Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1) (13 page)

“Oh,” he said, grinning. “I’m actually not thirsty at all.”

I gaped at his cockiness, and irradiated him with dark beams from my eyes. The subtle smile gracing his lips drove me back to rinsing the beer glasses in frustration.

“Are you ignoring me again?”

“That’s the plan,” I said. It was so quiet in the bar that I could hear him sigh.

“I don’t get it. Why do you despise me so much?”

I looked up at him as though someone had just poured a bucket of cold water down my back. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you despise me so much?” he repeated. I tried in vain to read anything from his face.

For God’s sake, what was he up to
now
? First he asks me to go out for coffee and then he throws this at me?

“Elyas,” I started. “Whatever this new angle is you’ve dreamed up to annoy me, the fact is there is
nothing
you can say or do that’s going to convince me to jump into bed with you.”

He cocked his head to the side and pouted. “No?”

“No!”

He sighed. “Too bad—but no matter. I still want to know why you despise me.”

“My shift’s over in two hours. I’m afraid that’s not enough time to work my way down the list.”

“Then give me the CliffsNotes,” he said.

I groaned. “Why does it even matter to you?”

“Because I don’t see any reason for it.”

“You don’t see any reason?” I repeated.

He nodded.

“All right,” I finally said. “Let me give you the main reasons. You’re an insensitive, arrogant, superficial jerk.” Not to mention I hated him because of what had happened
back then
. I didn’t mention that, though, because he would accuse me of being vindictive, which in this case was true.

“Apparently I’m not the only one here who’s a poor judge of character.”

“I’m so looking forward to hearing why you don’t think you fit my description,” I said, crossing my arms.

“All right, let’s start with arrogant. Yes, I might be a little arrogant, at least toward you. But have you ever seen me be arrogant toward other people?”

I thought about it, and he was right: I couldn’t recall a time when he had acted that way toward other people.

“Fine,” I said. “Then why are you that way toward me?”

“Well,” he said, smiling. “First of all, I do enjoy teasing you. I don’t know why, but I like riling you up.”

He paused, contemplating the stinkeye I was giving him, and grinned before continuing. “Secondly, have you ever thought about how you treat me? You act just as arrogantly toward me, maybe even worse.”

I snorted.
He
was the one who had started that whole dynamic. “And thirdly?” I asked.

He studied me for a moment. “There actually is a thirdly, but I’m not going to say it.”

“Why not?”

“I have my reasons,” he said. “But no matter how long you prod me, I won’t tell you.” What was he hiding? “To your second point, why do you think I’m insensitive?”

“Elyas,” I said, smiling. “I experienced that firsthand when we were in high school. Plus, I don’t think you know what love even is.”

“Maybe I don’t have any long-term relationships to boast about, but why does that make me insensitive? I admit there’s a long list of women from the past few years, but that doesn’t mean that’s how I’m planning on living the rest of my life. I just haven’t fallen in love for a really long time. But why should I sit around twiddling my thumbs and not having any fun while I wait to fall in love again? I like sex—what’s wrong with enjoying it? It’s not like I’m hurting anyone, and even though I’m sure you assume otherwise, I’m not leading anyone on. The women I see know what they’re getting into; I explain that at the outset every time.”

I couldn’t come up with a good retort to that, as much as I wanted to. What he said was logical, and though I didn’t view him any more sympathetically, it didn’t seem as easy to pooh-pooh his amorous escapades anymore—assuming it was true the arrangement was clear to everyone in advance.

“And what you seem to be forgetting, Emely,” he continued, “is that I love my family. That’s a form of love, even if it’s not the one
you
think of first. The way I see it, people tend to reduce
love
to two people who are sexually attracted to each other. But the feelings someone has for friends and family are love, too. The only difference is that you don’t want to sleep with them—well, normally, that is.” He grinned.

Though it pained me to admit it, Elyas was right. I was peeved to hear such sensible things coming out of his mouth.

“And if that’s still not enough for you,” he said, looking into my eyes, still smiling, “then let me ask you this question: Could a cold, unfeeling person live with Alex for as long as I have without having killed her already?”

Ugh, that was either the worst argument or the best argument of all.

“See?” he said, smirking. “As far as your other point goes, all I can say is that I’m not superficial. I don’t judge people by the way they look or what they wear; I judge only whether I would sleep with them or not.”

