Your Biggest Fan

22. NOAH

Chapter twenty-two

The clouds rolled in fast, interrupting what had been a pleasant evening. There was barely any time to slide the garage door halfway closed before the first crack of lightning lit up the walls like a celestial pinball machine. Thunder rumbled immediately after, loud enough to drown out the strains of Open All Night blaring from my boombox on the workbench.

I go back to business, sliding my body under my dirt bike— my baby, my precious —that I held up on paint cans, using my skateboard to prop up my back, even if the grip tape is scratching against my bare skin in a not so enjoyable way. The smell of the heavy rain is starting to mingle with the motor oil as I squirt it onto my bike’s chain, liquid dripping down into the pan below.

The chain squeaks in protest as I rotate the pedals.

Yep, definitely needed more grease there.

I make sure to thoroughly coat every moving part, getting grime all over my hands in the process while tapping the toe of my shoe to the beat of the song. My baby deserves some TLC after a long month’s worth of rides.

The floor chills my elbows as I reach further underneath the bike frame, making sure every link in the chain is saturated to shit. The rain sounds like it’s starting to fall harder, pinging off the roof and wetting the driveway. Sometimes a rare drop hits the ground and bounces at my chest. I keep working, only satisfied when the stiff gears start to spin smoothly again.

“I could hear you from the end of the street.”

I jolt and hit my head on a pipe, looking over. Roxanne finishes ducking under the garage door, straightening up and crossing her arms across her chest with a grin.

And totally soaking wet.

Water is streaming from her checkered flannel, leaving a trail like snail’s slime, and there are droplets falling down her legs to form little puddles on the oil-stained floor. Her hair is clumped together in wet strands, and she looks so much like the Predator that I have to suck on my teeth in order to not to laugh.

And to resist not saying, “well, well, look what the storm blew in.”

“Look who it is.” I match the grin automatically, a Pavlovian response when Roxanne actually smiles at me. “Miss me?”

She pulls off her headphones, letting them hang in a noose around her neck. “Why would I miss you ?”

“Were you looking for an excuse to see me shirtless then?” I wink, giving my wet friend a once-over. The rain plasters her clothes to her body and soaks through her shorts.

She laughs, crystal clear and bright. Her eyes skate across my bare chest before running away just as fast. “Yep, you caught me. I am here because I absolutely need to see your chiseled abs and ripped biceps.”

“And lucky you, because here I am.” I wiggle my grubby fingers up at her.

“Oh yeah, getting major flashbacks to those Baywatch beefcakes right now.”

“I’m glad you could catch me in such prime beefcake form.”

“Total heartthrob vibes,” she snarks, though her gaze lingers a beat too long to sell the sarcasm. She flicks a sodden strand of hair from her eyes while I try unsuccessfully to wipe the grease from my hands onto my already dark jeans, succeeding in only further ingraining the oil into my skin.

“To what do I really owe this pleasure, my little drowned rat?” I ask, failing miserably to keep the delight from my voice.

Something passes over her face before I can pinpoint what it is, then her soaked shoes squeak as she squelches over. She deals the final blow to my heart when she starts batting her rain spiked lashes.

“What, I can’t stop by to hang out with my favorite grease monkey?”

“Don’t you dare drip your wet mop self on me,” I warn, pointing a finger up at her from my spot on the ground. My back’s killing me, and the last thing I need is a human sprinkler system making my life worse.

Roxanne feigns offense, pressing a hand to her chest. “Why, I never! Is that any way to treat a lady?”

“Since when are you a lady?” I scoff. “Toss me that rag, will you?”

Rolling her eyes, she grabs the rag off the workbench against the side of the garage and throws it down at me, aiming for my face. I catch it quickly and roll out from under my bike—middle finger first.

“Maybe you should invite me in properly,” she suggests, shifting her weight to one hip. “I am your guest after all.”

I bark out a laugh, using the rag to wipe at the grease from my fingers. “Guests are usually invited. You showed up unannounced.”

“Yeah, bite me. I didn’t have the time or effort to make RSVP. Besides, I had a feeling you wouldn’t say no to me.” She tilts her head to the side and flashes that goddamn winning smile, the one from the bowling alley she knows I can’t fucking resist. “Are you going to let me come in or make me catch pneumonia out here?”

“I could do that,” I reply, not missing a beat. “But I prefer to see you shiver.”

She visibly shudders, damp clothes clinging too well I could probably be in a dream right now, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. I bite back another when she tightens her arms against her chest.

“You’re evil. Leaving a poor, freezing girl out in the storm.”

I make a show of slowly looking her up and down. “I dunno, I’m kinda liking this drowned rat look on you.”

There’s a blush that colors her rain-kissed cheeks that she tries to hide by flipping me off.

“I see you are still as much of a jerk as ever,” she mutters, wringing out her dark locks. Rivulets of water fall down her neck, dripping down into her tank top. “Are you saying I’m not welcome?”

