The Prelude of Ella and Micha (The Secret 0.5)

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. “You’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.