Song of the Fireflies(4)
Author: J.A. Redmerski

She leaned forward and swung her arms around my neck. The smell of her freshly washed hair and lightly perfumed skin intoxicated me.

“I won’t drink anything unless you or Lissa give it to me,” she said and then pressed her lips to the side of my face.

I always hated it when she did that. Best friend, so what, it made me hard.

“I guess I’ll go,” I said, giving in. “But you have to promise you’ll be on your best behavior.” I shook my finger at her playfully.

In all reality, asking Bray to be on her best behavior was a far-fetched request that was almost always met with disappointment. But nothing she could ever do would push me away from her.

She raised both of her hands up in the air, as if surrendering.

“I f**king promise,” she laughed. “I’ll be good. If I don’t, you have my permission to bend me over your knee and spank the shit out of me.”

Oh Jesus Christ… seriously? That’s worse than her innocent “best friend” kiss to my cheek.

I inhaled a very deep breath, composed myself, and then got up from the ottoman, Gatorade bottle in hand.

“Where are you going?”

“To get dressed?” I looked at her like she’d just asked a stupid question.

“What you’re wearing is fine,” she said. “You’re one hot piece of ass, as usual.” She stuck her tongue out at me and then looked me over.

She did tend to look me over a lot in the years we’d known each other. I often wondered if she secretly had the same feelings for me that I’d always had for her, but I could never really be sure. I always knew she cared for me and was attracted to me, but regarding the two of us together, I was as confused as you probably are.

I ignored her and went into my bedroom to change my clothes.

She followed.

While it was never anything unusual for her to see me naked, this time her following me did strike me as odd.

“Elias?”

I looked from the open top drawer of my dresser to her.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

This was serious. I had only seen that thoughtful, intent look on her face a few times before, and it was always about something that would later prove to define our strange relationship even more, like adding colors to a black-and-white painting. So far only a quarter of that painting had been filled in. Once with her confession to me that she lost her virginity to Michael Pearson—that about f**king killed me. Once when I admitted I lost mine to Abigail Rutherford—I thought Bray was going to hate me forever after that. Apparently, Abigail Rutherford was Bray’s worst enemy, though I never got that impression until after I slept with her. Then once when she gave me her first blowjob because she “needed the practice”—for days after that, I was in a haze. I couldn’t get the image out of my head, not necessarily because of the act itself but because of the trust she had in me to want me to be the one. And once when I ate her out in my car underneath a bridge overpass, because she dared me to do it. Bray never ceased to shock the hell out of me. Always in a good way. Yeah, those were some colorful f**king brushstrokes.

As I stood at the dresser, new boxers in my hand, I could only wonder what color we would be adding to that painting today.

She sat down on the end of my bed. Her silky dark hair framed her peach-colored face and fell down over both of her bare shoulders.

“What’s up?” I asked, concealing my impatience.

She glanced toward the closet and then looked back at me. “Madelyn will be at this party.”

I thought I knew where this was going, but I couldn’t be sure. I was having a hard time reading Bray, which in itself was foreign to me.

“So?”

“So, I know you have a thing for her. I don’t like her.” Bray struggled with those words; I could see it in her face that she really wanted to say something else. She was hiding something. I was pretty sure I knew what it was, but I needed a bit more proof.

Giving up on changing clothes, I shut the top drawer and leaned against the edge of the dresser, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I don’t have a thing for her,” I said. I wouldn’t mind sleeping with her once, but that’s not a “thing.” “Why don’t you like her?”

“She’s… well, she’s just not right for you. She’s a nice girl, but I get bad vibes from her.” The more she tried to explain, the more uncomfortable she looked. “Just trust me on this, OK?” She swallowed nervously.

Bray never gets nervous around me.

I crouched down in front of her, forcing her blue-eyed gaze to connect with mine.

“Why don’t you just say what you’re really thinking?”

She looked stunned. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, really I don’t.” Trying to avoid it, she stood up and moved to the other side of the bed, crossing her arms and putting her back to me.

“Don’t do this,” I said, rising to my feet, too. “We’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. We have to stop.”

I stepped up behind her. “Why don’t we just try it, Bray?”

She swung her head around to face me, her eyes harboring confusion and shock and worry all at the same time. Only her confusion wasn’t convincing. She knew exactly what I was talking about, but she wasn’t masking it very well.

“Try what?”

I placed my hands on her upper arms. “Being together.”

It was as if my words sucked all of the air and sound out of the room. For a long time she just stared at me, unblinking.

“I’ve wanted to be with you since we were kids in that pasture, Bray. You know this—you’ve known this. But anytime I ever tried to get closer to you, you pushed me away. Why don’t we stop this, quit playing these games with each other, and just… be together.”

Her big blue eyes fell away from mine. She took a step backward and sat down on the edge of the bed, letting her hands fall in between her thighs. She wouldn’t look at me, and I was getting frustrated. I wanted her to say something, anything.

I crouched in front of her again and rested my hands on the tops of her bare knees. “Please look at me,” I said softly. “Say something.”

It seemed a struggle, but finally she met my gaze. I saw nothing but conflict in her eyes.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Why not? Are you not into me? If that’s it, just say so. I can take it. I’ll hate it, but at least I’ll know—”