The Prelude of Ella and Micha

  I snort a laugh as I turn my head to look at him. “What are we, in kindergarten again?”

  His pout deepens. “Please?”

  “Micha, you don’t need me. I promise, you’ll be okay by yourself.”

  His mouth plummets to a frown. “I always need you.”

  I sigh, feeling even guiltier about the letter hiding under the pillow right beneath my head. “I thought your car wasn’t ready to race yet.”

  He absentmindedly reaches across me and twists a lock of my auburn hair around his finger. “No, Ethan and I got all the shit that was broken taken care of, so I’m good to go.” He springs up and grabs my hands, tugging on my arms until I sit up. “Now get your ass out of bed and come with me. You know I can’t win without you.”

  I roll my eyes and dramatically let my head bobble back. “That is so not true. You’ve won plenty of times without me.”

  He melodramatically presses his hand to his heart while still holding onto one of my wrists. “It’s completely true. I’d lose without you, baby.”

  I give an over-exaggerated gag, wiggling my arm away from his grasp to place my fingers at the base of my neck. “Have you been reading the Cheesy Pickup Lines Handbook again? Because I thought I forbid you to do that anymore.” It’s amazing, but the pressure in my chest is lighter. Even when I was younger, I felt like a completely different person when I was around Micha: stronger, happier, weightless, like anything was possible. Which makes leaving to Vegas without him terrifying.

  “Yeah, but I already got it memorized.” He backs off the bed and stands up. Then he winks at me. “Come on, pretty girl, go with me.”

  I point a finger at him. “Watch the nickname, mister. You know I don’t like being called that.”

  His lips quirk as he restrains a smile. “I’ll stop calling you that for tonight if you promise to go with me.”

  There’s no use arguing with him. He pretty much won the argument the moment he started it. I always give in and go with him because he’ll make me feel fifty times better, even with the crowd of people around us. Besides, I’m craving the freedom from my house, and I need to take what I can get.

  “Is ditzy going to be there tonight?” I ask, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and lowering my feet to the floor.

  “You mean Trixie?” he corrects me, amused. “Why? Will you be jealous if she is?”

  I scrunch up my nose. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  Trixie was Micha’s weekend hook up last Saturday. While I’m used to his random flings since he’s been doing them for a couple of years now, it still irritates me. Even though I will never admit it aloud, I want Micha all to myself, as selfish as it seems. He’s all I have, and … Well, I feel lost without him.

  “You sure about that? Because you seemed pretty bitchy toward Trixie the other day.” He arches his eyebrow, which pisses me off. It seems like he’s insinuating something that I don’t like. And that isn’t true at all.

  Well, maybe …

  I’m not sure.

  God, I’m not sure about anything anymore when it comes to him.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” I extend my hand forward and pinch his nipple through his shirt. “One of these days, that head of yours is going to get so big you aren’t going to be able to fit it through my window anymore.”

  He chuckles as he rubs his nipple. “You better watch it, or one of these days, I’m going to pinch you right back.”

  I quickly cross my arms over my chest because I don’t doubt that he will. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll go with you, but only if you stop with the dirty jokes, calling me pretty girl, and come home with me. And we have to at least stop by the party on our way there.”

  “I agree to the latter three, but the first one is completely out of my hands.” He grins as he points to his mouth. “This thing doesn’t have a filter.”

  “Fine,” I surrender. “Just try to tone it down, if you can.”

  Nodding, he leans forward to kiss my cheek. “Thank you for going with me, pretty … beautiful,” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin.

  Flutters. Flutters. Flutters.

  I struggle back the urge to shiver as he stands up straight and backs toward the window. “Meet me downstairs after you change.”

  My forehead creases. “Why would I change? What I’m wearing is perfectly fine.”

