Elara
A quiet, easy feeling settles between us. I slide the tray under his desk and pass him the guitar.
Anderson lets out a soft laugh. "You are really not going to let this go."
"I am not. I truly want to hear you play." His expression gentles. He presses his fingers into a chord, then stops. I try to stay quiet, but my thoughts often become words before I can stop them. "What is wrong? I liked how that sounded."
"Oh, please. I did not even play anything." I make a motion like I am zipping my lips shut and throwing away the key. "All right. I have not played since…"
His unfinished sentence makes me intensely curious. I forget all about my promise to be quiet. "Since when?"
"Since my band fell apart. So, do not expect a masterpiece." But when music is a part of you, it does not matter how long you have been away. You feel it the moment you come back. Anderson leans over, holding the guitar carefully as he gets ready to amaze me, I hope. "This song is not one I wrote."
"Just play it already."
"Do not say I did not warn you," he says. With his head bent low, he touches the strings with a careful skill, and a sound comes out that seems to wrap around us in our own private world. He strums once, then again, and begins to sing. His voice pulls me in immediately, its soft quality, and the fact that I know this song.
"I'm broke but I'm happy. I'm poor but I'm kind. I'm short but I'm healthy, yeah, yeah…"
The only short person in this room is me, and that is only because Anderson is so tall. "I'm high but I'm grounded," I sing along quietly, matching his tune. "I'm sane but I'm overwhelmed."
Anderson's head lifts quickly. "You know this song?"
"Alanis Morissette," I say. My mother used to play her music all the time in our house. This specific song was from my mum's favorite album. She believed Alanis was a genius who was ahead of her time. I put a hand on Anderson's knee, but it is not a sensual touch. I rub my thumb over his kneecap. "Keep singing, please."
His eyes lock with mine, and he nods. This nod feels different, like a recognition passing from one singer to another. I do not interrupt him again. He makes the song his own, filling the lyrics with a raw feeling that convinces me he is singing about his own life.
As Anderson gets to the final part of the song, his eyes find me again. He gives me a warm smile that turns my heart over, and all I can do is breathe. I want to live inside this perfect moment, because I know it cannot last.
The quiet that hangs in the air after he finishes is more powerful than any words we could say. I clap my hands, because saying "that was amazing" would not be enough.
"That is my favorite song," Anderson tells me. The guitar is still in his hands. He puts it back against the wall, and I feel a pang of sadness knowing I will not hear his beautiful version again today. "She is a brilliant artist."
"Yeah." I run a hand over my foot, gathering the courage to ask the question that has been on my mind since he started. "Are you broke?"
"I am twenty-one, living in my stepfather's house, and I only have a job at this fancy high school because he is the principal and he married my mother." Anderson holds his arms out wide, and I would have hugged him if he had even hinted that he wanted one. I hug myself instead. "What do you think, Elara?"
I think you are.
"But you are happy," I remind him.
"Happier than I was when I left the US."
That is another topic I am afraid to bring up. I slide a little closer to him so that none of our words are lost to the space between us. Anderson crosses his legs, subtly moving away from my touch. It hurts a little, but I understand why he did it. We cannot be close. We are step-siblings.
"Why did you leave?"
"I needed a fresh start." I nod again. He reaches out and touches my hair, a soft smile on his lips. My mouth goes dry when his fingers move to my scalp. I do not know what he is doing, but I love it. He gives a gentle tug at the roots, then wraps a pink strand around his forefinger and brushes my cheek with it. I swallow hard. "You fixed it."
"I had to show you that pink was not ugly."
His smile grows wider. "I did not mean what I said before."
"I know," I answer.
"Before you came in, I was trying to record a cover of that song for my YouTube channel."
"And I ruined it for you," I finish for him.
"No. I was struggling with it until you walked in." Is that a compliment? I will take it. He drags a hand down his face. I twist my own hands together, my eyes fixed on his mouth, which is set in an adorable frown. "Thank you."
The quiet between us grows thicker and more strained. I want to say something, but I do not know what. I move slightly to stop the rug from rubbing against my thighs, and Anderson draws in a sudden, sharp breath that pulls my attention back to him.
He is staring at me. No, not at me, at something on my body. I look down, and heat floods my neck when I see the dark, damp patches on my red underwear. His singing aroused me. I glance back at him and bite my lip. My skirt must have ridden up when I shifted, showing him my panties.
It was not on purpose, but I do not try to fix it. Not when Anderson is looking at me like he wants to kiss me, or do something even more intense. I would not mind us doing more, but I will not be the one to say it out loud. Anderson breaks his stare. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and I close my legs.
We look at each other, and the air feels charged. "You should go," he says. But his voice lacks conviction. I push up onto my knees and place my hands flat on his thighs. I am doing the thing I thought I would not do. I am trying to seduce my stepbrother. And I called this a bad idea. Anderson's hands circle my wrists, and a spark of electricity seems to pass between us. He releases me, and I put my hands back on his thighs, not moving.
"Do you think about our kiss?"
"I am not answering that," he says, his voice tight.
"I will leave if you answer me." Frustration moves across his face. He sighs but does not respond to my demand. Still on my knees, I straighten up so my nose is only a few inches from his. If I want to kiss him, all I have to do is slide my hand behind his neck and pull his head down to mine. "Do you regret it?"
"No."
A pulse of pure heat clenches deep inside me. Anderson looks away, not knowing what his answer is doing to my body. I press my legs together. One more question.
"Even after finding out I am seventeen?"
Anderson holds my gaze. "No."
My nipples harden under my white tank top, pushing against the fabric. I know Anderson can see them; they are impossible to miss. I stroke his thighs and let out a soft, pleased sound.
"I do not regret it either, Anderson." He nods to himself, and I tilt my head, sucking on my lower lip the way he did during that one hot kiss that has ruined all other kisses for me. "I keep thinking about it. I wonder if we will ever do it again. I want us to do it again." His head moves from side to side in a silent 'no,' but I am not put off by his refusal. I cup his face, forcing his blue eyes to look at me. "I want you to kiss me again, Anderson."
"Stop thinking about it. It is not going to happen," he says. "And I did not need to know all of that."
I give an obvious shrug and put my arms back at my sides. "I wanted to tell you. I want to kiss you."
"The answer is still no."
As I promised, I left the room after his reply. My next stop is the drawer in my bathroom. When I find what I am looking for, I hurry back into my bedroom and lock the door. On the bed, with my legs spread wide and my panties on the floor, it is my stepbrother's face I picture between my thighs. It is his hands and his mouth on my breasts as the pink, vibrating toy moves inside me, pushing me toward a powerful orgasm.