“We are past the point of invitations, Roxanne, I thought you would have figured that out by now.” I flick my eyes back up to hers, the same rush I get from sticking a perfect 360-flip spreading through me. “Even when you barge in like a wet dog.”

“A wet dog?! I’ll show you who’s a wet dog.” She shakes her head like a golden retriever after a bath and sends water droplets flying in all directions. A fat droplet catches me square on the nose, and I screw my face up, laughing and hauling my ass off the ground. I wipe at the water with the rag, the motion bringing her gaze right back to my chest.

“Ah, shit,” I mutter, licking my thumb to wipe at the grease smudge there. Her eyes track the movement and I hold back the urge to flex for her benefit. “Eyes up here,” I taunt, holding out the filthy rag to her.

She makes a face and smacks my hand away. “Ew, no thanks to that biohazard. I’d rather air dry.”

I drape the rag over my shoulder, not wanting to entirely deprive her of the view. I’m an asshole, not a saint.

“Are you gonna tell me the real reason you’re here?” I ask, leaning against the edge of the table.

Right in front of me, I watch as her spark dims, her smile collapsing into itself when a shiver runs through her rain-soaked body again. Even her skin seems to pale under the garage lights.

She reaches up to clutch at the pendant hanging around her neck, her other arm wrapping tighter around her waist, shoulders hunching inward. Shadows cloud her eyes as she drops her gaze to the floor. Her dark hair which was so cute before, now clings in limp tendrils that hide her face.

Fuck, I hate it when she hides from me. Those damp eyelashes look as if they’re weighted with tears but, with the rain dripping off them, they have this shimmering effect as she blinks to shake them off.

I straighten up, my brow furrowing. Christ, she looks so small and tense, nothing like the lively, laughing girl who had strolled in here unannounced minutes ago. How had I not noticed the reddened rims of her eyes right away?

I mentally kick myself for being so fucking oblivious that something was wrong.

“Roxanne…”

At the soft sound of her name, her eyes meet mine. My chest tightens at the obvious pain I see there.

“Why are you here?” I ask, gentler this time. “Did something happen?”

She opens her mouth to answer, then hesitates, teeth catching her lower lip. “Can I… maybe get a real towel first? Preferably one that hasn’t been used to mop up motor oil?”

“Yeah, sure.” I nod, already heading for the laundry room outside the garage. I leave the door open and grab the cleanest, fluffiest towel I can find. “Here.” I move closer, ready to wrap it around her shaking shoulders. My gut keeps twisting with the need to know what’s wrong, but I stay quiet. I want her to open up to me on her terms. On her own time.

I wrap the towel around her, acutely aware of how close we are when I can better see the raindrops clinging to her dark eyelashes like tiny diamonds, and smell the hint of cinnamon woven into her hair.

While I gently rub warmth back into her arms through the towel, her eyes swing up to me once before running all over me where heat bursts across my skin, and there’s something unbearable and loud hanging between us. An invisible carbonated connection that has always been there, though we dance around it.

The space separating us morphs, at once as vast as the Grand fucking Canyon and as microscopically small as the grooves on vinyl. My breath snags in my throat as I scramble for my usual smartass tone, hoping to pull out a smile.

“Take your time drying off. I’ll even face the other way so you can check me out to your heart’s content.”

“I’m not checking you out .” Her eyes trace my torso before meeting mine again, pupils dilated. Pretty sure that’s exactly what checking out is, but sure thing. “I’m just looking.”

I cock an eyebrow, fighting a smirk. “Well, your ‘look’ is a little intense, so what are you so interested in?”

“The fact that you aren’t wearing a shirt and it’s behind you, so maybe I could have it.”

I can’t be bothered to suppress a smile at that weak recovery. Yeah. Nice save. Even bedraggled as a drowned rat, wit is never far from her lips.

“Do you want to actually come inside? Get warmed up?” My hands still grasp her upper arms, and my fingertips want to wander. Want to trace past the towel, down the wet plaid sleeves until our palms meet.

Whoa, where the fuck did that come from?

She shakes her head, the cold droplets flying from her waves bringing me back down. “No, the garage is fine,” she answers, as if that makes any sense considering she was begging to get inside the house five minutes ago. She chews at her lip again before asking, “Are your parents not home?”

“No, they’re away for the weekend. It’s just me.” I cringe at the unintentional suggestion in my voice, blaming her eyelashes for distracting me.

At least looking near her eyes means she can’t notice my meltdowns and her body seems to relax a fraction at that information. Which is... interesting.

Outside, there’s a crack of thunder loud enough to make her wince, her shoulders jerking up as she looks out toward the driveway.

I give her arms a gentle squeeze through the towel folds. “Talk to me, Rox. What’s going on?”

She glances up sharply at the use of her nickname, the cloud over her features briefly lifting. My heart is about to beat out of my damn chest at the same time my guts tighten.

She doesn’t say anything about it though, simply shrugs and glances away again. “It’s nothing. It started raining and I was closer to here than anywhere else.”

I give her a look, even if she is still staring back at the rain pelting the driveway.

