Cherry Red Summer (Emely and Elyas Book 1)

by Bartsch, Carina

  (But please don’t tell me you drive a BMW!)

  Dear Luca, I hope you have a good night and sweet dreams. Emphasis on the dreams!

  I’m going to go to bed now and hope I’ll be able to fall asleep. I’m so worked up about driving that car I suspect I’ll be up all night.

  Talk to you soon,

  Emely

  I shut my laptop with a grin on my face, and made my way to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, took off my bra, and put on a long T-shirt. I walked back to my bed barelegged but in my socks and snuggled under the covers.

  I was reliving the drive and the e-mail from Luca when my phone rang. Eva immediately grumbled, but before she could fully wake up, I scrambled and grabbed my phone off the nightstand. The display blinked Don’t Answer, and I made a face. Still—I can’t explain why—I violated my own principles and took the call.

  I sighed. “Yeah?”

  “Why are you awake still?” Elyas’s pleasant voice said into my ear.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Tell me.”

  “No way,” I said, lying down and snuggling back under the covers. “What do you want, Elyas?”

  “Oh, nothing special. I was just lying naked in bed and inexplicably couldn’t help thinking of you,” he said. I could hear his smirk. Proof yet again we didn’t share a sense of humor.

  “No!” he suddenly said when I didn’t reply. “Please don’t hang up.” My finger was already on the red key. “I was just kidding.”

  I took a deep breath. “You’ve got five seconds to spit out what you want.”

  “I don’t know why I called . . .”

  “Five, four, three, two,” I counted down.

  “OK,” he said, sighing. “I just wanted to hear your voice and wish you sweet dreams.”

  If it weren’t him, that would have been totally sweet. But it was him.

  “Well, Elyas, I like your new approach way better than your old one,” I said. “All I can do is repeat myself, though. This one’s not going to work, either.”

  “Maybe it’s not an approach or an act or anything.”

  “And maybe that is a part of your new approach,” I replied. He laughed softly.

  “Or maybe it’s not,” he said and paused, allowing his last words to linger between us for a moment. “I wish you a good night, Emely, dearest. Dream sweet things,” he whispered.

  “Night,” I said and hung up.

  More and more peculiar, that Elyas Schwarz. I clung to that thought with a furrowed brow before finally banishing him from my brain. I curled up and pulled the covers over my head.

  I decided to think about the only thing that would make me feel warm and fuzzy and was guaranteed not to give me a headache: the Mustang.

  CHAPTER 9

  STRAWBERRY MARGARITA

  He casually leaned back against his Mustang, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and laughed. I was standing three yards in front of him, trembling nervously, wondering why I hadn’t made my getaway ages ago.

  “Come here,” he demanded, still smirking, but I shook my head.

  He sighed, got up from the Mustang, and approached me slowly and ominously. The closer he came, the farther back I stepped. But each time, he narrowed the distance between us with an even bigger step.

  “Are you a sore loser, Emely?” he said, his eyes blazing as I stumbled backward, desperately shaking my head.

  “I didn’t lose!”

  “Of course you lost. You know that as well as I do, dearest.”

  I shook my head again; I was more than certain I hadn’t lost. Why was Elyas claiming the opposite? He took another step toward me and put his hands on my hips. My heart pounded in my throat, but my legs were paralyzed, and I was powerless to do anything as he closed the gap between our bodies.

  I got goose bumps. He slowly lowered his face to mine and took a firmer hold of my hips. I squeezed my trembling lips shut but suddenly felt his mouth against mine as he started to kiss me—

  A sudden bang jerked me awake, and I bolted upright.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were asleep,” Eva said. I stared around in confusion before it dawned on me that I had only been dreaming.

  There were no words to describe the relief I felt.

  The more I realized that what happened in the dream had not actually happened, the easier it was to breathe. I rubbed my face, exhausted.

  Was that jerk terrorizing me in my dreams now? God, the subconscious mind could be so unpleasant and overpowering.

  “Bad dream?”

  “You can say that again,” I replied as Eva sat down at her computer and booted it. I sighed when I saw the clock said 5:51 p.m. I had wanted to go downtown and buy a book this afternoon, and had intentionally picked today to do it because Alex had more lectures on Wednesdays than I did. It would be easier to keep my excursion a secret. Whereas Alex was totally in her element shopping, for me it was like the bubonic plague. She loved strolling for hours and hours from shop to shop, dragging me behind her, chattering the whole time about whatever.

  I was so done with outings like that. The last time I had been forced to go shopping with her, I eventually got fed up, walked to the customer service desk, and asked, “Could you use the PA system to ask little Alex Schwarz to please report to the main entrance immediately, or else Mommy will be driving home without her?” When she appeared, blushing, five minutes later, she didn’t share in my laughter one bit. It had definitely been worth it, though.

  I just did not have the shopping gene that certain people have. Whenever I went shopping for clothes, it was streamlined. Question: What did I need? Answer: Pants! So I went into a store, found pants, told the salespeople to scram, bought what fit, and went back home. The process was different with books and music, though. I could spend hours and hours in such stores.

