Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1) (4 page)

My dream car.

I almost swooned.

I wasn’t that into cars in general, but this wasn’t just a car; it was the most awesome, breathtaking form of locomotion that existed. Nothing else held a candle to it. Someday—I didn’t know when—I would be the proud owner of just such a Mustang. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in a year—but someday, for sure.

I took in every detail so I could relish this special moment for as long as possible. Then the unimaginable happened: the car slowed and seemed to head right for us. It finally stopped only a few meters away. My eyes slowly scanned the body. I was mesmerized. It was so close I would only need to take a few steps to touch it.

The engine rumbled quietly, almost purring, and I felt as though I had fallen in love. Suddenly the motor fell silent. As the driver’s door opened, I prayed that a hot young guy would emerge, saying, “Hi, my name is Luca.”

Instead I was treated to the searing stab of a knife in the back. The world could not be this cruel.

I stared at the driver.
Hot
and
young
applied, but I definitely had not mentioned
ass
in my prayer.

Elyas Schwarz.
Oh God, I think I’m going to puke!

That prick was driving my dream car. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

He walked toward us with a stupid grin on his face while I ran through potential murder scenarios in my head. I decided on the most excruciating option but then realized that unfortunately, I lacked the physical strength to carry it out.

God, I truly lacked the words to express how pissed off I was!

Maybe it’d be enough to just knock him unconscious. Enough time for me to nab his keys and disappear with the car, anyway.

Wait—was I envious of Elyas? No! It could not come to this! Let him keep his shitty car.

His shitty ol
d . . .
breathtakingl
y . . .
gorgeou
s . . .
bucket of bolts. I grumbled and bit my lip.

Besides, what was he doing here, anyway?

“Elyas!” Alex called to him cheerfully.

Traitor.
I couldn’t even rely on my best friend.

“Hey, sis,” he said and gave her a little hug.

If I hauled off now and whacked him across the side of the head with my messenger bag
. . .

Things got worse.

“Hi, darling,” he then said to me, cocking his head slightly to one side and leaning forward as though he wanted to kiss me.

“Ew!” I said, taking a step back. My glare didn’t seem to make the least impression on him, however, and he chuckled softly and stood back up straight.

Undoubtedly, Elyas had some new plan underway to make my life hell.

After our tiff last week, I had hoped we would just ignore each other, but no. I stuck to the ignoring plan, of course, but Elyas seemed to be executing the opposite strategy. He was trying to drive me crazy. And, goddammit, it was working.

Alex apparently found her brother’s little routine funny. She giggled, and I shot her a sharp glare that instantly silenced her. She cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?” she said, turning back to Elyas.

Good question. A damned good one, in fact. The question might even be expanded to “What are you doing at this campus?” or “What are you doing on this planet?”

“I thought I’d invite the two of you for a drink,” he said, smiling in his most charming way, which I couldn’t stand any more than the rest of his ways. Get a drink with this guy? I snorted.

As I opened my mouth to respond with an extremely nasty retort, Alex butted in and worded things much more considerately than I would have.

“Unfortunately, Emely can’t join us. She still has to finish her paper, and then she has a shift at the bar. But I’ll go.”

I smiled at her. Although she could have been a touch more insulting, she had done well.

“A paper?” Elyas looked at me, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. Evidently medical school didn’t involve a lot of papers. “What class is that for, Madame, if I might ask?”

A delightful, warm sensation started spreading through my gut. It was pride. I couldn’t even describe how good it felt.

I enjoyed each syllable as they passed my lips in slow motion. “German lit,” I said smiling. He was wide-eyed that I might be studying something intellectually challenging, and his eyes grew wider when I added, “That’s my major, actually.”

Elyas wasn’t often speechless, so I made the most of relishing this moment. But much to my chagrin, he recovered much faster than I had hoped. A few seconds later he was grinning devilishly again.

“German lit,” he repeated intently. “Who’d have thought?” His pupils seemed to emit laser beams, burning deeper and deeper into me with every second. Eventually I started to feel like he was sizing me up like a piece of meat, so I decided it was time to go. Otherwise I might have had to murder him after all—a job I probably would have failed at, embarrassing me even more.

“Well, I’d better get going now,” I said. “I have to get back to my exegesis of Harry Potter, books one through twenty-seven.” I looked at Elyas, who raised an eyebrow.

“Harry Potter, books one through twenty-seven?” Alex asked.

“Oh, you can have your charming brother explain it to you,” I replied, pulling her into a hug to say good-bye. I had told her about his ballsy attempt to come on to me, but had left out a few details.