“Okay, that might be the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.” My teeth tug at my lower lip as I watch her neck move up and down. “I guess I’m going to let it slide this time.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s my mom,” she admits at last, so softly I barely hear her over the rain drumming against the garage. “I needed a break and I didn’t know where else to go, but I was hoping I could cash in that arm punching.”

A weak smile crosses her face as she references our old joke, turning up to face me. My body aches, knowing she’s masking a deeper pain with that teasing.

I’m the fucking king of that.

“Yeah. Whatever you need.” I pause, nervous of spooking her. “But maybe you could use a friend right now more than a punching bag?”

Those eyes change, a storm passing through them that I still don’t understand. She takes a large step back.

“Well my friends are busy, so I’m here for my punching bag,” she quips, though the joke doesn’t quite land.

There’s so much she isn’t saying. Is she pissed she came to me instead of anyone else? Is she pissed I considered us friends? I want to push further, get her to really talk to me. Tell me what’s hurting her so I can at least try to make it better.

But I know from experience that pushing her rarely works. She has a way of revealing things in tiny, subtle ways I’ve learned to notice. Like how every time she’s anxious she reaches up for that necklace, how she chews on the inside of her cheek when she’s thinking too hard, how her left nostril twitches when she’s holding in her anger, and how she scoots to the edge of her seat to make sure nobody else can see her getting turned on.

I’m learning Roxanne’s ways, her unique language, and direct prodding makes her shrink deeper inside herself. As much as it’s fucking killing me to see her hurting over something, I care too much to risk driving her away.

I give her shoulder one last squeeze before sticking my hands in the front pockets of my jeans. “Well, I’m always here for target practice too. Maybe dry off first so I don’t slip in a puddle, yeah?”

When she shivers again, I grab my sweatshirt off the nearby stool and toss it over. She fumbles to catch it, blinking down at it before slipping it on with a blissful sigh—likely more for warmth than peace offering. She now swims in faded AC/DC logo glory as the shirt swallows her up.

Something primal and possessive rips through my chest as I take in her bare legs, shorts hidden underneath the shirt. I have to clench my jaw against the urge to wrap her in my arms when she pulls all of her hair out from under the collar. This is different from the jacket.

This is… bad .

I break from my daydream to see her look around the garage again with her signature frown that makes my stomach flip and clear my throat. “Mi garage es su garage.” With a stupid bow I welcome her further into my humble domain.

She lets out a very unfeminine snort and shoves at my shoulder as she steps further inside. I rub the spot, unable to keep the dopey grin off my face as she makes herself at home among my tools and bike parts.

“I’ll grab you another towel.”

She nods and perches on the offered stool, those eyes following me in and out. When I hand her another, she starts toweling off her dripping hair, trying to look disinterested, but her little glances in my direction when she thinks I’m not looking aren’t doing her any favors.

I lean back against the workbench, thumbs hitched in my belt loops. Roxanne has never been as smooth as she thinks she is.

Deciding to have some fun, I purposely catch her stare. Her emerald eyes fly open when ours lock, before she whips her head around with speed, cheeks flaming as she clears her throat and fakes a sudden interest in my mom’s collection of ceramic chickens lining the shelf on the other side of the room.

She may be good at hiding herself, but she isn’t good at hiding what she’s thinking. Ever the spy, never the sly.

Her eyes narrow at my poorly-stifled chuckle, wounded pride rising off her in waves hot enough to steam the rainwater from her hair.

“Tell me...” she begins, in an obvious attempt to distract any attention from her flaming face. “Why aren’t you out partying on a Friday night? No hot date or... companionship, with your parents away?”

“It’s not fun if you do it all the time. And Josephine was way overdue for some tuning up.”

She nods, glancing over at the motorbike behind her. “What about Wendy?”

My heart does a weird stumble-thump thing. “What about Wendy?”

“Well, aren’t you together?” she presses, strangling that poor towel.

There is so much complexity behind that simple question. A web of history and feelings, but more importantly… Why does she want to know?

Relax, dummy . It’s not that weird she’s asking. If I found out through the grapevine that Roxanne was dating say… Hayden Peterson, then yeah I’d probably ask her about it too. Though I didn’t have to, because he’d already whined to Chris about her ignoring him at school. And Chris, ever the gossip sponge he is, squeezed out every juicy detail for me about how she turned him down.

That's my girl.

“We never were,” I finally tell her. Technically true, though far from the whole story.

I wait until my heart stops tumbling in my chest to check her for a reaction. Her eyebrows tick up slightly, but otherwise, she keeps toying with that damn towel in her lap.

“Who told you that?” I ask.

“Daniel is bad at keeping secrets, apparently.”

“Oh...” Surprise punches the air from my lungs. I hadn’t even told Daniel the whole mess. He is my best friend, so of course he’d be as Anti-Wendy as I am, but part of me still feels too raw about it. I’m still bleeding from wounds I can’t see.

