The Prelude of Ella and Micha Page 3

  Her forehead creases as she leans toward the bed, scrutinizing me. “Are you high?”

  High on you.

  Where do I come up with this shit?

  I adjust the guitar in my lap. “No, why?”

  She shrugs then relaxes back, tucking a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. The movement causes my heartbeat to quicken and blood to roar in my eardrums.

  “You just seem distracted,” she responds. “And you look kind of pale.”

  “Being high doesn’t make me pale.” I cringe at the thickness in my voice. I’m never awkward around girls, and now I’m about as nervous as a debater with severe stage fright. “And I’m always a little distracted when I’m working on a song, especially when I’m about to finish one.” About my feelings for you.

  “That’s awesome.” She smiles brightly. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. “Can I see what you have down so far?” She sets her sketchbook aside on the floor and kneels in front of me.

  When she reaches for my notepad, I jerk back, tucking it behind me while dropping the guitar onto the bed.

  “What the heck, Micha? Are you …?” She peers up at me with glossy eyes, like she’s about to cry. “Are you mad at me about something?”

  “What!” I exclaim. “No, it’s just …” I think about the lyrics that just flowed out of me, as though my subconscious was speaking to me, whispering things I never realized until now. “I’m not mad, I just … don’t want you to read these until they’re finished.” It’s only when she starts to relax that I do, as well.

  “Well, if you need to talk to me,” she says, sitting back on her heels, “I’m here for you. I know today’s a rough day.”

  My brows knit as I set the notepad down on the mattress and scoot to the edge of the bed, planting my feet on the floor. “Why? What’s today?”

  “Um, ten years since your dad left.” She folds her arms on top of my knees and looks up at me. The contact is almost unbearable, though in the best way possible.

  Breathe, you dumb ass. It’s just a girl touching you, nothing more, nothing less.

  Except the girl touching you remembered your father took off ten years ago today. The girl knows and cares about your past.

  “I’m fine.” I wave her off then get to my feet. “But we should go do something fun.”

  “Okay,” she easily agrees. Ella is usually up for fun, no matter the circumstances. She bounds to her feet and closes her sketchbook before reaching for her leather jacket. “What are you up for tonight? Racing? Dinner at the diner? We can go to that party downtown that people were talking about.”

  I reach for my hoodie on my bedpost. “A party sounds kind of nice.” I glance down at her cast. “As long as you feel up to it.” Maybe the noise will drown out my freaking alarming thoughts and feelings.

  “My arm feels fine.” She reaches for the doorknob but dithers. “But, if we go to the party, will you promise not to act like a weirdo like you did at the last one? Because it wigs me out.”

  I slip on my jacket. “I never act like a weirdo at parties, do I?”

  She stares me down from over her shoulder. “The last party we went to, you almost beat Jonny Moylton’s ass because he was”—she lets go of the doorknob to make air quotes—“dry humping me. Seriously, Micha. You’re starting to act like a jealous boyfriend.”

  My frown deepens as I painfully realize how right she is. I was extremely pissed off watching Jonny touch her like that, and I acted crazy. I’ll do it again, too.

  “Well, he was asking for it,” I tell her, unable to stop myself. “He shouldn’t have been touching you like that.”

  “That’s not really for you to decide.” She turns for the door again. “Guys are allowed to touch me, Micha. In case you haven’t noticed, I am a girl.”

  Oh, I’ve noticed. Boy, have I fucking noticed.

  “It is too for me to decide who gets to touch you,” I mutter then cringe when I realize I said it aloud.

  She fires a death glare at me. “What is your problem? I don’t get it. You’ve been acting really … weird and pouty the last few weeks.”

  I want to tell her I’ll stop. I’ll control myself. Control my emotions. But I’d be lying to her, and I never want to be that guy to her, the one who feeds her bullshit like every other dude in her life.

  “You know what I’m craving?” I say, nervously scratching my neck. “Some of that cheesecake my mom made you for your birthday.”

