The Prelude of Ella and Micha (The Secret 0.5)

I remain focused on the race, feeling a little better when I get challenged by Stanford and his Mustang because it’s gotta fucking weak sauce engine.

I’m about to go back to my car, ready to roll, but Ella still hasn’t come back to me. My head is a little foggy as I scan the crowd for her and then by the rundown restaurant where a few people are getting high. Ella’s not usually into that, but she can also get really random and end up doing a lot of stupid shit sometimes. Still, she’s not back there. And, as I’m heading back to the crowd, Ethan finds me.

“Just get in the damn car,” he says, giving me a shove in the back. He doesn’t race, but he’s obsessed with me winning. He puts a lot of work into my car and engine; therefore, ‘we share the win.’ “I’ll drive with you if you can’t find her.”

Frowning, I hike across the dirt toward my car, swinging the keys around my finger. “Just look for her, okay? And don’t say anything stupid when you find her and piss her off.”

“You know that’s not possible.” He backs toward the lineup area where two cars are parked side by side. “If I say anything to her, she’s going to get pissed at me. The only person she never does that with is you.”

He’s right. The two of them clash more than my parents did before my dad bailed.

Running out of time, I spin on my heels and jog back to my car, trying to tell myself that it’ll be okay.

I can race without her in the car. I don’t have to worry about her.

When I reach my car, though, I suddenly feel better.

Ella’s lying on the backseat, staring up at the stars through the rolled down window with the bottle of Vodka in her hand.

I rest my arms on windowsill. “Did you finish the bottle off?”

She shakes her head without looking at me. “No.” She raises the bottle so I can see the liquid splashing inside it. “I took a few shots, though.”

A breath eases from my lips as I open the door. “Do you want me to take you home so we can talk?”

Her eyes cut in my direction. “What? No. Why?”

My shoulders unravel as I hop into the seat and shut the door. “You just seem upset, and I have a feeling I might be making the night worse.”

She eyes me for an eternity then finally sits up, screws the lid back on the bottle, and drops it onto the floor. She scoots forward in the seat and rests her elbows on the console. “I’m fine.” She tugs the elastic out of her hair and shakes it out. “Sorry for flipping out. I’m going to be chill for the rest of the night. I swear. And I totally get if you don’t want me to ride with you now. I’m being distracting.”

“You’re perfectly fine …” I bite on my bottom lip as I watch her comb her fingers through her hair. My hands start to ache when she angles her head back, her chest arching forward as her eyelids slip shut. I could write a thousand songs just about the way she looks right now, and a thousand more about the way she makes me feel.

When she lifts her head up again, her eyes open, and she encounters my hungry gaze.

I quickly clear my throat and look away before I end up doing something stupid. “You know I always want you to ride with me, even when you’re upset. And when you’re being distracting.”

She remains silent for a while, and when she does speak again, her voice is soft, almost breathless. “Micha?”

I grip the steering wheel, staring at the trees enclosing the area, praying she’ll finally reveal that she loves me, too.

But all she says is, “Nothing. Never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

I can barely breathe, let alone press her. “Okay, sounds good.” I shift the car into drive. “Are you ready for this?”

Nodding, she drunkenly dives over the console, eliciting a laugh from me. She pushes up and gets situated before waving me forward. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Seat belt first,” I say. When she frowns, I add, “Your safety always comes first, beautiful.”

She sighs then pulls the strap over her chest. “Fine, but the same goes for you.”

I do as she asks, buckling myself in. “Thanks. Glad my safety does come first and that you think I’m beautiful.”

She shakes her head yet doesn’t disagree.

I drive up to the starting line, feeling a bit calmer. But, my nerves start to get rattled as I wait for Stanford’s girlfriend to flag us off. I thrum my fingers on my knees, fiddling with the stereo, doing just about everything to chill the fuck out.

“Would you relax?” Ella says, placing a hand on my bouncing knee. “You’ll do well. You always do.”

My gaze slides from her hand on my leg to her eyes. “I know, but I always get so fucking fidgety right before flag off. I get stuck in my own head.”

“I know you do.” She ponders something then her green eyes light up. “I have an idea.” She reaches forward and picks up my iPod from the dock on the cracked dash. Scrolling through the songs, she selects, “The Distance” by Cake, and cranks it up full blast until the speakers crackle and the windshield vibrates.

“Now you can’t hear your own thoughts!” she shouts over the music, laughing.

I laugh with her. “Thank you!”

Her gorgeous lips expand to a grin. “Anytime.” Then she places her hand on my knee as if it belongs there.

And, in my opinion, it does.

I bob my head as I wait for the flag to get dropped. Ella’s fingers tighten on my knee as Stanford’s girlfriend strolls up between the cars.

“On your mark,” she starts with the flag raised. “Get set. Go!”

We peel out of the parking lot and fly down the road toward the trees, side by side with the Mustang. There’s something unstably beautiful about racing, liberating even. But, what’s really beautiful about the scene is how much Ella gets turned on by the dangerous thrill of it. Put the girl in a car pressing a hundred miles an hour, and she damn near orgasms. It’s hard to pay attention as she lets go of my knee and sticks her arm out the window, as if she’s catching the air. Her other hand wanders to her stomach, her fingers grazing across the bottom of her shirt, like she’s considering touching herself.

Yes, please touch yourself. Good God, touching you—

“Micha, look out!” she shouts, her eyes widening as her arm shoots out for the dashboard.

My attention whips to the road, which we’re reaching the end of. I brake hard and crane the wheel. The car spins wildly, the tires screeching and kicking up dirt. I manage to get it under control and head back toward the finish line, though.