Текст книги "The Ever After of Ella and Micha"
Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
Chapter 7
Ella
I refuse to be the sad Ella tonight and dwell on things that aren’t making me happy, like my mom, her dark thoughts and fears—my dark thoughts and fears. I’m not going to think about my future either or the fact that I can’t seem to even get my portfolio started. Tonight it’s about having fun and watching Micha play, one of my favorite things in life. I am not going to sink down into a pit.
Micha starts out with the song he sang in the coffeehouse, just like I asked him to do. Sweaty bodies nearly suffocate me as I sway back and forth to the music. Lila’s standing beside me, gazing at Ethan pounding on the drums like he’s the love of her life. She’s wearing a sleeveless blue shirt and jeans, along with a pair of my boots.
“You look starstruck,” I shout over the music, fanning my face with my hand, my skin already getting damp with sweat. Even though it’s cold as death outside, there’s so many people packed in the small living room, the body heat alone makes it desert hot in the house.
She shrugs, her eyes fastened on the front of the room where the guys are playing. “I think I am.”
I shake my head and then capture her hand, feeling the alcohol smother any amount of anxiety surfacing. Lila laughs as I spin her around, holding my drink in my hand, ignoring the guy who shouts at me when I accidentally ram my elbow into his gut. Lila grasps onto her drink as she twirls around, trying not to spill any. I keep spinning her until the music stops and Micha’s voice flows over the room.
“Okay, this next one was requested by the only person I’ll take requests from.” He winks at me and some girl shouts out that she’ll do whatever he wants if he sings a song for her.
I turn around, scanning the crowd for the culprit and find her at the back of the room. A tall, curvy girl with dark hair, giving me a condescending look as she takes a sip of beer. Kenzie, the waitress from the coffeehouse. Go figure.
“I think someone wants their ass kicked tonight,” I state, targeting her with a look. She went to school with me and knows what I’m capable of. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten into a fight, but it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how.
Lila claps her hands and jumps up and down. “Oh my God, we should totally take her on together.” She turns to me with a smile on her face. “I’ll hold her back and you pull her hair.”
I gape at her. “Who are you?”
“Someone who wants to find out what it’s like to get in a fight.” She beams, making fists. “Come on, Ella, be my Mister Miyagi.”
“Whoa, you’re acting weird and I like it.” I tap my finger against my chin thoughtfully. “Well, first off, you don’t pull hair. That’s a girl’s way of fighting.”
“But I am a girl.”
“Yeah, but if you fight like a guy then you win. Element of surprise. It totally throws them off.”
Lila bobs her head up and down, eyeing Kenzie as she takes a swallow from the red cup in her hand. “I could see how that would work.”
“It works perfectly almost every time,” I assure her. “And if you really want to get mean you can kick—” I’m cut off by the low beat of the drums, guitar, and base mixing together in perfect unison. I turn around and face the front of the room, no longer giving a crap about Kenzie. She can say whatever she wants. It doesn’t mean anything to anyone who matters.
Micha strums his long fingers across the guitar as he stands in front of the microphone. His eyes are locked on me, the silver O-ring on his wedding finger glistening in the inadequate light of the living room as he sings the song that was playing while we were in the shower earlier. The lyrics bring fresh memories flooding back and I swear to God I can feel the heat of the steam and the scorching trail his hands left all over my body.
I watch him play, longing to touch him and for him to touch me. I put the plastic cup up to my lips and swallow another mouthful of Bacardi, feeling the burn of it along with the heat on my skin, realizing that Micha was right. That I do get horny when I’m drunk because all I can think about right now is him being inside me like he was in the shower.
When his lips part to sing the chorus, I shut my eyes and let the lyrics and sultry sound of his voice spill over my body. I’m gone. The people around me no longer exist. It’s just me and Micha and his beautiful voice. I remember the first time I heard him play, sitting in his room on this beanbag chair he had, watching him play and sing on his bed without a shirt on with this intense look on his face, like the words he sang owned him.
“So what do you think?” he’d asked after he’d stopped strumming the strings.
I’d shrugged, pretending that the sketchpad on my lap wasn’t holding a drawing of him on the bed. That I didn’t just draw him, making lines and shades that mattered. That he mattered enough to me that I took the time to draw him. I felt so lost at the moment, hearing him sing like that as I stared at a drawing that wasn’t just a drawing. I was lost but in the most wonderful way.
“It was okay, I guess,” I replied nonchalantly, adding a few shadings around his eyes because they were too beautiful not to have extra detail on them.
“Just okay?” He cocked his eyebrow as he held the guitar on his lap. He looked a little upset about my answer and it made me feel guilty.