“No, I was never with Wendy,” I find myself admitting out loud to her. “I mean… I sort of was. But she ended up scheming with her boyfriend, using me to piss off her father.”

Saying it out loud lifts a huge weight off my chest. And I think I want Roxanne specifically to know the truth. Hoping her knowing my truths might lead me to hers.

Her brow is knit heavily. “What do you mean she used you?”

“She was trying to make her actual boyfriend look better to her dad. I guess he didn’t approve of the guy. So she started pretending to date me, figuring I’d make the boyfriend seem more impressive in comparison.”

“Did you know?”

I shake my head, keeping my eyes on the logo across her—my—sweatshirt.

“Wow, what a manipulative witch,” she huffs, laying on one of those ‘ who-does-she-think-she-is ’ mutters.

“Yeah,” I reply with a humorless laugh. Seeing the anger in her eyes on my behalf compels me to go on. “She begged me to have dinner with her dad, pretending we were together while refusing to even kiss me unless I met him. Made me look like a total delinquent to him when she outed all my tattoos and graffiti habits. Then afterwards she ignored me until I ran into her and she admitted she was with the other guy the whole time.”

“Seriously?” God, the disbelief in her voice makes me feel so damn good.

“Seriously.” I roll my lips inward, dropping my eyes to the wadded towel, watching her black painted thumbs smooth over it.

“Shit, that’s so messed up. I’m really sorry.” Roxanne slides off of the stool, edging closer. “We’re both cursed in love, I guess.”

My lungs stutter but I hold perfectly still. Her closeness is too comforting.

Familiar .

Like Seattle's wet streets, neon reflecting in puddles. Coffee steam rising from paper cups, warming cold hands.

Fuck. When did her presence become home?

“Yeah.” Clearing my throat several times, I add on, “It’s whatever. Lesson learned.”

She lifts her hand, freezing in the air for three painful heartbeats before gently placing it on my bicep and my skin erupts in goosebumps instantly. Our eyes connect, and in them I see understanding. Forgiveness. Something else that turns my legs into jelly.

Then it becomes pain when she starts pinching the skin around my melting smiley face tattoo, making me yelp in a totally manly way.

“Why do you have this one?”

My pulse is raging inside my ears as I look down at her painted fingers now squeezing the inked skin. “My graffiti tag.”

She squeezes the skin between her fingers again. “Graffiti tag?”

I think I might actually be sweating a little now. I have to put more weight against the bench and hang on while she keeps toying with my skin, smirking up at me the whole time.

“Why a smiley face? Shouldn’t it be something cooler like… a dragon? Or a skull?”

I moisten my dry lips before attempting speech. “It adds some cheer to empty spaces. And it makes you smile, doesn’t it?”

Her eyes squint and she twists her lips around, humming—thinking. Then she looks up at me and shakes her head, lips now turning up.

“Yeah. It does, I guess. It’s kind of sweet. I can totally picture you sneaking around at night, spraying your very non-threatening vandalism.” Her smile increases. “It’s cute.”

Cute .

“I bet the cops go easy on you when they catch you spraying rainbows or puppies or whatever.”

My own lips curve despite her brattiness. “Gotta spread that joy somehow. I like to think I'm brightening someone’s day in passing, even if it’s through graffiti art.”

Her fingers trace down my arm while she stares at my other tattoos. I feel the absence immediately when she pulls away, missing her touch.

Neither one of us knows what to say next, both shuffling our feet and fascinated by the oil stains on the floor. The garage has never felt so small, the rain never so quiet, and I hold my breath, waiting

Jesus Christ . Now what, Casanova?

“Which one did you get first?” Roxanne asks, breaking the silence. Thank god.

“The barb wires. I thought it was really cool and it reminded me of lightning, which I was obsessed with Metallica at the time. Used to blast Ride the Lightning on repeat.”

I rub at the faded black ink encircling my bicep, remembering how cool and edgy I’d felt at 16, sneaking into that shady tattoo parlor downtown in Chicago with my fake ID.

Roxanne glances at the design.

“Yeah that checks out. You would have gone through a big metalhead phase.”

I chuckle. “That phase never really ended.”

“I bet you looked adorable with your mom’s eyeliner and an Iron Maiden shirt two sizes too big.”

“Oh come on, I wasn’t that bad.” But her peel of laughter told me my horror only amused her more. Worth it, I guess, to see her eyes sparkle like that.

They move over the rest of my tattoos—the graffiti smiley, the faded dahlia, the chicken on a skateboard. Each one holds a memory. Evidence of who I was, who I used to be. I started wishing I could tell them all to her, wanting to teach her all about me. To pull back the curtain and reveal everything I was and am. Scars and all.

Her icy fingertips land on the chicken next, pulling the skin of my right bicep around. “Okay this one has to have an entertaining story behind it.”

I place my palm over hers, forcing her hand to wrap around my muscle. It wasn’t meant to turn my blood hot, or give me a brand in the shape of Roxanne’s touch, but here we are.

“Daniel bet I couldn’t land a backflip off the apartment balcony into the pool. If I failed, he got to permanently tattoo his choice of artwork onto me.”