He stopped talking, and I looked into the water of the rinse sink I was working at.

“So? What do you think?” Elyas asked, breaking the silence.

I took a deep breath. “To be honest I find your arguments—apart from that last one—quite plausible. That doesn’t mean I’m just going to buy it all—hook, line, and sinker—though. Even if you’re seriou
s . . .
I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Somehow I still can’t stand you.”

He looked at me and then sighed. “Wow, dearest. You’re a piece of work, huh.”

I grumbled and glared at him before rededicating myself to the glassware. I found it conspicuous he had missed, or ignored, what I’d said about his insensitivity in high school. I doubted he had a good excuse for that, and right now would have been the perfect opportunity to offer a tearful—even if fake—apology. Maybe I didn’t like him, but I had no doubt Elyas was a smart guy. He was in medical school, after all. At least making a show of moving past all that baggage between us would have been a shrewd move. I was surprised he had let the opportunity pass.

Elyas stubbornly sat there, sipping his soda, while I focused on my various tasks. Unfortunately I couldn’t avoid his questions, like “What are you wearing under your apron?” I answered that it wasn’t an apron, but a bandage I had to wear after my sex-change operation, but it didn’t have the intended effect. On the contrary, he was incredibly amused, and felt encouraged to continue his little games.

I nearly lost it more than once, and he had only my self-control to thank that he was still among the living. I threw a lemon at him once, purely out of desperation. I smiled when it actually hit him, but frowned after it appeared to have had no effect.

I still had half an hour until my shift was over, and even though the bar was almost empty, two customers were still hanging out, so Nicolas and I couldn’t close up early. Elyas was the third, and most annoying, guest.

As I wiped down the bar, Elyas looked around the space and actually kept his mouth shut for all of five minutes. I can’t describe how pleasant I found the quiet. But like all things in life, this too came to an end.

“Do you want to shoot a game of pool with me?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m working.”

He looked at the clock. “Not for long. Plus, it’s not like you’ve got anything else to do. This is the third time you’ve wiped all the surfaces down in the past forty-five minutes.”

I froze. “Are you keeping track of what I’m doing?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a couple lists going in my head. For instance, you’ve been to the bathroom three times. Evidently I make you nervous.”

I snorted and then scrubbed the wood counter even harder. “Did you ever stop to think maybe I was puking in there?”

He smiled. “No, I didn’t. Oh—that’s right. I’d almost forgotten. You’re going to make me a daddy soon.”

I could only smile.

“So how about it?” he asked. “You want to play a round?”

“I don’t know. There are still two actual customers here.”

“If they need you, we’ll take a time-out. I don’t see a problem.”

He’d gotten me to seriously consider it. The critical argument in favor of it was that he wouldn’t be able to talk as much if he was busy playing pool. For children, they call that strategy keeping them occupied, and in Elyas’s case I couldn’t think of a more apt description. I’d long given up hope he would just go home, so why not make the best of my miserable situation?

“All right,” I finally said, bringing a mischievous smile to his face. I wiped my hands on my apron. He hopped down off his barstool—much more casually than I could have—and took up a position at the pool table.

I took the balls out of the tray next to the table and arranged them in a triangular pattern on the green felt. I noticed Elyas’s eyes following me. Jerk. I was sure his watching had nothing to do with whether I was arranging the balls correctly.

“You want to play for something?” he suggested.

I straightened up. “Forget it, Elyas. I’m not playing for sex.”

He smirked. “Oh please. I would never bet on something like that.”

“What did you have in mind, then?”

I wondered if there was some way I might benefit. I wasn’t bad, thanks to Nicolas. He had spent a lot of time over the past two years giving me lessons on slow days. I didn’t know how good Elyas was, but my chances of winning against him couldn’t be too bad.

We maintained eye contact while deciding what to play for, and then blurted our ideas at the same time.

“A kiss!”

“I get to drive the Mustang!”

We eyed each other suspiciously.

“Forget it!” we said in unison again.

A kiss
—bleagh! I could read the hunger for the kiss all over his face. There was something seriously wrong with this guy! On the other hand, I was
this
close to having my hands on the wheel of the Mustang. Unless I lost, which was a possibility I had to reckon with. I considered how big the sacrifice would be if I lost, and decided it would be pretty big—
way
too big, actually.