  He bites on his bottom lip so hard the skin around his mouth turns white. Then his gaze flicks to my chest. “Well, you don’t have to change, but you might want to consider it.” He rubs his hand across his mouth, dragging his fingers roughly across his skin, as if he’s stressed out. “Or at least consider putting on … a bra before you come out.” He quickly turns his back to me and swings his leg out the window to climb out.

  My gaze drifts to my chest and my eyes widen. I completely forgot that this morning, when my mom woke me up freaking out about the photo, I just tugged on the nearest thing and didn’t bother putting on a bra. Right now, with the lightest breeze in my room, my nipples are perky and can be seen through the fabric of my shirt. They’ve probably been that way the entire time Micha and I were talking.

  I hear Micha bust up laughing the moment he escapes my room and makes it out onto the tree branch. With one arm crossed over my chest, I hop off the bed, pick up a pillow, and stride across the room toward the window. I chuck the pillow out at him, and it hits him square in the back then tumbles to the grass below. Micha laughs even harder as he turns around and places his hands on the windowsill, ducking his head in to look at me.

  “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he says with a grin.

  Keeping my arm over my chest, I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not embarrassed.”

  “Your pink cheeks suggest otherwise.” He sucks on his lip ring, and I prepare myself for the innuendo coming. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. What I saw was nice. Way better than any I’ve seen before.”

  My lips part in shock.

  “And I think that you secretly kind of like that I was looking,” he adds arrogantly. “Otherwise, you would have punched me in the face already, like you do to any other guy who comments on your tits.”

  My jaw is practically hanging to my knees. Before I can offer a rebuttal, he winks at me then hurries away from the window, balancing on the tree branch with his arms out.

  “You’re such an ass,” I call out after him. “I don’t like that you were looking. At all.” The butterflies in my stomach reveal differently, though.

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself to get you through the day.” He flashes me one final grin before he descends down the tree.

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, I return to my bed and flop down on the mattress, angry at myself because Micha’s right. If any other guy had said what he just did, I would have clocked him square in the jaw. But, with Micha … Part of me secretly enjoys our sexual banter, something we’ve done since we hit our early teens, and he started noticing I had breasts. Still, it’s just friendly, flirty fun that I know will never go anywhere. Nor do I want him to want me as more than friends. Crossing that line would mean losing our friendship, and I can’t lose Micha. Ever. Besides, I’m not emotionally ready to be committed to a guy, which is why I’ve never had a boyfriend. A few make out sessions, yeah. But nothing past second base. I just don’t get the whole touching thing. Hugs. Kisses. Fondling. Whatever. It freaks me out more than it turns me on. The only person I’ve ever felt comfortable touching me is Micha.

  Two minutes later, I drag my ass out of bed and put a bra on beneath my white tank top. Then I tug my leather jacket on, even though it’s hot, just so I can have peace of mind that I won’t nipple flash anyone for the rest of the night. I pull my auburn hair into a ponytail, trace my green eyes with some kohl eyeliner, and slip on black combat boots before heading downstairs.

  When I turn into the kitchen, my dad is awake, rummaging through his alcohol stash in the cupboard above the fridge. His thinning hair is in disarray, his plaid jacket a
nd dirty jeans reeking of liquor and cigarette smoke.

  “Have you seen my bottle of Jack Daniels?” he asks me, his speech slurred as he staggers to keep his footing. He ends up tripping over his shoelace and bangs his head against the corner of the cupboard. “Shit,” he curses, rubbing his head. “That kind of hurt.”

  I almost turn around and leave, walk out the front door and ignore the problem. Bur leaving him starving for alcohol is never a good idea.

  “Let me see if I can find it,” I tell him, gently nudging him out of the way as I move up to the counter. Seconds later, I find the bottle right there on the middle shelf amongst the rest of his alcohol stash. “Here you go.” I hand it to him, feeling a bit guilty for being an aid to his addiction. But I also know what will happen if I don’t give it to him: madness; chaos; and a lot of yelling, crying, and broken things for me to clean up in the morning.