  She blinks once at the abrupt subject change, but then her eyes fill with hunger at the mention of cheesecake, just like I knew they would—Ella loves her cheesecake. “Is there any left?”

  I nod as I zip up my jacket. “Yeah. Let’s sneak a few slices before we head out.”

  She smiles, which is a rarity, before pulling on the door. When she gets it halfway open, though, she unexpectedly pauses, and I almost end up running into her.

  “Maybe we should stop by the diner to get something to eat before the party,” she suggests, turning her head ever so slightly.

  We’re so close our lips almost touch, and it takes every single bit of strength I have not to lower my lips and devour her. My hands curl into fists, and I breathe through my nose, trying to keep my erratic airflow as discreet as possible.

  “I mean, if we’re going to be drinking, which I’m guessing we are, we can’t do it on empty, cheese-cake only stomachs; otherwise, we’ll relive last month’s puking party we had when we get home.”

  “Good idea. I am kind of hungry.” I can barely form words because her vanilla scent is overpowering all of my senses, drowning me with an emotion that terrifies me.

  She slowly nods, carefully eyeing me over. “Are you positive you’re okay? You seem kind of … weirdo-ish again.”

  A slow exhale eases from my lips as I gather up what little sanity I have left, then I plaster on a smile. “Yeah, I’m great. Better than great. I’m fucking spectacular.”

  What I really want to say is “No, I’m not fine, fucking great, or spectacular. Nor will I ever be again. Because I think I’m falling in love with my best friend, who quite possibly will never love me back.”

  Three hours later, my thoughts about loving Ella stream through my mind louder than the music blasting throughout the packed house. Louder than the sea of alcohol swimming inside me. Louder than my heart beat, which is practically screaming inside my chest.

  The house that we’re at is on the small side, and that says a lot since Ella and I both live in narrow, compact homes. It might only seem tiny, though, because there’s a hundred plus sweaty drunk people pressed up together.

  “I’m having fun!” Ella shouts breathlessly over the music. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are glazed over, and her smile lights up her entire face. The only time she ever looks this happy is either when we’re at our spot near the lake or if she’s drunk, like now.

  “I’m glad. You deserve to have fun.” My head slants to the side as she turns around to pour herself another drink with her good hand. My semi-intoxicated glaze leisurely glides up and down the lean curves of her body and linger on the black jeans she’s wearing that hug her ass perfectly. Hug her perfect ass perfectly. When did she get such a perfect ass?

  “Want me to pour you one?” She peers over her shoulder at me, then her expression sinks. “Hey! Were you just checking out my ass?”

  I shrug, too drunk to conjure up a good lie. “It’s nice to look at.”

  Her cheeks flush even more. “So gross, Micha,” she says, but by her blush, I wonder if she secretly might be thrilled.

  I smirk at her. “Sure it is.”

  Shaking her head, she collects a plastic cup that she’s filled to the brim with punch and vodka. She swallows a large gulp then faces me again, resting her hip against the counter as she stares at me.

  “So, am I allowed to dance?” Ella asks, her gaze skimming around the throng, searching for options.

  The idea of reliving the Jonny incident makes my fists clench. “Y
ou’re allowed to do whatever you want,” I reply through gritted teeth.

  Her suffocating eyes land back on me. “You sound weird.” She takes a sip from the cup, her gaze penetrating me from over the rim.

  “You keep calling me weird.” I lean in toward her, lowering my voice, forcing it to be playful. “It’s starting to hurt my feelings, Ella May.”

  “Poor baby.” She angles her head away from me and downs another swallow before setting the cup down on the countertop. “All right, if you’re going to be weird about me dancing, then I guess you’ll just have to be my dance partner.” She laces her fingers through mine, alarming me so badly I almost drop my cup on the floor.

  Quickly recovering, I chuck it into a nearby trashcan then tighten my hold on her hand as she steers me through the mob. Ella and I have never danced before, but I know how we both dance when we’re drunk. Granted, Ella gets a little skittish five minutes into the music, as if she suddenly remembers something that leaves her wanting to be untouched. But if we make it through those five minutes …

  It’s going to be the best fucking five minutes of my life.