But what if I won?

Driving a Mustang—my favorite
type
of Mustang even—for the first time in my life.

A kiss.

Driving the Mustang.

Maybe just a quick kiss.

Driving the Mustang.

He didn’t say anything about tongue, right?

It was difficult for me to decide, so I approached the issue strategically. My advantage was that Elyas was undoubtedly overconfident about his pool skills, as he was about everything. If he was even remotely a decent player, he would
think
he was spectacular. His disadvantage was he had no idea how good I was.

I could tell from his face that he was going through a similar strategy session, but a smile suddenly flickered across his face.

“Well, Emely? Are you up to it?”

I hadn’t planned on letting Elyas egg me on, but that smirk of his left me no choice. I nodded.

“Get ready for the kiss of your life, then,” he said, taking my hand.

“We’ll see,” I said, squeezing back. Did I have a screw loose? I wasn’t sure, but I kept that uncertainty to myself.

C
HAPTER
8

L
OST
!

O
h my god! My whole body was shaking. There wasn’t actually any reason to be concerned, but I still felt as though I’d been drenched in ice water.

It was about to happen.

And, yes, I wanted it.

Elyas closed his eyes. He looked like he was as afraid as I was. I came closer, inch by inch, and the closer I got, the faster I breathed.

I heard Elyas sigh but ignored him. I wanted to enjoy this moment all by myself.

One last deep breath, and then it would be done.

You can do it
,
Emely
, I told myself.

With a scratchy sound, I inserted the key into the ignition and twisted. When the loud engine revved, the vibrations coursed through my entire body, driving me nearly crazy with joy.

“Oh my God!” I squeaked. I tilted my head back with my eyelids closed. I had won! I, Emely Winter, had freaking won a game of pool against Elyas Schwarz! Even now, as I sat in the driver’s seat of the Mustang, feeling the rumbling of the engine beneath me, I still couldn’t believe it.

“I actually won!” I blurted out. He wasn’t exactly taking his loss heroically.

“Yeah, I know. I was there. There is absolutely no need to mention it every thirty seconds.”

I smiled. There was no way he could lessen my elation. How could he? I was about to drive this amazing car,
and
I hadn’t had to kiss him! This was definitely one of my best days in a long time, and nothing could ruin it.

During our game I’d had several panic attacks and had at times really regretted getting mixed up in something so reckless. Because Elyas had played a damned good game. It had been one big nerve-wracking, tension-inducing game for both of us.

Toward the end, we each had only one colored ball left. The pressure was high when I aimed my cue, and—typical me—my luck instantly evaporated, as the ball barely missed the pocket.

With everything set up perfectly for Elyas’s last two shots, I mentally prepared for my downfall. A single colored ball and the eight ball were all that separated me from the kiss. The only thing that could save me now was a miracle.

And a miracle actually materialized. Elyas suddenly got nervous and seemed way less confident than he had before. I’d figured out early on in the game that he was nowhere near as calm as his facade suggested, but he still managed to maintain a certain level of cool. There really wasn’t much of it left by the time he took his final shot.

Events unfolded as though in slow motion: Elyas hit the cue ball, and it rolled across the table, missing his target. It banked off the cushion on the side rail and headed straight for the eight ball, which went right into the pocket.

With that, Elyas was out.

It took me a second to digest that I had won. Then I was swooped up in authentic rapture, which lasted all the way to the driver’s door of Elyas’s Mustang—and which had only intensified now that I had turned on the ignition. It was a totally different feeling sitting behind the wheel, and loads better than sitting in the passenger seat. I could feel the pedals under my feet as my hands stroked the leather-wrapped steering wheel. I leaned back and took a deep breath.

While I could barely contain my elation, Elyas was basically having a nervous breakdown. He wished for nothing more fervently than to call the whole thing off. His attitude made it all the more surprising that he had entered into the wager at all. Presumably, he had not considered the possibility that I might win and he might lose.
Too bad
.

I sat up, took another deep breath, and was about to step on the clutch when Elyas yelped. “What are you doing?”

“Driving?” I said with a furrowed brow.

“Y-you have no idea how it works!” he stammered, his face growing paler by the second.

I sighed. “Put it in gear, press on the gas, drive?”