“No, it was beautiful,” I said softly as I stared down at my drawing, uncomfortable at how intimate the moment was because I didn’t use the word beautiful. Just like I didn’t draw pictures of people unless it was an assignment for school.
I waited for him to say something, even though I wished he wouldn’t. But he never said anything, finally just playing the same song again. I’d smiled down at my drawing because even though I knew it wasn’t possible, I swear to God he could read my mind and eventually I’d started working on my drawing of him again while listening to him play. I’d always loved music, but hearing it from his mouth warmed my soul in a way that I never knew was possible.
I shake my head from the memory. Maybe there’s another sentence to put in my vows. Although, all these notes are getting a little personal and I’m not certain I’ll dare read them out loud. Panic claws at my throat and I start to open my eyes to go get another drink, but then Micha reaches the intense part of the song and I don’t want to leave the moment. I want to dance, get lost again like the first time I heard him play. So I keep my eyelids closed and sway my hips, shaking my head back and forth, my hair flying everywhere. I’m in heels and it’s a struggle to maintain my balance, but I don’t care even when I stumble a few times. Just like I don’t care that I’m rocking out in a room full of people who are absorbed in beer and trying to find someone to hookup with and who are probably looking at me like I’m a weirdo. I’ll take being a weirdo over not enjoying this moment. I’ve forced myself not to enjoy too many moments in my life. I need more enjoyment. Maybe it’s the alcohol in my system that’s making me think these things or maybe I’m just being my old self. Or perhaps I’m just being me. Whatever it is, I roll with it, dancing to the tempo of the music. Lila laughs at me and when I open my eyes she’s dancing, too.
We continue through the entire song and I keep swaying my hips with my hands above my head, even when the music stops and voices rise around me. Moments later the stereo clicks on and the sound suffocates the chatter. “New Low,” by Middle Class Rut, starts vibrating through the speakers and I know it will only be seconds before I’m no longer dancing solo in a room full of people.
Right on cue, Micha’s long arms wrap around my waist and he guides me back against his body. I know it’s him because of the overpowering scent: his cologne mixed with mint and beer and something intoxicatingly wonderful that belongs only to him. I deeply inhale it in, moving with him as we grind our bodies together to the beat.
“You’re so God damn sexy,” he says, breathing into my ear and giving it a little nip. “Do you know how hard it is to stand up there and play while you’re down here doing this?”
“Doing what?” I ask innocently as his hand sneaks up the back of my dress and cups my bare ass.
His brow arches. “What panties are you wearing?”
I smile to myself. “A sequined thong.” I whirl around and press my body up against him, enjoying myself way too much.
His hand slides down my back and he crushes my body into his until there’s no space left between us. I roll my hips against him and he lets out a husky growl. Unable to control myself, I throw my arms around him, stand on my tiptoes, and kiss him, urging his lips apart with my tongue. He kisses me with equal intensity as I suck on his lip ring, stroke the inside of his mouth with my tongue, and bite at his bottom lip.
“God damn it, pretty girl, you’re killing me.” He groans a deep, throaty groan that makes my thighs tingle and I slip my hand between us, rubbing him hard. “Baby, easy. There are people…” He trails off as I move my fingers to the top of his jeans. I know I’m drunk and horny just like he said earlier, but I don’t care. I know what I want. Him.
When I start to undo the button of his jeans, he jerks away, his aqua eyes glazed, his expression blazing with desire that matches my own. He doesn’t say a word as he entwines our fingers and then pulls me with him as he maneuvers through the crowd for the kitchen, shoving people out of the way with his elbow.
He scoops up two beers as we pass the cooler and hands me one. Ethan is standing beside the cooler, dripping with sweat from playing the drums, his shirt off and his tattoos showing. Lila is behind him with her head on his back as she traces her fingernails up and down his skin.
Micha gives him a chin up and says, “In an hour kick everyone out.”
“Why can’t you…” Ethan blinks at him and then pulls a face as he glances between Micha and me as Lila giggles. “All right, will do.”
I pinch Micha’s ass because I can and he incoherently mutters something. Then he’s tugging me with him as he crosses the kitchen and moves toward the hallway. We go into his room and he kicks the door shut behind us. When he turns to face me, his lips immediately cover mine, his fingers digging roughly through the fabric of my dress.
“You taste like beer,” I murmur with a drunken giggle as I kiss him back, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt as we back toward his bed with our beers still in our hands.
“And you taste like Bacardi,” he mutters against my lips, and then suddenly he’s pulling away. “Wait, how wasted are you?”