  “You sure you want to do this?” She spins around as we reach the center of the madness. There’s hardly any room, yet she somehow manages to spread her arms out and shimmy her hips, raising her arms above her head and giving me a full eyeful of her flat, smooth stomach.

  Mother fucking hell.

  I bite down on my lip to keep from moaning. If the night keeps going in the same direction, I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off her; otherwise, I’m going to explode.

  Oblivious to the fact that her best friend is getting a hard on over her, Ella continues, “You know how intense I can get when I dance. I might embarrass Mr. Smooth.” By her amused grin, I can tell she thinks she’s teasing me. What she’s really doing is adding fuel to the fire. She’s totally fucking turning me on more than I ever have been before.

  “Mr. Smooth?” I cock a brow at her. “Really?”

  She shrugs as her hands fall to her sides. “Hey, you’re the one who is always hitting on someone. I’m just giving you a fitting name.”

  I span my hands out to the side and glance around the crowd. “Do you see me hitting on anyone right now?”

  The statement acutely puzzles her. “Now that you mention it, no.” She leans in, squinting at my expression. “Are you sick or something?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not as big of a manwhore as everyone thinks.” When her brows elevate with insinuation, I shake my head and aim a finger at her. “You know what? This is for teasing me about my sluttiness.” Before she can respond, I grab her hips and twirl her around so her back is to me. Then I quickly move up and align my body with hers. Moving to the rhythm of the throbbing music, I grind against her, knowing this can go either of two ways: she’s going to think it’s all for fun and move with me, or she’s going to freak out and run.

  She’s tense as a board as the song ends and switches to “Ordinary World” by Red. Then, suddenly, Ella’s dancing. Ella and I are dancing. I’m not even sure where the hell the burst of confidence materializes from, but she’s now swaying and grinding and rocking to the slow beat of the song. And I’m instantly lost in her movements.

  I’m so fucking lost.

  Flirting has always come naturally to me, but I feel like a real amateur at the moment. I try to get a grip over myself, but as I start rubbing against her, I’m hyperaware of every breath, every graze of her ass, brush of her back, feel of her hands as they rise up and loop around the back of my neck. Our bodies align perfectly—too perfectly. They should always be together like this.

  I’m struggling to control myself and not reach around to slide my hand across her breasts, because I’m dying to touch her like that. Then her head falls to the side, giving me a straight view to her heaving chest, and my hands start to wander, take on a mind of their own, gliding around to the front of her and splaying across her stomach. My fingers play with the hem of her shirt, debating, before I summon up enough courage to slip them underneath the fabric.

  God, her skin is so fucking smooth.

  Her muscles tighten, and we both freeze.

  She blinks up at me in confusion.

  I stare down at her, my pulse pounding with desire, confusion, lust, heat, want, love, lust, love.

  Then she starts to lean up.

  Fuck, maybe she wants to kiss me.

  I start to lean down.

  Our lips inch closer.

  We’re about to kiss. Maybe my fear over my feelings was inaccurate. Perhaps I jumped to assumptions. Maybe she can handle my declaration of wanting more. Perhaps she does feel the same way about me as I do about her.

  But just when a sliver of space is left between our lips, Ella’s eyes snap wide. Reality painfully crashes over me.

  “Oh, my God … Did we just …?” She trails off with a deer in the headlights look.

  I open my mouth to say—well, who the fuck knows? Maybe something that could possibly make the situation even worse. Thankfully, Ella’s friend Renee comes bouncing up to us and stops our conversation.

  “What were you two just doing?” she asks with speculation, her gaze flicking back and forth between us.

  “Nothing,” Ella sputters, scooting forward and putting space between our bodies.

  Leaving me feeling cold.

  Renee assesses us closely. “Okay …” She shakes her head then focuses on Ella. “Well, anyway, I think you guys need to come have some fun with me.” She grabs Ella’s hand. “We’re about to play truth or dare and need more players.”