  He snatches the bottle from my hand and swishes it around, eyeballing the amber liquid through the glass. “It’s almost gone,” he mutters. “Go pick up some more for me.”

  “The gas station won’t let me buy anymore,” I tell him, ready to get the hell out of the house for the damn night. “The guy who sold alcohol to minors got busted, and he doesn’t work there anymore.”

  “That’s stupid. What the hell am I going to do now?” he gripes, glaring at the bottle in his hand.

  “You could stay sober for the weekend,” I timidly suggest. “It might help with the hangover on Monday.”

  When he glares at me with his bloodshot eyes, I shrink back.

  “Fine.” He slams the bottle down on the table. “I’ll go get it myself.”

  “Dad, I don’t think you should go out by yourself when you’re like this.”

  He waves me off as he zips up his jacket, oblivious to the heat outside. “I’ll be back in five. Keep an eye on your mother.”

  “Dad, I’m leav—”

  He walks out of the house, slamming the door.

  I let out a deflated sigh then text Micha.

  Me: Going to be a bit. Dad needed to go somewhere.

  Micha: Ok, I’ll wait for u.

  Me: U don’t have to … U should just go without me.

  Micha: Don’t want to. Never do.

  Part of me smiles, desiring the escape he’ll give me no matter how selfish it is to make him wait for me.

  Me: Fine. See c in a bit.

  I tuck my phone in my pocket and recline against the counter, watching the back door for my dad to return. Thirty minutes tick by, and I sink down in the kitchen chair. I rotate a bottle of vodka in my hand as I watch the sun descend outside the window and grey the land. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

  An hour later, I take a swallow of the vodka, growing restless. I can’t even text my dad to see where he is, because he lost his cell phone one drunken night, and we can’t afford a new one.

  I end up finishing the vodka off. There was only about three shots in there, but since I don’t drink very much, I can feel the dizziness swishing around inside me. My phone buzzes, and I check the message, squinting against the glow of the screen.

  Micha: Where r u?

  Me: Dad’s still gone. I’m on mom duty.

  Micha: U want me to come over?

  I consider texting yes, but I really want to go out tonight, so I send a different reply.

  Me: Give me 10 and I’ll be over.

  Then I push back from the table and check on my mom. She’s still fast asleep in her bed, and knowing her past routines, she should stay that way until morning. Even though I feel the slightest bit guilty, I put her cell phone on the nightstand beside the bed. Then I trot down the stairway and leave the house.

  It’ll be okay. I’ll only stay out for a few hours. And my dad will be back.

  Besides, maybe tonight will finally be the night I’ll muster up the courage to tell Micha that I might have to break our pact.

  Chapter 4

  Micha

  Ella’s had a rough day. That’s the first thing I noted when I climbed into the window and heard her voice. Then she rolled over in her bed, and the next thing that popped into my head was, Jesus, I can see her nipples through her shirt. She must have been cold, too, because they were perky as hell. I both love and hate how fucking hot she is. It leaves me with a hard on that I can’t do much about except for jerk off, which is exactly what I did when I got home.

  If I had my way, I would’ve ripped Ella’s clothes off and slipped deep inside her. But she’s like a skittish cat when it comes to connection, contact, and her emotions. She’s been a little better about it the older she’s gotten, though not with everyone. As much as I loathe that her emotionally numb, selfish parents have made her so non-reciprocating to affection, part of me secretly likes that I’m the only one who gets away with touching her, like the ass pinch earlier.

  About an hour after hopping out Ella’s window, I’m in the garage, fiddling around with the engine of my 1969 Chevelle, waiting for her to show up. The Beast, as I call it, is a real piece of shit yet was way worse when I first towed it home. At least it has wheels now and bondo concealing the dents, and most of the exterior metal is a dull grey from the primer. It still needs a lot of work, like a paint job and new rims, but the engine runs fucking fantastic.

  I pass the time as I check the oil and antifreeze, making sure it’s ready to go for tonight’s race. The radio is playing, and I sing along to the lyrics of “Imperfect” by Stone Sour.