We finished our hug. “All right then, take it easy. Maybe we’ll see you later,” she said waving.

I stole another look at the Mustang. What year was it? I was guessing a 1967. I would have loved to know if I was right. But there was no way in hell I was asking Elyas.

Reluctantly I looked away and walked back to campus.

Back in the dorm, I got right back to work on my paper so I could finish it before my shift. I knew myself well enough to know I wouldn’t be up to it after work. And lo and behold, without someone continually chattering away, I made amazing progress.

I finally finished after an hour and was about to close my laptop when I remembered that strange e-mail. I probably should have deleted it, but I couldn’t help reading it again.

Luc
a . . .
Luc
a . . .
Who could that be? I definitely didn’t know anyone named Luca. It wasn’t a common name, so I would have remembered meeting a guy named Luca.

What do you have to lose?
Alex’s words echoed through my mind.

I sighed, because I didn’t have anything to lose. What if he was sitting at home in front of his computer waiting for me to answer?

I put my elbows on my desk and rested my chin in my hands. Should I? I mean, it was just an e-mail. What could happen? If his response left anything to be desired, it’s not like I had
to keep writing him. So, should I?

I decided to just write out what came to mind—even though I felt silly doing it.

Hi Luca,

Honestly, I wasn’t planning on answering your e-mail, and for the life of me I can’t explain why I’m responding. Blame it on temporary insanity.

In case you have any sociopathic tendencies or other inclinations I should know about,
now
is the right time to mention them.

So my first question is, where do you know me from? Are you in one of my classes? Would I recognize you?

Thanks,

      Emely

P.S. A criminal background check would go a long way toward bolstering my trust in you.

I hesitated for a while, but hit “Send,” and the e-mail went on its way. Then I put my face in my hands, realizing I must be a lost cause and even more pathetic than I had thought. Too late, though. I couldn’t take it back now.

I moaned, flipped my laptop shut, and stood up from my desk chair, plagued by mixed feelings as I got ready for work.

I wouldn’t find out what—or if—he would answer until I got home after my shift.

C
HAPTER
4

A W
ALK IN THE
P
ARK

A
lex stood in front of the stove in her huge kitchen, dicing vegetables, which she then put into a pan. She looked up from her work and glanced over her shoulder at me. “Any news from that Luca guy? Did he e-mail you back?”

I sat on the kitchen island next to her, with my legs dangling over the side, and stole a cube of carrot from the pan. Alex was probably the worst cook on earth, but it never stopped her from cooking.

“Hey!” she cried, trying to swat my fingers away, but I had already withdrawn them to safety.

“After you salt the veggies to death, they won’t be edible anymore. I’m on a mercy mission.” I gave her an imploring look as I tried to pilfer another chunk of carrot, but received only an angry glare in return.

“Fine, I’ll stop,” she said setting down the knife. I rolled my eyes but put my hands back in my lap. She nodded in acknowledgment and returned to her vegetables.

“We’ve been exchanging e-mails,” I said, coming back to her question.

“Have you figured out yet who it could be?”

“No,” I said. “Absolutely no idea.”

“Do you at least know where he knows you from?”

“All I know is that he’s twenty-four and goes to a different university. Apparently he hangs out once in a while with a friend of his who I know, and that’s how he’s run into me a few times. His friend goes to this school, so the friend figured out my name and e-mail for him.” I shrugged.

“You’ve known all this for how long and didn’t tell me?” She jammed her knife, tip first, into the wood cutting board. Patience may be a virtue, but it was definitely not one of Alex’s. In her world, withholding information bordered on a felony.

“There’s not much to tell.” I sighed. “I hardly know anything about him.”

“But you think he’s OK?” She raised an eyebrow with a conspiratorial grin.

I hesitated until my mouth took on a life of its own and formed a smile that I would have preferred to keep to myself. “Let’s just say he seems to be really nice.”

“All right. That sounds promising,” she said. “So what do you talk about?”

“Everything, really.” I blew out a breath. “I mean, we stay pretty general, but we talk about interests, hobbies, music—the usual stuff.”

“Has he sent you a picture yet?”

“Wel
l . . .
,” I started, looking at the floor. “Not exactly.”

“What does ‘not exactly’ mean?”

“Basically, no.” My voice got shrill because I could already tell how Alex was going to respond. She would have demanded a photo in her first e-mail, and he would have followed through, too, or been subject to personal acts of violence or deployment of a SWAT team—whichever Alex found easier to pull off.