  I threw off the covers and shuffled to the bathroom. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

  Cold water could work miracles and, little by little, I started feeling more awake and I recovered from the nightmare. I went back into the room, put on my shoulder bag, said good-bye to Eva, and left the building.

  I ended up on a weirdly lurching bus that was ten minutes late, as usual. It went directly to downtown Berlin. I wandered around and eventually found the little bookstore. Not long after, I was holding the novel I had wanted. I browsed through the newer releases, glaring lividly at Harry Potter. He now reminded me of Elyas.

  My second destination was a little record store tucked away on a side street. It was my favorite store of all, a place where I could dig up real gems. On my way there, I browsed the different display windows, although none of them managed to hold my attention for longer than a minute.

  Only when I passed a lingerie store did I actually stop. I stood before the huge pane of glass admiring the black lace underwear presented perfectly by a mannequin with ridiculous measurements. The underwear didn’t have much in the way of bling; it had discreet decorative touches, and despite the fine, slightly transparent fabric, it was quite simple. I liked it, and got a little melancholy thinking about my everyday underwear—which wasn’t quite granny panties, but was close. When I looked at the price tag next to the mannequin, my face turned to ice. A hundred twenty euros? In all likelihood, once I got home, I’d probably discover it looked like crap on me.

  But the delicate pattern on the bra was so pretty. And I could tell just from looking at it that the finely woven fabric would feel amazing on my skin.

  I started to feel like a little kid pressing her nose to the window of a candy store. But a critical question arose from my dilemma of whether to go inside or not: What did I need pretty underwear for? Apart from me, no one would see it.

  I tried to keep it out of my decision-making process, but the name Luca swirled around in my head. Who knew if anything would actually develop between us?
But what if? That point clearly spoke in favor of some black lace underwear, even though it was silly to consider buying something for the sake of an e-mail-only acquaintance who might possibly, one day, in the future, turn into a boyfriend.

  So, yeah, he wouldn’t be feasting his eyes on any underwear for at least a year. I could use that time to make sure his whole e-mail routine wasn’t some intricate plot to make a fool out of me. But if I bought it now, I’d have it handy. It’s not as if silk goes bad.

  I wondered if Luca felt as embarrassed to be twenty-four years old and having an online girlfriend as I did to be in that situation at my age. I didn’t get the impression he did, but I made a note to myself to ask him.

  Should I or shouldn’t I get the lingerie? A hundred twenty euros was a lot of money. On the other hand, I almost never splurged on anything.

  I felt like I had a tiny Alex with red devil horns perched on my shoulder, whispering into my ear. “Why are you even still thinking about it? Just buy the sexy lingerie! You can’t wear books and CDs, after all! What are you waiting for? Sören Nordmann to come back, or something?”

  I grew wide-eyed and shuddered that devil-Alex would even bring up Sören, which was just plain mean. I promptly marched into the store. My plan was to select some lingerie, pay for it, and leave—which I managed to do, even though the saleswoman tried to get me to try it on first.

  I had let a saleswoman at a similar store talk me into trying something on once.

  Emphasis on once. That whole story ended with my standing in the changing room with my top off, when a head popped up over the curtain asking, “Well, does it fit?”

  That. Was. Not. Funny.

  Since then, I have avoided all changing rooms.

  I left with my extremely overpriced lingerie, and continued my stroll. At the record store, I took my time browsing the shelves for old LPs and out-of-print CDs. My eyes were drawn to a CD from a band called Skindred, whose music was a mixture of reggae and metal. I’d never heard anything like that before, and since it sounded promising, I bought it.

  When I stepped back outside, it was already twilight, and Berlin’s streetlights were starting to flicker on, one by one. Shopping bag in hand, I strolled toward the bus stop. I was startled when I heard someone call my name from behind.

  Domenic, I quickly realized, and then thought, Shit, I was supposed to call him.

  I turned to see him running the last few steps toward me with a wide smile on his face. “Hey, it’s great to run into you here,” he said. I nodded politely. At the same time, I prayed he wouldn’t ask why I hadn’t called.

  “How have you been?” he asked.

  “Fine, thanks. And you?”

  “Great—especially now,” he said with a wink. “Have you been shopping?” he asked.

  I looked at my bag. “Yeah, but not for anything special. You?”

  “I was trying to meet up with Jan, but he just called and canceled on me.”

  Jan was the shy boy we had met at the club. “Sorry,” I said.

  “No biggie,” he replied. “Say, what are you up to right now, if I might ask?”

  “Um . . . N-nothing special,” I stammered.

  “If that’s the case, do you feel like grabbing a drink with me?” He looked at me hopefully as my brain searched for a good excuse—and failed.

  “Sure. Why not?” I said as I thought, Shit!

  He suggested a nearby cocktail bar called Dusk that he had heard good things about. We arrived about five minutes later, and I had to give Domenic credit. The bar had a rustic Mexican style, with little ads on each table promoting el taco del día. We took a small, round four-top in the corner. The waiter lit a miniature Jack Daniel’s bottle, which was now an oil lamp, and then we perused the drinks menu. I was interrupted by the vibrations of my cell phone.