She throws her head back with a laugh that warms me more than any tattoo. “Let me guess, you didn’t land it?”

“Oh, I landed it alright,” I say. “Not perfectly enough according to his judgment. So I ended up with a chicken shredder forever.”

Roxanne shakes her head, still laughing. “I can’t believe you actually jumped off a balcony.”

“I was young and stupid.”

“You still are,” she throws back.

My hand falls, and her fingers start tracing the outline of the tattoo before dropping back to her side. I curl my own against the table to resist grabbing hers and putting it back because I really want her to keep touching me, keep laughing with me like this.

“I know lots about being young and stupid, but none of that matters,” I state, my tone turning more serious. “I want you to teach me something about you. I want to learn you too.”

Her body goes still, wet eyes searching mine. The garage goes completely silent again except for the rain pinging on the roof. I keep her in place with my eyes and release a tight breath, hoping I hadn’t crossed a line. We had always kept things light, superficial, and now I've cracked open a door we've both been carefully avoiding.

There's no going back now, but I'm certain. I want to really know her.

“What do you want to know?”

“Does the R stand for Roxanne?” I reach gently for the necklace hanging around her neck. Something small and safe to start.

“Rockstar actually, but spelled as R-o-x -star. My dad gave it to me when I was little.”

I lift the pendant, fingering at the silver R . There's a faint tan line on her skin where the necklace usually sits. She never takes it off.

“It suits you,” I murmur, and I want nothing more than to learn the story inscribed on every inch of her. The secrets whispered from her soul, replayed like lyrics on her perfect lips.

“He said I was his little rockstar,” she continues.

“That’s the cutest shit I’ve ever heard.” I see the green leaves between her eyelashes again. “Tell me more?”

“I was a daddy’s little girl alright. He’d blare Pink Floyd and Zeppelin while dancing around with me standing on his boots. Said I was destined to set the world on fire with my musical talents.”

My thumb continues stroking the hollow of her throat. Her nostalgic smile is stirring my heart too much.

Roxanne shakes off whatever was starting to go through her mind, and bats my hand away, clutching at the pendant. “Your turn—tell me something I don’t know about the mysterious Noah beneath all those tattoos.”

I tap my chin pensively. “Hmm well, I happen to make a mean plate of chicken nuggets. And I secretly enjoy watching Golden Girls.” At her incredulous look I shrug. “What can I say, I’m a complex guy.”

“Okay, complex guy. Now you tell me something real, something you’ve never told anyone.”

“Only if you go first,” I volley.

“Um…” She keeps toying with the pendant as she walks back to the stool, plopping down. “There was this one time I tried to make our dog run away because I hated her so much.”

Something like a snort and a scoff came out of me as I choked on the air. “How could you hate a dog?”

“Because my mom was basically treating her better than me.” Her shoulders tense. “Sorry,” she blurts out, horrified. “I kind of do that a lot where I say a thought out loud that's random and I probably shouldn't.”

Then her words come spilling out in a nervous rush that reminds me of her blonde friend.

“Before she got really bad, my mom would still make dinner. If I got home really late from work, she'd always leave me a plate in the fridge, but then there came a point where she just stopped caring all around.” She swallows hard. “I'd come home asking if there was any leftovers for me, but she told me that she fed the rest of it to the dog. Literally gave her mashed potatoes, steaks, whole chickens, and shit while I had nothing.”

“I…” I honestly didn’t know what else to say. What the hell do you say to that?

“Yeah.” She shakes her head sharply, a faraway look in her eyes as the story keeps pouring out. “One day, the dog got out when I came home. I didn’t even care, and part of me hoped she would run away for good. At least one of us could escape.” Her smile fades, leaving a single tear trailing down her cheek. “Until I started driving to work and saw the dog in the neighbor's yard, and I realized if someone brought her back and saw my mom passed out inside, they might call CPS. I’d get put with a foster family somewhere, with six other kids and still fending for myself. I grabbed the stupid dog and took her back home. Figured better the devil you know, right?”

I stare at Roxanne, stunned into silence as her story unfolds. The cruelty she describes, being deprived of basic needs while an animal was favored, makes my blood boil. Yet worse is the resigned acceptance in her voice, as if scarce food and a shit mother are simply unavoidable facts of life. As if she doesn't deserve so much better.

Why was her mom such a piece of work? Where was her dad in all this? How long has this shit been going on?

“Fuck, sorry...” Roxanne bolts up, fingers clawing at her necklace. “I didn’t mean for that to get so heavy.”

My grip on the table edge tightens. “Did something like that happen tonight and that’s why you don’t want to go home?”

“Something like that,” she nods, the muscle in her jaw jumping. “It is what it is and it was forever ago. I don’t need your pity—you're a punching bag, remember?”

But pain still has her shoulders riding high with tension.

“My mom drinks too. A lot. Just so you know you aren’t alone.” I gesture to the garage. “Safe space.”

