The Secret of Ella and Micha

those feelings I felt for her before she left come rushing back to me. I need more of her. Now . Oblivious to everyone around us, my hands gradually slide up her thighs.
    “Micha.” She protests with a quiver in her voice. “Don’t. There are people…”
    I silence her as my fingers brush the edges of her skirt. I can’t stop—I’ve been carrying this sexual tension for ages. I started having these feelings for her when we were about sixteen. I ignored them for as long as possible, because I knew she’d freak if she found out. There were a few stolen kisses that I played off, but the night on the bridge, when I finally put it out there, changed everything. She freaked out just like I thought.
    Right after she left, I slept around, trying to get rid of the hunger inside of me, but after a while, I realized there was no point. Ella had taken something from me and there was no getting it back, unless I had her.
    So I let my hands sneak up the edge of her skirt and her fingers knead into my thighs. I wonder how far I should take this, since we’re sitting in a booth in a crowded room, and I almost pull back, but one of her legs falls to the side, and I view it as an open invitation.
    “Alright, it’s time for open mic.” The waitress that undressed me with her eyes speaks into the microphone on the stage. “If you already haven’t signed up, you can sign up with Phil over there.” She points her finger at the owner, a middle-aged man sitting in the corner next to the speakers.
    “I think that’s your cue.” Ella quickly gets up, thinking she’s off the hook.
    Before I head up to the signup sheet, I spread my fingers across her lower back and whisper in her ear, “Don’t think this is over because it’s not.”
    She shivers and I strut off to the table with a satisfied smile on my face.
    “Well, son of a bitch,” Phil says from behind the table. He’s an ex-band member of an 80’s cover band and still looks like he belongs in that decade with his mullet and neon clothes. “Look what the dog dragged in.”
    “Miss me that bad, huh?” I jot down my name on the signup sheet.
    “Are you kidding me?” he asks. “All we’ve had to listen to for the last few months is banjo music and a couple of hippies playing on the bongos. I swear it’s like Woodstock all over again.”
    I laugh, dropping the pen onto the table. “Well it’s nice to know I’ve been missed, I guess.”
    Phil fiddles with the volume of the amps. “More than missed. Please tell me you’re going to start playing here again. I’m in desperate need of some draw-in. This place is going downhill.”
    I smile politely, backing toward the table. “Nah, probably not. I don’t think I’m going to be sticking around here much longer. I’ve got places to go, people to see.”
    On my way back to the table, I cross paths with Naomi. She is Phil’s daughter, tall, with long black hair, and she’s an awesome singer. I used to play with her back before she went on the road with a band. We were actually pretty close, but I haven’t talked to her since she left.
    “Oh my God, I’m so glad I ran into you,” she says and there’s a little bit of red lipstick on her teeth.
    “Isn’t everyone?” I tease walking backwards.
    She laughs and swats my arm. “I see you still have that whole cocky attitude going.”
    I drop the act. “So you’re back in town?”
    “Yeah, but only for a few weeks. Can we chat up after you play? There’s something I really need to talk to you about. Something huge actually.”
    “How’d you know I was playing?”
    She points a finger at the table. “I just saw you sign up.”
    “Alright, I’ll catch up with you later.” I wave good-bye, wondering what she could possibly want.

    Ella
    Damn Micha. He’s killing me with his touches and longing gazes and now he’s going to sing. I’ve always had a soft spot for his voice. We’d sit on his bed and he’d strum his guitar while I sketched. Those were some of the perfect moments in my life.
    “Ella, what’s the matter with you?” Lila asks with an accusation. “You look a little flushed.”
    I sip my latte and realign the holder in the center of the table, so I can’t see my reflection in the stainless steel. “It’s just a little hot in here. That’s all.”
    “Yeah, sure it is.” She won’t stop looking at me, like she’s trying to crack open my head.
    As Micha steps onto the stage not too far from our table, my heart starts to chant