Chapter 25: You Can Never Be Too Cool For Elvis Presley

Annabel's POV

We didn't speak for a little while as we sat, bundled up in a booth at the burrito shop, happily stuffing our faces and chugging coffees. Pausing once and a while only to rub our hands in an effort to warm numb fingers, I had to marvel at myself; after a life in New York I was feeling the chill of a West Coast winter. 

"Why did you sleep on a bench the night of the party?"

I looked up at the question. Billie was considering me curiously, however there still seemed to be an air of caution in his voice, as if he wouldn't want me to begin a topic that was too heavy for breakfast-burrito conversation.

"How did you know about that?" I asked, and we both heard the edge in my tone.

"Mike. He told me about when he saw you in the coffee shop. What happened the night of the party?"

I made the decision to answer. I was so tired of not answering questions. I didn't look at him as I spoke though.

"Well, when I got home Jeremy basically threw a fit. He said I couldn't go out late anymore. Mom... usually she would either be frozen like a statue in the corner or mildly trying to calm him down but that night she was just crying. Crying and crying like I had only seen once before; when Dad died."

Billie shifted, his eyebrows furrowing and his lip pouting as if in thought. Fuck, why was I staring at his lips? 

"Anyway, Jeremy, he hugged me then. He fucking hugged me. I thought I was tripping out or some shit. And then he told me about Cassie..."

Something caught in my throat but I refused to cry. I was done with all that.

"...and I ran out, and I sat and looked at the sky and fell asleep in the park."

Hurriedly I took a large bite out of my burrito, hoping that it would perhaps delay further depressing anecdotes spouting out of me. 

"I'm...I'm really sorry Annabel."

I looked at him then. His eyes were bright with some silent sentiment, and I felt his hand reach to clasp over mine. It felt nice, in fact it felt too nice, so in the long-awaited The Inept James Bond Part 3: What Is This Strange New Feeling And How Can I Escape From it  (which not only prompted scathing reviews but also an inquiry into whether Annabel Winters was literally 9 years old or just a fucking idiot) I removed my hand suddenly, perhaps reacting to how my heart just did something very abnormal and how my brain suddenly lost all capacity to function, and in my haste I knocked over my coffee, spilling the dark liquid onto the table.

 I buried my face in my hands, questioning how I continue to be such a fuckwit when I heard Billie laugh. It was a husky, but ultimately distinctly teenage-boy laugh, and man when in the right context those kinda laughs are comforting. 

"Shit, you're a bit unpredictable y'know?" I cracked a smile at the sight of his grin, his crooked tooth and vibrant emerald spheres. 

"Like to keep them guessing I suppose." I giggled (since when do I giggle?) and began to mop up the mess with some napkins. He joined in my effort, still smiling to himself.

"Just don't have a heart attack every time I touch you..."

I gulped, feeling a bizarre warmth in my face at his words, and I had no idea why. He pretended not to notice but I could feel his smile broadening. 

"Seriously, if that's what happens if I touch your hand..."

I must have been illuminating the hue of Rudolph's nose because he chuckled, wiping the excess coffee on his jeans and smirking at me. I scowled, but he was quick to see through it. 

"But still, I would worry for your health. I wouldn't want to risk putting you in cardiac arrest."

I didn't know if he was being serious or not. His tone seemed almost to be masking offence at my reaction. I panicked, my still-incompentant head not understanding how to do anything remotely non-embarrassing, blurting out:

"I like it when you touch me."

Immediately I wanted the earth to swallow me whole. How the hell did I get in this situation? Why was it so hard to talk to him all of a sudden? Why did I feel like every logical part of me was going on lockdown every time he looked at me like that? 

Wait, did I seriously just say that?

"I like it too." His smile completely overcame his face, and I could notice a hint of red arising to his cheeks.

"Are you blushing, Mr Armstrong?" I mocked, when I had regained my composure. He seemed to go redder, not meeting my eye.

"You wish, Winters" He huffed.

When we were finished we started back to his house. 

"It's Saturday," he explained, "so they'll be over for practice in a few hours."

Our breath caught on the air, and we talked about nothing and everything as we passed Christie Road, eyes refusing to flick to that lone stretch of track where we both fell apart not long before.

"Billie, why did you take the Ritalin?" My voice was very quiet, staring intently at my feet. I heard him sigh.

"It all felt...too much. I felt like I was going to explode, or die, or both..." He swallowed hard, then shrugged as if to let the matter pass. I knew he didn't want to talk just then. I gripped his fist for a moment to let him know that I knew. He sighed again.

An hour later...

"Oh my god!" 

"Shut up! He's the best!"

"It's not that! It's just...aren't you supposed to be Mr Punk Rock? Mr Too Cool For Elvis Presley?"

"You can never be too cool for Elvis Presley."

We were sprawled on the ground in the living room, flicking through Billie Joe Armstrong's record collection. I was propped up on my stomach, wearing yet another borrowed article of clothing in the form of a big blue sweater, and he was on his back, limbs starfished.

"I'm putting it on." I announced, standing and making my way to the player. 

"Wise decision."

We both let out audible sighs as the king's warm voice filled the room, crooning over one lost love or another. I flopped down beside him, spreading my arms up above my head and closing my eyes. 

We listened in silence for a little while. I drifted in and out of sleep, until the pace quickened with "Marie's The Name".

I stood up. He looked at me in question. 

"Get up, we're going to dance."

A perfect cheshire-cat grin, matching those eyes, graced his features as he got to his feet, looking down at me. He was a small guy, but he still had at least half a head on me.

His hands took mine, and we were off.

He swung me around the room, twirling me around his finger, spinning me out and then pulling me back to him. It was all a blur of hysterical laughter and the feeling of his arm wrapped tight around my waist and his rough, strong hands gripping mine in a frenzy of Elvis-crazed enthusiasm.

"...this girl was in my arms and swore to me she'd be mine eternally... and Marie's the name, of his latest flame!" We shouted the finishing line in fits of giggles, and, still giddy, slumped onto the couch, both gasping for breath. He looked at me, and I looked at him. An easy peace seemed to had settled in the air. 

And that peace soon was disrupted somewhat when he crushed his lips to mine. 

My mind was swept blank in a millisecond, the mere action intensified by how powerfully he had kissed me. He stayed still for a moment, allowing my brain enough time to realise what was happening and to make a decision on a response. But every thought was overshadowed by the yearning that had tightened in my core and I found myself kissing him back. 

It was soft and slow, his mouth moving gently over mine, but there was no hesitancy. He knew that I wanted this. There was no more room saved for uncertainty. The kiss deepened and I found my fingers lacing through his dark hair, holding him tight. His approval hummed onto my lips from deep in his throat, and then I felt his body pushed further into mine, his hands at the safety of my waist, as if unsure of their boundaries. His lips left mine to trail down my jaw to the length of my neck, and I could feel his warm breath on my skin as his lips left my nerve-endings vibrating and trembles to run up my spine. 

I had never felt like this before. I had an urgency to feel...more.

My heart throbbing madly against my ribs I gripped his shoulders and shifted under him, letting his body entomb mine. He broke away, only for a moment, as if assessing that he had understood right. His eyes were glazed, and they seemed to burn. Of what, I couldn't comprehend.

 He kissed me again, and there was something more desperate about it, as if he was strained with a restraint which was only now beginning to ease. His hands, they slowly began climb up my waist, to my ribs, and then

"TRÉ COOL IS IN THE HOUSE MOTHERFUCKERS!"

.....

A/N thanks for reading!