If possible, she looks even more tense. She turns away from me, her arms wrapped tight across her midriff. Shielding herself from something far deeper than the rain-soaked clothes.

“Goddamn, Noah, I don't want to talk about it but now you had to go and say that.” She keeps her back toward me, one of her hands reaching out to trace the leather seat of my dirt bike. “My mom is in the hospital again. For drinking. Pills. Who fucking knows.”

Her hand flies up to her face, swiping at her cheek before pushing wet hair back over her shoulder. “I couldn’t sit alone in that house tonight so I… started walking. Wasn’t aiming for here but I didn’t know where else to go.” She sighs heavily, hand clenching on the bike seat. “I wanted to be with Tyler, but he’s visiting family in Michigan. Stephanie is on a date with your friend. And now I hate that I had to come here at all. I hate that you know what a shitty situation I’m going through and why I came here but…”

“Roxanne.”

“My options were limited. I really don’t want you to feel bad for me or to judge me, alright? I’ll be okay and handle it myself as usual. I just needed a break—”

“Roxanne, stop,” I interject.

She stands there, back still turned to me, her nails digging deeper into the leather seat. I want to go to her, to wrap her in my arms and shield her from everything, but I know that’s not what she needs right now.

“Look at me,” I beg, surprising even myself with how charged I sounded.

Her hands grab the hem of the sweatshirt. It's slow at first, the meeting of her red rimmed eyes with mine. Her cheeks are damp with more than rain, and the fucking lump stretches from my stomach all the way up to my throat.

“You don’t have to hate that you came here,” I tell her, keeping her eyes on me. “And you sure as hell don’t have to apologize for it. This isn’t pity. This is me giving a shit about you.”

Her lower lip trembles and my tongue tightens to the roof of my mouth as I turn, pushing the garage door shut to keep out the worst of the storm. I reach up to turn off the overhead light and it takes a second for the darkness to fall.

“Come here.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. She tenses, wriggling to protect her pride, but slowly lets loose and melts into me. We stand in the garage for a few seconds as warm tears fall down my chest, and her fingers dig into my back.

My soul fucking cracks.

Slowly, I lift her chin until our eyes meet in the shadows. Then I bend down and cradle her for one breathless moment before scooping her up and tossing her over my shoulder.

“Noah!” she gasps as I carry her out of the garage and kick the door shut behind me. “Put me down!”

I secure my arm around her thighs. “Not a chance.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Her voice high, but oh do I catch a whisper of laughter too.

“I’ll be damned if I let you walk home in this weather alone.”

“Noah!”

“Roxanne.”

She huffs, squirming like a wet cat. “Put me down.”

“You’ve got to promise to not hit me once I do.”

“I’m not going to hit you. Just—put me down!” Even through her protests, I feel her body relaxing as she rests her damp forehead against my shoulder blade. “I’m not a baby.”

“Sure, baby .”

That gets her trying to wiggle out again.

“I take it back, put me down right now Noah or I swear...” her threats dissolve into laughter that lifts my heart higher than the storm clouds above us.

“You’re soaking wet and small.” I drop her down on the sofa and toss her towel back over her head. Pulling out a blanket rolled up beside the fireplace—always there in case my parents show up unexpectedly and I need to hide some... recreational supplies—I cover her with it. “And you are going to stay right here.”

She stills at first, eventually hitching the blanket up tighter around her and burying her face into it.

“Thanks,” she grumbles, like she didn’t want to have to say it.

Never in the last two months did I think Roxanne Wishmore would be coming to my house like this and sitting on my couch wet from the rain.

“Do you have something dry I can borrow?” she asks, big doe eyes peeking up from over the blanket. “I feel disgusting right now.”

Whoever decided it was a good idea to give Wishmore the cutest puppy dog eyes in the world was a cruel fucking asshole. I clear the sudden blockage in my throat a couple of times and then lean back out of the Wishmore force field before my mind melts.

“Why? Are you planning on staying the night?” I tease, not waiting for her to answer before I jump around the couch. “There should be something in my room.”

I trot up the stairs with all the confidence of a man knowing he’s being watched. I travel over to my dresser and rifle through, bypassing the faded tees in favor of a black one that’s way too fucking perfect to give her (for reasons) and grab some sweats before hurrying back down. The sweats will be way too long for her, but they’re dry, soft, and warm.

“Here, you can borrow these.” I set them on the coffee table and point down the hall. “There’s a bathroom you can change in down there.”

As she pads off, I sink onto the couch, pressing cool hands to my flaming cheeks. There is rain still pattering against the windows flanking the fireplace across from me, turning the backyard into a gloomy dreamscape.

A delicate throat clearing dips my head back over the seat cushion of the couch. Roxanne’s got a whole new look of piss- offery on her face as her eyes dart between the B-52's t-shirt and me.

She crosses her arms over her chest and glares. Totally not happy with me. When is she ever?

“I hate you for this,” she grumbles, tugging at the shirt as if it’s made of poison ivy.

“Yeah, I think I preferred the wet look on you.”

