Gage Cilleti has just begun his junior year of high school, and is becoming more and more involved in his school's activities, considering he'd been playing baseball since he was just seven-years-old.
Elijah McCay has just dropped out of school, du...
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The seats in Elijah's car are so unbelievably comfortable, that I feel like I might melt into them. He's kept his quiet, as I sag into the crook of my seat. He asks me to put on my seatbelt, but I can barley hear him over the pleasure emitting from both his air vents and his signature smell that practically lives in his car.
Soft musics comes from the backseat, where I'm guessing his speakers hide. He seems calm, almost too calm. And with me, being only the tiniest bit tipsy, I find anxiety and fear in such a fact.
A minute goes by—and nothing. He doesn't speak, doesn't ask for my address, and doesn't even bother to ask for my name. But still, I'm grateful he swooped by and offered me a ride, because in this moment, I couldn't for the life of me remember my cross streets.
Maybe it was his eyes. And the way they'd occasionally flicker over at me. Or maybe it was his lips, and the way he'd bite onto his bottom one whenever making a difficult turn.
If I hadn't realized before, I definitely did now—I was still so, so captivated with Elijah McCay. Why, I couldn't say, considering I, myself, haven't figured it out yet.
But still, I knew nothing about him. Absolutely nothing.
Well, I did know a few things, I knew that he was born and raised here in Chicago. I knew that he had a brother, who was one or two years older than me. I knew that he had grown up with both parents, due to them always showing sportsmanship at every single one of his games.
Those games that I'd had to fetch him water, and I remember that whenever our fingers would accidentally brush one another, I would blush profusely, and pray that he hadn't seen.
"Where's your place?" The question is slow, and spoken with a deepened voice, that seemed to have matured since the last time I saw him.
"W-West Hudson st, I-I think you can take a right h-here." He seems only the least bit irritated by my stuttering. But if only he knew, that I was even having trouble breathing, at the moment.
His tanned skin is shown in the lights coming from the street. His long fingers squeezing onto the steering wheel, every few minutes, although afraid to lose control.
"You don't seem too sure about that, Gage." My heart begins a dreadful beat when he speaks my name. Like my body, nor mind can handle hearing it. I want to ask how he knows it. I want to ask why he even bothered to learn it.
But instead, I lean my head against the passenger sides window, cheeks reddening. "N-No, I'm sure. Just not completely sober at the moment."
He sends me a look, brown eyes seeming just a little intimidated. I want to ask why, considering the fact that he's probably the tallest person I've ever met—even with me being around six feet.
