight to answer.

“Quinn has my number if you decide you want to talk. Any time.”

Silver nodded and backed away.

After finally falling asleep around two a.m., Silver woke up with morning wood that just did not quit. He lay there and glared at the ceiling, picturing maggots and roaches and everything disgusting he could come up with, and the blood still pounded until his balls ached. He’d like to blame Zeb for it, but a request to be friends again sometime was not exactly the stuff wet dreams were made of.

For longer than Silver wanted to think about, popping a boner had become nothing more than an annoying body function to take care of. More in line with feeding his growling stomach than taking a dump, but still not worth the fuss. Hell, scratching an actual, hard-to-reach itch had become more satisfying.

He listened before he staggered into the bathroom. He got an earful of Eli and Quinn at night—he didn’t need to catch an eyeful in the morning. Squinting at the dim outlines in the bathroom, Silver realized it wasn’t full light yet. Fuck. He didn’t know what time Quinn had to roll out to make it to work, but Silver remembered that back in his day, high school had started way too fucking early.

Still, it didn’t take much friction to drain his balls when it got like this, and the shower beat any other option for ease of clean up. After washing his hair, he cupped his balls in a slick hand. It had been while he was doing porn that something switched off. Everything still functioned, but it was like he didn’t care if it did.

And then after the positive test, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Right when he was about to come, he’d think about all those spiky-looking cells from the pamphlet, the virus gathering in his nuts, ready to launch. Half the time he’d get there and the thought would freeze him, lock his balls in some kind of vise until he managed a pathetic kind of sputtering shot. He knew it was only his imagination. Knew the pills kept his viral load low. But it was the same with a tiny cut. Thinking about how what came out of him was potentially lethal made him think of the movie aliens with acid for blood. Not exactly a mood enhancement.

Not enough of a mood killer either—his biology didn’t care how fucked up his brain was. His dick was still hard, pulsing with blood, his balls heavy and full.

He put more shower gel on his hand and gripped the shaft, sliding it down. The skin wasn’t completely tight. He wrapped his fingers in a band around the base, wondering if that would help calm things down. One of the guys he did a shoot with had said he sometimes flicked his cock hard with his finger or a rubber band to back off coming too soon. But that sounded like it hurt way too much.