A laugh lodges in my chest as I look her up and down. My sweats make her look like Cousin Itt as she flies closer to the couch, looming behind me.

“You’re a mess.” I click my tongue, reaching up to take the ends of her wet hair, rubbing it between my fingers. “Now, you are going to sit your wet ass down before you drip all over this house.”

Her breath slams out of her as she turns away, hair slipping through my grasp. My hand falls loosely over the back of the couch as she scrubs at her eyes, stomping over to the edge. A little aggressively, she throws the blanket around her the same way you would a cape, and collapses against the cushions. I have to lunge sideways to avoid getting clocked by her.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” I whisper under my breath once I’ve secured my own personal safety zone.

Roxanne mumbles something into the couch, burrowing until only the top of her dark head peeks out from the blanket. A moody caterpillar in a cocoon. I have to smother a totally inappropriate laugh at the mental image.

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up,” her muffled voice drifts up, crabby as can be. “You try having a stress meltdown in front of Mr. Perfect, see how graceful you are.”

I don’t dare tell her that watching tough and ruthless Wishmore so undone is more sobering than amusing. That underlying pain behind all her snarls and eyerolls sucker punches me every time.

I don’t think I can even relax until I know she feels better.

“Thanks, by the way.” Wishmore’s frown lessens. “You’re not a complete jerk.”

“Was that almost a compliment?”

“Don’t let it go to your big head.”

“I could see how you might’ve forgotten, because I’m an expert at jerkliness.” My arm stretches over the back cushions, fingers drumming with pent-up longing to stroke back her hair.

“You’re still a jerk. An... occasionally decent one, but still.”

“I’ll take it. You bring out the angel on my shoulder.”

My ankle crosses over the opposite knee as I look down at her shifting underneath the blanket. I start to inch my hand out, wanting nothing more than to pull her head into my lap, trace the outline of her face, follow the trail down to the two moles on her neck. To keep her warm.

It takes me entirely too long to feel brave enough to reach out, and that’s when it hits me that Roxanne Wishmore is entirely out of my fucking league.

She’s a goddess and you’re just... you. Know your place, dipshit.

I flex my hand, wiping the want away against my jeans. I’m only brave enough to lean over and tuck the blanket more around her feet.

“Still an angel to me, even when you’re covered in blankets and soaked with rain.”

“No, I’m hardly an angel,” she whispers quietly. “I’m just trying my best to stay afloat in the worst year of my life.”

Angel or not, right now she’s a girl battered by life who ended up here, of all places. I’ll be whatever she fucking needs.

“You are an angel,” I tell her firmly, standing up before I do something stupid like actually sweep her into my lap. “Don’t give me that. You’re doing a lovely job, too, even if you don’t believe it. I think you’re pretty kick-ass.”

My hand reaches out once more to toy with the ends of her hair, my free hand curling into a loose fist at my side. I watch her chest rise and fall, eyes drifting down whenever she takes a slow, steady breath. My stomach tightens.

“Eyes up here,” she taunts back to me, hiking the blanket to her chin. “Since I'm spending the night, that doesn’t mean I have to entertain you, right?”

The spell breaks. We’re us again—and yet somehow, maybe a new us too.

“I wouldn’t say that your presence is only for my amusement,” I correct. More like a dangerous addiction. “I like it when you’re around. You’re fun when you’re grumpy.”

Roxanne blinks, those fresh eyes turning soft and wondering. My own flicker down to her lips, and the urge to kiss her senseless right now and right on this couch is far too intense for someone who’s a bandmate. A storm of thoughts to match the weather outside is whats inside my head, and all I want is to wrap her up and taste her mouth.

Again.

God, do I want to kiss her. I always want to kiss her.

She ducks her head. “Does that mean you’ll finally leave me alone when I’m happy?”

“Hell no. I want to play with you regardless of your mood.”

Before I lose my shit and kiss her, I distract myself by tucking the blanket around her, nestling her in tight. “There. Snug as a pissed off bug in a rug.”

She scoffs, but color dots her cheeks. “You don’t have to baby me.”

I shrug, tracing the length of her nose with my finger. “Maybe I think you deserve to be pampered for once.”

My eyes do it again—trail down her body tempting beneath the blankets. She looks so inviting there, all cozy, soft and warm, finally relaxing on the couch. I hold for a second longer, tracing the curve of her hip with my vision as she nestles into a comfortable position, her lips folding into her mouth, her eyes sending chills down inside my stomach everywhere they move across me. My fist curls a little tighter.

“Why are you staring at me?” Her voice has no strength attached to it. She sounds small and almost scared. Embarrassed.

“Sorry, it’s just...”

I want you , my soul finishes while my brain screams abort. She trusts me as a friend. I can’t shatter that.

I step back, my empty hands clenching at my sides while I search for the right words, wanting to sit near her hip. Wanting to catch her rain-fresh scent, feel her warmth spreading into me as she waits for my answer.