“Why?” Alex asked in a tone that implied all that.

“I don’t know,” I said, looking at the laminate. “He didn’t send me one, and I can’t bring myself to ask for one.”

Alex dramatically slammed down her knife, put her hands to her hips, and looked right at me.

God, I already felt bad for her future kids.

“Emely!” she said. “He knows who you are, but you don’t know who he is! It’s only fair for him to send you a picture. So get your ass in gear and ask him!”

I knew she was right, but
. . .

She sensed my reluctance, so she took a deep breath and tried to coax me along with a little more patience.

“What if you finally meet him in person and he looks like Yves Glockenburg?” She giggled at her little in-joke, but since I didn’t find it even remotely funny, I kicked her. Not hard, though.

“First of all,” I started, “his name was Sören Nordmann and not Yves Glockenburg. Where did you come up with that, anyway? Second of all, he wasn’t as bad as you make him out to be.”

“Are you kidding?” she said, laughing. “That guy hauled you out to some kind of Star Trek convention every weekend and dreamed of having a Vulcan wedding with you!”

Now that I thought about it, Alex wasn’t entirely wrong about him.

“Fine, so he was kind of awful,” I admitted as Alex grinned.

“But seriously, Emely. I would definitely have him e-mail a photo before you meet him in person.”

“Meet him in person?” My eyes grew wide.

“Please. You can’t exactly say ‘I do’ via Facebook or something.”

“Hold on now,” I said, more to calm myself than to admonish her. “We’ve been writing back and forth for all of one week. I haven’t given the slightest thought to
meeting
him!” The idea terrified me.

“Then you should get your ass in gear and get on him about a picture.” She pointed the tip of her knife at me.

“Hmm,” I mumbled, hoping she would drop the topic. Meet him—pff! Maybe we could start talking about that in, like, five years—but certainly not now.

“Emely.” She looked me up and down. “You aren’t starting to work yourself into one of your neurotic episodes again, are you?”

God, I hated it when she said “neurotic episodes,” and she knew I hated it, too.

“First of all, I don’t have ‘neurotic episodes,’” I said. They were only temporary, mild insecurities.

OK, dammit. It was true. Sometimes I had neurotic episodes.

“Second of all—”

“Second of all?” Alex interrupted.

“Well, yeah, it’s just
. . .
” I bit my lower lip. “This one seems to be intelligent. Also, the whole way he expresses himself, so confidentl
y . . .
eloquentl
y . . .
Plus, he has a great sense of humor.”

“So what’s the problem?” She wrinkled her forehead. “It’s long overdue for you to swap all the bullshitters you usually hang out with for someone who has a brain.”

She should talk
, I thought, and I promptly zinged her by saying, “Oh, sure, like
you
have been with loads of
winners
.”

She diced her vegetables a bit more vigorously. “That’s different,” she said.

Before I could explain to her why it wasn’t different, a noise from the back hallway drew our attention. Someone opened a door and closed it again.

I snorted. My lucky streak of Elyas’s not noticing I was over had apparently come to an end. But my fear quickly dissolved because the approaching footsteps were of someone in high-heeled shoes.

Hmm, maybe Elyas had discovered a new side of himself? Womankind would undoubtedly be thankful—and I would be the first to say so.

I knew that was pure fantasy, so I joined Alex in craning our necks to see who appeared from the hallway. I was more than a little amazed to see the woman who entered the common room and headed single-mindedly for the apartment door.

She looked like she had stepped out of a glossy magazine. Her clothes clung so tight you could see every inch of her exceptionally beautiful body. She was tall—taller than me by at least a head—and I could only gape at her silky smooth legs, which her short skirt scarcely covered.

The woman seemed so perfect that I felt positively hideous in comparison. Who had created this being? Some kind of porn god?

Whoever it was, he was most likely male.

I continued staring, taking in all the details. Her hair was a mess; individual blonde strands had come loose from her bun and were whisking back and forth in the wind of her motions. Her tan skin transitioned to a rosy pink in her cheeks, and her face seemed to be literally glowing.

You didn’t need much imagination to guess what she had just been doing with Elyas.

“Hello,” she said with a strained smile as she walked past us, the peanut gallery. After she had closed the apartment door behind her, I couldn’t take my eyes off the spot where she had last been. When I finally looked over at Alex, her eyes were as big as mine. We gulped in unison.

“Moving on from the topic of neurotic episodes,” I mumbled.