  The sky eventually starts to grey with the sunset, and I try not to worry about how late it’s getting and that Ella is still a no show. It means whatever is going on in her house is bad. That’s usually the case. Either her mother is having an episode, or her father is trashed and being a huge dick.

  “I thought you said it was good to race.” Ella suddenly appears beside me.

  Startled, I jerk back, banging my head on the hood. “Shit,” I curse, rubbing my head.

  Ella smashes her lips together, trying not to laugh at me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I toss the rag I’m holding onto the shelf behind me while discreetly checking out Ella as she leans over to examine the engine.

  Her tight cutoff shorts hug her perfect ass, her combat boots are laced up to her knees, and she has her favorite leather jacket on that makes her look sexy as hell. But what really causes my heart to beat like a fucking jackhammer is those big green eyes of hers.

  Those gorgeous eyes that are swallowing me up whole right now.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” Ella asks, self-consciously touching a strand of her hair. “Is there something in my hair?”

  I shake my head, unable to take my eyes off her. “Nope, you look perfect as always.”

  She narrows her eyes at me as her head falls to the side. “Nice try. I look like crap right now.”

  “You’re welcome for the compliment.” I smirk at her, glad I can veer toward joking territory because it’s all I can take anymore. Things used to be less complicated when something as simple as her scent didn’t send my senses off into a mad frenzy. Now, I’m pretty much holding my breath every time I’m near her. And I’m near her a lot, so things are constantly intense.

  Some of her tension alleviates, her shoulders unwinding. “Sorry. I’m being kind of a bitch, aren’t I?”

  “A little. But I’m sure you have your reasons.” I pause, knowing it’ll do no good, but I have to ask—have to try. “Want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?”

  She swiftly shakes her head then moves up to me and loops her arms around the back of my neck. “I just want to have fun. Can we do that?”

  My breath catches in my throat from her nearness. I’m seriously about to pour my heart out to her right here in my garage. But I detect the slightest scent of alcohol on her breath and stop myself from doing the irreversible.

  I frown. “You’re drunk.”

  “Yeah, so?” She stares up at me with a challenge in her eyes. “You get drunk all the time.”

/>   “Yeah, but you only get drunk when something’s bothering you.” I glance at her house next door. The lights are off except for the porch light, and her dad’s Firebird is parked in the driveway. “Was it your mom or dad this time?”

  “It’s nothing. No one did anything.”

  “Ella May,” I warn, “I know when you’re lying.”

  She sighs as she steps away from me with her shoulders hunched. “My dad went out for alcohol over an hour ago and left me in charge of my mom. He was only supposed to be gone for like five minutes, but you know how that goes.”

  I rest my palm against her cheek, fighting a smile when she embraces my touch, knowing it’d be an inappropriate reaction right now. “I’ll stay home with you tonight, okay? We’ll just chill at your house and keep an eye on your mother.”

  “No. I’m not going to let you do that … give up any more fun for me.”

  “You and I are in this together, remember? It’s you and me against the world. Besides, whether we go out or stay in doesn’t matter. As long as I’m with you.” I know how cheesy I sound, and she’s more than likely going to give me shit for it. I can’t help it, though. Stuff like that just falls out of my mouth whenever I’m around her.

  Her lips quirk, but then her expression plunges and laces with apprehension. She moves her face away from my hand. “Micha, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Okay.” I’m becoming nervous myself, wondering what the hell could be causing her to look so anxious.

  “It’s about our future plans.” She summons a deep breath. “I know we were supposed to hit the road soon, but I …” She trails off, her gaze wandering to her house where her dad is stumbling up the driveway, cursing under his breath.

  He has a brown paper bag in his hand, and he keeps stopping to take swings from it. I’m honestly surprised he can walk with how out of it he looks.

  “Just let him go,” I tell Ella. With as drunk as her father is, he’s more than likely going to upset her more tonight.