“You’re just beautiful,” I admit. “Especially when you're not trying to be tough. When you're just being you. That's when you're really something else.” I outline the shell of her ear, pulse thundering at my own daring. “I could get lost for days mapping out the real you.”

Her lips unfold into a tiny ‘o’, eyes widening as she takes me in like she’s not sure if she should smack me away or bolt upright and leave. She doesn’t do either though, and we both stay suspended in this fragile bubble, breaths mingling, waiting… for something.

Normally I can tell what she's thinking, but right now I have no fucking idea what is going on in general aside from the fact she's the one that came to this house, and it’s starting to drive me insane.

“I’m going to be honest, Roxanne.” I move to lean over the couch, the wood creaking as I rest my palm against the back. “Right now, I’m debating whether I should pull this blanket off you and kiss you 'til your mouth gets sore. The thing is, I can’t tell if I’m having thoughts or if you want me to…” My voice falls off as I stare down at her, my face turning serious. “Neither one matters right now because you’ve been through hell tonight, so the timing isn’t right.”

“That would be a bad idea,” she whispers back, licking her lips. But she makes no move to lean away either, her eyes back to that grease stain on my chest. Her skin is pinker now too, a beautiful flush that I want to investigate, want to chase down to her chest.

I lean closer, peripheries blurring until only she’s in sharp focus. “Is it really that bad an idea though?”

“Very bad…” Even she doesn’t sound like she believes her own words. “It’s probably best if you go to sleep.”

When her tongue darts out to wet her lips again I nearly groan aloud, restraint hanging by a thread.

“How about this…” Her sweet breath teases my jaw as I lean in closer. “One single kiss. That’s it.”

One platonic peck and then say goodnight.

A slight smile forms when the blush on her face turns redder with each breath. She starts worrying her lower lip, and now I know she’s fighting herself.

“A small one.” I tug lightly at a few strands of hair hanging over the side of her cheek. “I’ll even keep it PG.”

She turns away but I pull a little harder on her hair, knowing the way she arches her back when I do that. She faces me again, sucking in that bottom lip even tighter, and I can’t help but look at her mouth.

I want it on me.

“You can have a small one if you promise it’ll stay small,” she speaks so low, fisting the blanket under her chin.

My skin starts heating, goosebumps rising with the temperature of my blood as she closes her eyes. I know I shouldn’t.

What the hell am I doing? She trusts me. Barely.

I really fucking shouldn’t, but I’m powerless against the way she makes my body feel. Her lips are right there, inches away. Waiting? Daring? Doesn't matter. You shouldn't.

My thumb ghosts over her bottom lip, teasing it from between her teeth. Softer than silk. Hotter than sin.

“I promise.”

But as I start to close the scant distance, I don’t.

With my hand fisting the couch to keep from shaking, my lips quickly redirect from hers, smiling as I savor the feeling of them pressed against the soft skin of her forehead, skin that tastes like the freshness of morning dew on grass, blessing her with the softest kiss that happens for too long to be platonic.

Every atom in my being is screaming at me for being an idiot and not kissing her perfect lips. I don’t care though, I still got to torment her somehow.

I break free, mouth crooked in a smile as I look down the length of her nose, staying near her for a second longer before leaning away. It’s slender, so elegant, with a gentle curve at the bridge.

It’s perfect.

“Goodnight, Roxanne,” I whisper, my voice sounding so thick.

An irritated groan comes from the blankets as her shoulders rise and fall with a heated breath. The sound sends fire licking straight through my fucking veins and I almost palm at my jeans. I can’t look back down at her, knowing if our eyes meet again my resolve will absolutely crumble and I’ll lean into the warmth of her lips for real this time.

“I take it back. You’re still a jerk,” she huffs.

My willpower wavers, so I allow myself one more glance. “I just had to know if I could.”

“I hate you, Noah Jackson.”

“Hate you more, angel.”

“You’re the actual worst”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Go away now and goodnight.” She flips herself over on the couch and shoves her face into the cushions with such an attitude that it makes my heart do a backflip. “Don’t wake me up if you bring another one of your lady friends over tonight.”

I bite my cheek hard. Is she... jealous?

“Does this make us friends then?”

Silence. A few hums. A few more moves of her burying her face in the cushions.

“I’ll think about it,” she finally mumbles into the couch.

As if we both don’t know she’s already made up her mind, walls or none.

“You should probably take note—I’m pretty determined.”

Her answering harrumph makes me grin wider.

Wiping off my shitty face before she peeks back, I make my way to the stairs. My lips are still tingling where they touched her skin, and I run my tongue over them, chasing the faint sweetness of her.

I start to move up to the second floor, pausing at the third step, compelled to glance back in time to see the way her body shimmies under the blanket. I can perfectly envision what her skin would look like stripped of everything, her hair undone in soft waves and her lips parted just slightly.

“See you in the morning, Wishmore,” I call out.

I don’t look back as I escape to safer territory—though her groan replays in my head long after I disappear into my bedroom and shut the door.

Sweet torture... but for her, always worth it.