“Um, what was that? Some kind of Photoshop project?” Alex asked. “I’m hoping yes. Anything else would be too much.”

We each needed some time to recover from laying eyes on this divine apparition. Alex was the first one to shake off the experience, and she returned to dicing. I, in contrast, still felt strange. Until this moment, I had assumed Elyas wasn’t all that particular in his choice of women. Now I wondered how
I
had fit into his prey profile. I didn’t have the first thing in common with the woman who had just passed through. I doubted we were even members of the same species.

The idiot who could answer my question emerged from his room, shooting my mood even deeper into the basement. His approaching steps grew louder until he finally entered the living room, also with ruffled hair. He stopped for a second when he caught sight of me. Another one of his rakish smiles passed over his lips as he continued toward the kitchen.

Actually, my lucky streak hadn’t quite run out yet: he had clothes on. Only his belt, which was hanging off his hips from his casual jeans, was open. He had on a black T-shirt emblazoned with a large red number 69 across his chest.

Nice.

He sauntered barefoot over the laminate and leaned on the counter across from me. “Emely,” he said grinning. “I wish you’d made an appointment beforehand. Then you could have avoided that unpleasant encounter.” He glanced at the kitchen clock. “But you’re in luck: I’ve just gotten my second wind. If you want, I can squeeze you in quickly, between other engagements.”

I snorted and crossed my arms over my chest with a toxic glare. “Watch out, or my knee
might end up
between
something in a second.”

“Is that an offer?” he asked with a chuckle. “I’m open to any new technique you can teach me.”

“Anytime, any place,” I answered with a grunt. He got up from the counter, retrieved a water bottle from the fridge, and then took a seat on the counter where he had been leaning. I watched him drink, and then my curiosity about his T-shirt got the best of me.

“What does 69 stand for?” I asked. “The number of women you’ve slept with? The sexual position? Or your IQ? I’m betting on the last one.”

“How about centimeters?” he replied.

“How about you take your IQ with you and go take a shower?” Alex said, scoffing. “You and your stupid banter. Could you lay off for once?”

Instead of leaving, he drank some more water and kept giving me silent, intense looks.

I seriously wondered sometimes what was going on inside that silly skull of his when he looked at me that way. It was probably better I didn’t know.

I swung my feet around a bit. Trying to ignore Elyas, I looked around the room. Eventually I noticed the clock and realized it was much later than I had thought. I had been putting off my long-overdue call to my mother for a week now, and had to finally get it over with this afternoon.

“Sorry,” I said to Alex. “I’ve got to get going. My mom is waiting. And since the average IQ in this room has tanked in the past five minutes, for once I think I might prefer talking to her instead of hanging out here one second longer.”

“Well, who am I dicing vegetables for then?” She put her hands on her hips.

“I’ve been wondering that, too,” I said, casually hopping down from the island, stumbling, and nearly running into the refrigerator. If that weren’t embarrassing enough, the idiot across from the island chimed in with a gloating laugh.

“Um, the door is that way,” he said pointing. “Or do we have a hidden elevator in the fridge I don’t know about?”

“Very funny,” I growled, blushing. If only he would pop his thick head into the oven and see if there was an elevator in there.

I straightened my clothes and decided it was definitely
time to go. I gave Alex an embarrassed hug good-bye, ignored the still-amused jerk watching me, and walked toward the door—the actual one, this time.

“Elyas, at least you’re going to stay and eat, right?” I heard Alex ask, and I turned around to look at them both.

“Oh,” he said, scratching his head. “You know, sis, I’m not really hungry. Plus, I was just about to go take a shower.” He scurried out of the kitchen.

Apparently I was not the only one unimpressed by Alex’s cooking.
Bon appétit
, I wished her in my thoughts as I left the apartment to make my way down the five flights of stairs. Not exactly fun in this hot weather, but going down was easier than going up. That much was sure.

Back in my dorm room, I managed to overcome my inhibitions and call my mother. My procrastination was just making it harder, after all. Better to get it out of the way.

My mom wa
s . . .
well, my mom. She was a special case. I didn’t have an easy time with her, and she seemed to take advantage of my good nature on a regular basis.

Whenever I talked to her, I spent most of the time tuning her out, letting her go on and on about whatever oh-so-important detail she absolutely had to get off her chest, without interruption. Importance was in the eye of the beholder, and my mother and I had long had different perspectives on this issue. Nonetheless, I bravely held out, providing her with enough “hmms” and “uh-huhs” to make her think I was listening and positively bowled over by all the latest village gossip.