  “Excuse me for just a second,” I said once I saw Alex flash on the display. Domenic nodded, and I answered.

  “Hi.”

  “Emely, you’ve got to help me,” she whispered into the phone.

  “With what?” I asked. Why she was speaking softly?

  “Sebastian and Elyas want to go out and they asked me if I want to come along.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?” I furrowed my brow. How long had she been chatting my ear off about wanting to see Sebastian again?

  “I’m glad you think so. We’ll pick you up in ten minutes!”

  “What?”

  “You’re coming, too, of course!”

  I was suddenly super-happy to have run into Domenic.

  “I wish I could,” I started, looking forward to giving my brilliant excuse. “But I’m at a bar with Domenic right now.”

  “You’re at a bar with whom?”

  “Domenic,” I repeated, rolling my eyes. “Elyas’s friend from the club.”

  “I remember very well who Domenic is. But why the hell are you traipsing around with him?”

  “We ran into each other,” I mumbled as I felt more and more stupid talking about Domenic right in front of him.

  “Where are you guys?”

  “It’s a bar called Dusk; it’s quite nice.”

  “Wait, let me ask,” Alex said.

  “Ask what? Alex?”

  But she wasn’t listening to me anymore and had apparently pressed her phone to her chest, because all I could hear was rustling and muffled voices. If Alex was planning on coming here with those two, she had better forget it!

  There was more rustling until Alex finally got back on the line. “All right, have a good time, then!” she almost sang.

  “Thanks . . . Y-you too,” I stammered, my brow furrowing.

  “Will do! See you tomorrow—bye!”

  I was still confused as I stuck my phone back into my bag. I guess sometimes things were easier than you expected them to be. Fine by me.

  “Sorry about that. It was Alex,” I told Domenic.

  “No problem,” he said. “I hope you didn’t have to bail on something important because of me.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “You’ve actually saved me from having to spend the evening with Elyas. I should be thanking you.”

  “Well, if that’s the case,” he said, smiling, “you’re very welcome. Please feel free to use me as an excuse with him any time.”

  “I’ll make a note of that,” I replied. “I’m so done with him.”

  “I can tell!” he chuckled as we both poked our noses back into the menu. I decided on a strawberry margarita, and when the server brought our drinks, we were engaged in small talk.

  Domenic was just as approachable and easy to talk to as he had been when we met at the club. I told him all about my classes and major, and even though he admitted he didn’t know much about literature, he still seemed interested in what I had to say. Maybe he was putting on an act, but it didn’t seem like it.

  On the surface, Domenic seemed like a nice, friendly guy, but there was also something I couldn’t put my finger on that kept me from trusting him fully. It was like studying a painting for some little detail that was subconsciously bugging you. Something small but powerful that kept the overall picture from coming together. A weird brushstroke, a mismatched color, a shadow falling the wrong way—something didn’t seem right. But I couldn’t figure out what was troubling me, and I wondered if my intuition was off.

  Then the conversation switched to Domenic, who talked for a long time about his father’s company. He worked there as a junior manager on track to take over the business someday.

  “What kind of company is it?” I asked.

  “We make electrical devices. Not household appliances, but industrial equipment.”

  “And you work more in an office than on the production line?” I sipped my tasty strawberry margarita and looked at him over the salted rim of my glass.

 
“Exactly,” he said, smiling.

  I was interested in his responsibilities, and he gave a long detailed answer. He came across like a real businessman, talking about financing and budgets and bragging about clever tactics. He seemed full of himself, but maybe that was simply the result of growing up in a family that ran its own company. Flashy types used to blowing their own horns were a turnoff for me, though. And greed wasn’t something I could relate to. The best things in life are free, as the song says.

  When we started talking about music, I felt much more at ease, but sadly, we didn’t get a chance to go into much depth. Domenic suddenly stopped listening and stared at something behind me instead.

  “What is it?” I asked, turning to look.

  “You told them which bar we’re at, right?” he asked.

  “Hey there, you kids! How’re you doing?” Alex called, bounding over to our table. She wasn’t alone, not that I expected her to be.

  Alex grinned as she scooted up to sit with us. Have a seat, why don’t you? I thought as I shot daggers at her.

  “Hi,” Sebastian said. I couldn’t tell from his face if he got how unenthused I was about their arrival. He sat down in the chair next to Alex.

  Ah, too bad—five people, four chairs. I guess some poor soul is going to have to stand.

  But Elyas borrowed a chair from a neighboring table. He smiled at me, positioned the chair next to me, and sat.

  “Well, darling?” he said, bending dangerously close to me, his lips on the verge of coming into contact with my cheek. I shoved my chair away from him with a loud squeak. My glare threatened him with the sufferings of a eunuch if he tried that again, but it bounced off him as though he were covered in Teflon. With a twinkle in his eye, he squeezed me between Domenic and himself.

  All that was left was for him to put his cock out on the table to compare its length to Domenic’s. When he smirked at me while resting his arm on the back of my chair, I had had enough.

  “Would you like to piss on me now to mark me as your territory?” I narrowed my eyes at him and shoved his arm off the chair.