  Ella throws a glance at me yet easily lets Renee drag her across the room with me trailing at their heels.

  “Truth or dare?” Ella questions. “What are we, like eight?”

  Renee snorts a laugh. “Yeah, right, Ella. You’re the biggest daredevil I know, so don’t pretend like you don’t love the idea.”

  Ella reaches back through the crowd as we squeeze toward the bedrooms and catches my hand. There’s no clear reason as to why she does, but I don’t care. I just grasp on for dear life.

  “Who’s playing?” Ella hollers over the music.

  Renee releases Ella’s hand as we reach a shut door at the back of the house near the kitchen. She brushes her chin-length hair out of her eyes then extends her hand for the doorknob. “Mara, Jonny, Grantford, Tammy…” Renee yammers off a list of people.

  Ella makes a face at the mention of Tammy, shooting a dirty look at me, probably because I hooked up with Tammy a couple of weeks ago. I’d be offended, but I think I might detect a slight bit of jealousy in her eyes so I’m more elated than anything.

  Renee opens the door and we enter a room that has zero furniture inside it. The only thing occupying the shaggy orange carpet are the people Renee yammered off along with a few others I don’t know and my friend Ethan Gregory.

  Ethan starts to give me a chin nod, but then his gaze darts to Ella’s and my hands clasped together. As his brow arches in perplexity, I shrug. I might be kind of slutty, but I’ve never gone around holding a girl’s hand; I’ve never had a girlfriend, just hookups. Right now, I’m sure Ella and I look like a couple, but that’s more than fine with me.

  “Okay, Ella.” Renee nudges Ella in Grantford’s direction and our hands slip apart. “You take a seat over there.” Then she shoves me in the opposite direct. “Micha, you go sit by Tammy.”

  As I look over at Tammy, who’s batting her eyelashes at me, I realize that not only is everyone sitting in a circle, but there’s also an empty beer bottle in the center of them.

  “Wait.” I glance back at Renee. “I thought you said we were playing truth or dare?”

  “Did I?” She thrums a finger on her lips. “You must have misheard me.”

  Fucking Renee. She’s always lying and tricking people into doing shit. Although, I have the slightest bit of suspicion that Tammy played a part in this. Ever since I hooked up with her, she’s been following me around at school,
asking me when we’re going to get together again.

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, I plop my ass down in the empty spot next to Tammy. Ella has already sat down by Grantford, who gawks at her chest when she rests back on her hands and crisscrosses her legs. She appears a little dazed, lost in her thoughts as she stares at the bare walls and closet door of the room.

  Even when the game gets going, Ella remains oddly out of it. I half expect her to leave at any moment, not because we’re playing spin the bottle, but because Ella’s the kind of person that will get riled up over the fact that Renee lied about the game. Instead, she twirls a strand of her hair around her finger, oblivious when Ethan kisses Mara.

  Then Grantford takes a turn, and it’s clear he has his sights set on Ella, yet he gets stuck kissing someone else. She doesn’t even notice when Jonny spins and the bottle lands on Ethan, causing Ethan to get all squirrely and Jonny to take another turn. The only time she actually focuses on what’s going on is when Tammy gives the bottle a spin and bounces up and down excitedly when the tip points at me.

  “Yes! I get Micha.” She grins at me as she gets up and turns toward me, wiggling her hips.

  When I glance over at Ella, her expression is unreadable, although there’s something in her eyes that I’ve never seen before, something that makes my adrenaline pump a little faster. The longer we stare at each other, the more intense the sensation grows. While Ella knows I hook up, she’s never actually seen me kiss anyone, and I think the idea is bothering her.

  “Micha, I’m over here.” Tammy snaps her fingers in front of my face. I tear my attention away from Ella and look up at Tammy. Her hands are on her hips and her eyes are flooded with irritation. “You’re supposed to be kissing me,” she says hotly then wets her lips with her tongue.

  “Kissing ... yeah. Okay.” I stand up and plant probably the quickest, tongueless, sloppiest kiss in history. Then I swing around her and move to the bottle in the middle of the circle.