I roll my eyes. “First of all, even if I was wasted, it wouldn’t matter. You can’t take advantage of me when I’m yours,” I say and this lustful look flares in his eyes. “And second of all, I’m not that wasted. I’ll remember everything we did in the morning.”
“I do like your logic.” He takes the unopened beer from my hand and sets it down on top of the dresser along with his. “But are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
That’s all the convincing he needs. With one swift tug, he jerks my dress over my head so forcefully that he tears the corner of the fabric and sends the pins in my hair flying through the air.
He pulls a “whoops” face, but I cover his mouth with my hand. “It’s just a dress.” Then I crush my lips against his, his lip ring searing hot against my mouth as my hair falls down and brushes against my shoulders. Minutes later, all our clothes are on the floor and we’re lying on his bed, him on his back and me straddling him. He thrusts his hips up to me halfway as I slide down on top of him. His eyes shut as I grip onto his shoulders and I gasp when he sinks farther into me. My hair falls loosely down my back as I slant my head back and shut my eyes. Gripping onto my hips, he rhythmically thrusts inside me over and over again. Our bodies bead with sweat as my mind drifts further away. Helpless energy channels through me and I dig my nails into his flesh, needing something to hold on to. Finally he takes my hands and I grasp on to him until I come apart. I cry out his name and every single worry I had disappears and all that’s left is the blissful contentment that only Micha can make me feel.
Chapter 8
Micha
I’m lying in my bed, thinking about how to tell Ella about the tour when Ethan kicks everyone out of the house. Darkness has settled into my room and the noise and voices slowly dwindle until the house becomes silent. I sit up, but only to turn my iPod on, selecting “I Can Feel a Hot One,” by Manchester Orchestra, then lie back down. Ella is naked beside me, flat on her stomach, her hair scattered all over her back, the sheets pulled up halfway over her body as she sleeps soundlessly.
Moonlight flows through the window and across her lower back, highlighting the infinity mark tattooed in black ink. It matches the one on my arm perfectly and sometimes I wish I could remember the night we got them, remember what we’d been thinking when we made the permanent decision. What lead up to the moment when we thought, Hey what the hell, let’s go get matching tattoos that mean forever and eternally. What was going through our minds? What was going through Ella’s mind? I lightly trace the curving lines on her back and I feel her shiver beneath my touch.
“Are you awake?” I ask, my fingers wandering lower, to the top of her ass.
She nods her head, her eyes still closed. “I can’t sleep when you’re touching me like that.”
“How about like this?” I roll over to my side and lean down to kiss her lower back. “Does that help?” I ask, suppressing my laughter when she shivers.
“No, it’s worse, but it’s okay. You can keep kissing there if you want to.”
I smile to myself and then place another kiss on her back, sliding my tongue over her skin. She squirms so I do it again, then rest my head on her back, place my hand on her side, and my fingers fold around her ribs.
“Do you remember any of that night at all?” she murmurs against the pillow.
“Any of what night?”
“The night we got the tattoos.”
“I already told you when we woke up on the park bench that I didn’t remember a thing and the memories never came back to me. It’s just one of those kinds of nights that I think will be a blank.”
“Yeah, but I’ve always wondered if you were just telling me that you didn’t remember because you worried that I’d get weird about whatever happened.”
“Well, as much as that sounds like something I’d do, I honestly can’t remember a single thing,” I say. “Other than, one minute we were drinking a lot out in my backyard while a party went on inside and the next thing I knew we were waking up on the park bench, your shoes were missing, and my arm was burning like a motherfucker. I’d seriously like to know how I managed to convince both of us to do it. And how I managed to get you to do something so permanent,” I tell her and she grows quiet, the sound of her breathing mixing with the slow paced song. The longer she remains silent, the more I start to worry. “Ella May?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is high and full of nervousness.
My palm glides down her side to her hips. “Have you been lying about not remembering any of that night?”
She pauses, her body tensing. “No. I’ve already told you a thousand times I can’t remember a thing.”
“Pretty girl, I think your lie’s showing.” I tickle her side and she buries her face in the pillow, shaking her head. “You do remember something, don’t you?” I press my chest against her back and lean over her shoulder, dipping my mouth to her ear. “Just tell me. I won’t be mad.”
“I know you won’t be mad,” she says, rotating her head to the side so her face is away from the pillow. “But you’ll be smug, which is worse and why I’ve kept it a secret.”
“I won’t be smug,” I say enticingly. “I promise.”
“You will too, Micha Scott,” she argues. “I know you too well not to think otherwise.”