“Of cours
e . . .
bu
t . . .
but you don’t know how the car will respond. This Mustang has three hundred horsepower, which is two hundred ninety-nine more than the beater you’ve been driving!” Fear trembled in his voice. I’d never, ever seen him so nervous, and only now did I realize what I’d been missing.

“Calm down, Elyas. I’ll be careful, all right?”

He didn’t say anything, so I stepped on the clutch and put the car into first gear. Elyas buried his face in his hands. “Please, God, let her driving be better than her jogging,” he prayed.

I tried to curb my excitement before carefully pushing on the gas and slowly easing up on the clutch. The car started moving forward, and it was jus
t . . .
wow
. Unbelievable. Much better than I had ever dreamed.

I drove the first few yards gingerly; I wanted to get used to the car. Elyas was right—the gas pedal was super-touchy, so I pressed down cautiously. You didn’t have to press much to get a sense of the horsepower. I played with it for a while, testing things carefully, and after a few hundred yards I was able to predict how the car would respond.

“All right, you’ve had your fun. Let
me
drive now,” Elyas ordered, still tense.

“Forget it,” I laughed. “We just got started.”

“Hello? How long would the kiss have lasted, then?”

He had a point, but kisses and cars were apples and oranges. Basically, it was Elyas’s own fault for agreeing to the bet. Now he had to live with it.

“You think you’re irresistible, right?” I said. “So I’m pretty sure the kiss would have lasted at least three hours.” I smiled.

“Watch the road!” he hissed.

The longer I drove, the more confident I felt and the more aware I grew of the power the Mustang had. Gradually my initial nervousness evolved into sheer fascination. This car wasn’t just some utilitarian means of transportation. No, this was sex on wheels.

We zoomed through Berlin, thundering through the night, and I tried to take in everything about the experience as intensely as I could. I didn’t know if I’d ever get to enjoy this pleasure again.

Whenever we stopped at a light, I couldn’t resist revving the motor—three hundred horsepower! This earned me the attention of other drivers, who all seemed surprised to find a woman behind the wheel.

In addition to my own
Fahrvergnügen
, there was the fun of hearing Elyas’s heart fall to his feet each time I squealed the tires as I turned. Though I was reluctant to admit it, he seemed nicer during this car ride than he ever had before. He hardly said a word, and he seemed anxious and insecure.

I never forgot, not even for a second, what a jerk he was, but at this moment that was all different: he had taken off his mask of perfection and seemed almost—I could barely allow myself to think it—
human
. I had to give him credit for not backing out of our bet, even though it was extremely hard for him, and I wondered if it would have been different if he had won. Normally people can count on me to keep my word, but would I have been
able
to kiss him? Obviously, I would have lived up to the letter of the bet, if not the spirit, and at least tried to kiss him, but I probably would have reflexively squeezed my lips shut so tightly that it would have taken two weeks to restore full circulation to them.

I could have driven forever. By the end, Elyas had even let go of the sides of his seat for three seconds—just to scratch his nose, but still. His nerves had been strained more than enough. He had lived up to his word, and since we were even, I didn’t want to rub it in his face. After a forty-minute tour, I reluctantly parked the Mustang in front of campus, and heard Elyas exhale in relief.

“God, that was unbelievable,” I said, still in a rush.

“You can say that again,” he said.

I considered saying driving the car was better than sex, but I decided it was better to refrain from saying “sex” in Elyas’s presence. So I leaned back, noticing I had parked where I had first seen the Mustang. I took a long, deep breath. A familiar, special scent filled my nose. It didn’t remind me of a car, actually. It smelled tart, sweet, fres
h . . .
with notes of other scents I couldn’t describe. It was so subtle that I could have spent the whole day sniffing without getting tired of it. It wasn’t an everyday smell, either—not at all. Yet it seemed so familiar to me, so peaceful. It reminded me of a feeling I couldn’t place. Then I realized that what I was smelling didn’t originate from the car. It came from Elyas. If it wouldn’t have made me look stupid, I’d have asked him what cologne or aftershave it was. My future boyfriend, whoever he might be, would be getting a bottle of it on his birthday—whether he wanted it or not.

My adrenaline rush ebbed more and more, as gentle waves of relaxation flooded my limbs. Elyas seemed to be gradually recovering, too.

“You know what a good winner would do now?” he said, smirking, interrupting the silence.

