Bad Influence (Seven Deadly Sins #2) ✅ Completed

Chapter Twenty-Five: Spice Up Your Life

Spice Up Your Life

“Are you kidding me right now?” Dante asked, beyond irritated. I couldn’t really blame him. This was a little crazy – even for us. 

“I know but it’s almost over,” I replied trying to look on the bright side. I’d never considered myself much of an optimist before, but someone had to be around this place now that Chase was MIA.

Dante glared at me, seeing right through my lame attempt at positive thinking, “What makes you think she won’t hit repeat again?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“She won’t. I think there’s a law on how many times a person can listen to Spice Up Your Life.” If there wasn’t, then there definitely should be. Dante wasn't the only one sick and tired of hearing the 90s era British pop group's mantra playing on an endless loop.

“I don’t think that b…,” It took Dante a second to adjust, “beauty-queen got the memo,” he finished. I was pretty sure ‘beauty-queen’ hadn’t been the first word to nearly come out of his mouth.  

I heard Dante’s teeth click as the song started right back up just as it had been coming to the blessed end. He growled deep in this throat and turned on his heel to pace down the hall, as far away from the door as he could get without actually leaving the hallway.

We’d carried Andy Andersen upstairs to my room and laid her down to rest until she woke up. We weren’t sure what she’d been through with Jackson, but if it was even half of what we knew he was capable of then she deserved some kind of real rest. We’d been taking turns checking on her throughout the afternoon, but at some point in the last hour when she’d been alone, she’d gotten up, found my music player and decided to play the Spice Girls on an endless loop.

Some people listened to the weirdest things to make themselves feel better.

“Why do you even have that song on your playlist?” Dante asked, turning his 90s  pop music annoyance on me.

“Because it’s a good song,” I sniffed. Dante snorted. I continued in my own defense, “It is. You know, if you only listen to it once and a while when you’re working out or something.”

“You never work out.”

“You don’t know,” I shot back. He snorted again like he knew I was full of hot air.   

Okay, so maybe he was right about that one thing – I never worked out. I didn’t really have to. New York, Brooklyn in particular, was a walking kind of city. It was an anomaly that my mother even owned a car. They were a hassle to park and most of the time there wasn't a single place you could drive to that was faster than walking or taking a train. My mother had only kept the car to spite my father - she hated driving and had more speeding tickets than most street racers. 

The real reason I had that song on my playlist was because it made me happy. My mom had loved to play the Spice Girls album when I was growing up, I think mostly to annoy my dad but I didn’t care. Some of those songs were pretty catchy and couldn’t help but bring a smile to your face – at least if you were a six year old girl.

I guess Andy thought so too.

The song cut off in mid-chorus.

“Oh, thank God.” I breathed just before I heard the Spice Girls' Stop start up.

“That’s it!” Dante roared and burst into my bedroom, sending a slightly unstable Andy into a fresh screaming fit.

Over Dante’s shoulder I watched as Andy, now dressed in one of my only clean black tank tops and spare shorts, ran to the far corner of my room. Her mouth was a perfect O as she let out one long continuous shriek, her hands up in front of her in a defensive pose.