“I can make you roll over and tell me.” I push away from her a little and skim my finger down her back to the center of her legs. She jumps, startled, as I start to put my finger inside her.
“Micha.” She narrows her eyes through the dark as she flips over onto her back and bolts upright, the moonlight hitting her bare chest. “That was a low move.”
I sit up, pulling her legs over my lap as I turn to the side and relax against the wall. Then I situate her on my lap, so her ass is positioned over my cock. “Just tell me,” I say. “I’ll try not to be smug but I want to know.”
She sighs and then puts her head against my shoulder. “Fine, but only because I love you.”
I kiss her forehead, breathing in her words, never getting tired of hearing them. “Fair enough.”
She sighs again and then she splays her fingers across my stomach. “You remember how we decided that everyone at your house was annoying and that we just needed to have a party of our own so we took a bottle of Bacardi and snuck outside?”
I nod, resting my chin on top of her head. “Everyone was always annoying.”
“Yet you always had the parties.” She draws a pattern across my stomach and then up to my chest. “Almost every weekend after you turned sixteen.”
“I was bored and liked the distraction.” I shiver from her touch—she’s the only girl who’s ever gotten me to shiver.
She walks her fingers up my stomach and stops them over my heart, pressing her palm flat against it. “The distraction from what?”
I place my hand over hers and trap her hand in place. “From you.”
She tenses and so do I because I know what’s coming.
“Is that why you slept around so much?” she asks quietly.
I shut my eyes, knowing she can feel the acceleration in my heart rate. “Haven’t I always told you I was just passing time until you came around?”
“Yeah, but did you really have to sleep with everyone?”
“I didn’t sleep with everyone—not even close,” I point out. “And I was sixteen and horny and everyone I hung around with was having sex.”
“So it was because of peer pressure?” she questions, doubtful. “Because that doesn’t sound like you.”
I open my eyes and sigh, releasing her hand. “It wasn’t really because of anything and that’s kind of the point. I was young and bored and in love with my best friend and if I tried to do anything at all that went past the friend boundary, she’d get upset. I didn’t know what to do with myself half the time, and honestly, Ella, I felt like shit most of the time about the stuff I did, not just with other girls but with you.” I pause, giving her room to say something and when she doesn’t, I continue. “Do you remember that time when I made you go racing with me and when I won I kissed you because I got a little overly excited?”
She hesitantly nods with her hand still positioned over my heart. “I almost punched you in the face, but only because it was a reflex. I wasn’t used to people touching me like that.”
“You were so pissed.”
“Only because I was confused.”
I pause. “About what?”
She hesitates. “About me and you and what I was feeling.”
“And what were you feeling? Because I’m dying to know.” Even though I have her now, I still love hearing about our past and the fact that sometimes I wasn’t the only one suffering in silence.
She turns her face toward me so her breath warms my chest, her lips grazing my skin. “I’m not sure.”
“Did you like what you were feeling?” I touch my lips to her forehead.
She wavers for a moment and then nods. “I did. A lot. And that was the problem.”
I smile as I stare over her head at the window where Christmas lights glow through the darkness outside. There’s a set of silver ones on the tree that leads to Ella’s room, the one I used to climb up all the time just so I could be near her. “Thank you, pretty girl.”
“For what?”
“For telling me that. It’s nice to hear that it wasn’t always me,” I say. “Now will you please tell me about the tattoos?”
She grimaces and then moves her head back to look me in the eyes. “It was my idea to go get them,” she admits.
My jaw nearly drops. “What?”
She rolls her eyes at herself and then sits up, swinging her leg over me so she’s straddling my lap and her nipples brush against my bare chest. “We were drunk and you dared me to kiss you so I did. And then I stupidly suggested that it would be super funny if we did something to mark the moment and then decided it should be tattoos.”
“And I just willingly went with you?” I ask, not with skepticism because it does sound like something I’d do.
She nods as her palms glide up my shoulders and then she links her arms around the back of my neck, her soft nipples grazing my chest. “You took me over to Jason’s house and asked him to put infinity marks on us.”
“And then what?” I inquire, my fingers finding her waist.
She shrugs. “And then that’s where things get a little hazy.”
I consider what she said and it makes me happy. “So this entire time you were the reason I have this on me.” I raise my arm with the infinity mark on it.
She sketches it with her finger. “Does it make you mad?”
“No, it kind of makes me very, very happy.”
“Why?”
“Because it proves that you might have loved me all along.”
She wets her lips with her tongue and then leans into me, so close that when she blinks, her eyelashes brush against mine. “Even though I didn’t know it at the time,” she whispers against my lips, “I think you’re right and I’m glad I finally figured it out.”