“No way am I kissing you,” I said. “I guess that makes me a bad winner, huh? But I have a strong suspicion you wouldn’t survive the kiss in your current, emotionally tattered condition.”

“Since when are you so interested in my condition?”

“I’m interested because I wouldn’t want to have to leave your corpse behind in the car and have the police making inquiries and all that.”

“I’d be prepared to take the risk.”

“No chance, Elyas. Your health is far too important to me.”

He exhaled heavily and opened the door to get out.
The key is still in the ignition,
I thought. I needed only to turn it and peel out
. . .

But the criminal plans surging through my mind were so half-baked that by the time I determined the next step Elyas had already opened my door and held out his hand for me.

Geez, how old did he think I was? Eighty? I softly grumbled as I unbuckled, silently bid the car farewell, and exited without taking his hand. He sighed at my refusal, but didn’t seem surprised.

If he really wanted to help, he should arrange for an elevator to be built in his and Alex’s annoyingly tall building!

We stood facing each other. “I’ll admit,” he said with a smile, “for a woman, you drove really well.”

I think he meant that as the greatest compliment I might ever expect from him. “And for a man,” I started, raising my eyebrows, “you were rather pitiful sitting next me in such panic the whole time.”

He raised one corner of his mouth before shrugging. “Whatever,” he said. “This was the first time I’ve ever let anyone else sit behind the wheel, so you’ll have to pardon my panic.”

Whether he would have believed me or not, I understood his panic. In his shoes, I wouldn’t have felt any differently.

“I’m not as unfeeling as you think,” he continued.

Well, obviously not when it came to four-wheeled, metal objects.

“Well
. . . ,
” I mumbled.

“So can I get a kiss?” he asked.

“No.”

“On the cheek at least?”

“No.”

“What if I give you one on the cheek?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Can I at least put my hand on your belly and see if little Elyas is kicking?”

I could only laugh. “Bastard,” I said. “You, not the baby. And no.”

“That was a pretty dirty trick, you know,” he added.

“Oh, I’m sure you found a perfectly adequate replacement,” I said. The club had been swimming with cover-model types that night.

“No,” he said. “Honestly, I didn’t feel like starting from scratch after that.”

Oh, you poor thing.

“Too bad, so sad,” I said. “You survived, it looks like.”

“After a fashion,” he said, smiling as his turquoise-green eyes stared into mine.

I looked away. “I need to get going. It’s late,” I muttered.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” he said, running his hand along the roofline of his car.

“Thanks for letting me drive the Mustang.”

“It wouldn’t be accurate if I said, ‘You’re welcome,’” he replied, and a brief moment of silence took root between us.

“OK, then,” I finally said. “Good night.”

“Good night, ma belle.”

I furrowed my brow. Did he just call me “ma belle”? Geez, what pills was this guy taking? Definitely something illegal or prescription-only, and hallucinogenic.

I shook my head, turned my back to him, and made my way onto campus. After I’d crossed half the grassy field, I heard the beautiful rumbling of the engine. What had he been waiting for?

I turned around. After a couple of seconds I continued on my way. He had probably stopped to pee in the bushes before driving of
f . . .
Idiot
. . .

It was 1:30 a.m. when I reached my room, and Eva was already asleep. I took off my shoes, and since I was way too worked up to go to sleep yet, I grabbed my laptop and sat on my bed. Finally!

Dear Emely,

Sorry it took me a whole day to get back to you. You won’t believe it, but I stopped in a bookstore yesterday and picked up some Edgar Allan Poe. Since I had no clue which of his books to pick, I bought an anthology in five volumes.

What can I say? I started reading first thing this morning, and I couldn’t stop reading until just now tonight.

It was just the way you said—you don’t feel like you’re reading; you feel like you’re part of it.

How can someone describe feelings, people, and environments so beautifully and visually? The language alone is incredible, although the content surpasses everything.

I got so lost in the stories. I need to take a long while to think about them before reading more.

I’m very grateful for the tip, and I think I have a strong sense now of why you’re so passionate about him. What I’m dying to know now, though, is which of his stories are your favorites.

I liked everything I’ve read so far—especially “Ligeia.”

Even if you think I’m being stupid, I have to say I kept thinking of you as I read it. I wondered what kind of person you are if you love such beautiful stories that are also so gloomy at the same time.