Sinful Ella (Seven Ways to Sin 6)

Now what? I blinked in the warm, spring-day sunshine. I couldn’t go back to the motel, not yet. I didn’t want to face my bandmates until I absolutely had to. They were horrible. Had they always been this horrible? I suspected they had been, I just hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself.

Vaguely, I toyed with the idea of going home, of calling my dad and telling him he was right, and to please come get me. I knew that he would, if I asked, but no. I owed it to myself to see this through. Things could only go up from here, right?

I suddenly became aware of a warm, sugary smell in the air, and realized that my feet had led me straight to a bakery. I smiled to myself. This was just what I needed: a little treat to cheer me up. I liked the look of this bakery, which was decorated with filmy pink curtains that gave the room the appearance of being coated in icing. The refrigerated case was full of beautiful baked goods: cupcakes, donuts, lemon bars. I felt my mouth water just looking at them. Distracted as I was, I accidentally walked straight into the person in front of me in line.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you,” I babbled, my mortification rising as I took in the person in front of me.

He was tall, so tall I had to strain my neck to look at his face, which was extremely attractive, even half obscured by his sunglasses. He had dark, wavy hair that I felt the uncomfortable urge to run my hands through. I’d bet it was soft. He smiled, revealing a slightly gap-toothed grin. He was clearly amused by my reaction. “No worries,” he said. “It happens.”

My eyes fell on the guitar case slung over his shoulder. “Do you play?” I asked, blushing all the more as I realized the stupidity of the question. “Of course you do,” I said. “You’re not just wandering around with a guitar for no reason.”

The man laughed. “You never know,” he said. “Maybe I just carry this thing around to pick up girls.”

“Does it work?” I asked.

“It got you to talk to me, didn’t it?” the man countered, and something fizzled in my chest. Was he . . . flirting with me? “I’m Darren,” he said, offering his hand to shake.

“Ella,” I said.

“Nice to meet you, Ella.” Darren reached the front of the line, and placed an order for a dozen donuts. “For my band,” he said. “I’m not going to eat them all myself. Probably.”

“You’re in a band?” I asked, excited. “Me too! What kind of band?”

Darren grinned. “It’s a boy band; there are seven of us.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s a lot, isn’t it? My band only has three members.”

Darren opened his mouth to respond, but the cashier cleared her throat meaningfully, and I realized with a guilty jolt that she was waiting for me to place my order. Darren gave me a sheepish smile. “I’d better go,” he said, holding up his donuts. “Can’t keep the guys waiting. It was nice to meet you, Ella.”

“You too,” I said, but he was already leaving. I placed my order with the impatient cashier, then settled in a corner table to enjoy my cupcake. As the sugar melted on my tongue, I found my thoughts straying again and again Darren: his tousled dark hair and easy grin. I wondered what color his eyes were, if they were dark, like his hair. I wished that we’d had more time to chat, and that I were better at flirting.

My cupcake finished, I headed back to the motel, feeling lighter than I had all day. Even Susanna and Liz’s quiet snickering couldn’t pierce through my good mood. Martine was gone when I arrived, for which I was grateful. I still needed an outfit for our gig the next night. I resolved to wake up early to go shopping on my own; Susanna and Liz were clearly no help. The two of them stayed up gossiping and shrieking half the night as I tried to block out their voices with my pillow. Finally, they fell silent, and the three of us drifted off to sleep.

5

Ella

When I woke the next morning, my high hopes and good feelings of the night before felt farther away. The prospect of the gig that night loomed over me, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole thing had been a mistake.

What kind of dress code was latex, anyway? With the way my luck had been going lately, the club would probably end up being like the sex shop from yesterday: full of tacky inflatable penises and veiny dildos. I shuddered at the memory.

But, I reminded myself, I had made a commitment. Martine and the girls were relying on me, and I still needed an outfit. I dressed quickly and quietly, so as not to wake Susanna and Liz, and slipped out the door.