Your Biggest Fan

26. NOAH

Chapter twenty-six

If it weren’t for the shattering sound of glass bottles as they were dumped into the beeping garbage truck outside, I would have kept sleeping.

The pillow is soothing my still aching jaw, and I’m too cozy and warm against the blankets infused with Roxanne’s sweetness. Tucked away from the world. From everything I know.

The morning sunlight streams in through the sheer curtains as my eyes crack open, bathing her dark blue bedroom in sunshine. I’m still lying on my side on top of the even bluer comforter, body in the same position as last night down to the arm crooked under my head and my other arm draped over my side. Still fully dressed too, wrinkled shirt and all.

Another rude beep of the truck moving on to the next house breaks the quiet, robbing me of my blue haven, followed by the birds chirping outside on the powerlines. I groan as I dig the heel of my palm into my right eyeball, rubbing hard until all I can see are the neon stars bursting across the back of my lid.

I blink away the fog, staring at the posters plastering her walls. DIO, Heart, and Concrete Blond amongst magazine cutouts of Nikki Sixx and Winona Ryder and a The Lost Boys movie poster. So very Roxanne.

I huff a sleepy chuckle, burying my nose back into her pillow, then glance over at the space beside me, where she’s still sound asleep.

She looks so goddamn cute it makes me want to punch a fucking wall.

Her hair is a mess across the pillow, liquid night strands framing her angelic features. She’s facing me, nuzzling the blanket under her cheek like a little hamster gathering fluff for its nest. One arm is folded up in a fetal position outside of the blanket, making her seem even more delicate.

I can’t peel my eyes away or even blink. Roxanne’s a white daisy in a field of black silk, all graceful yet wrapped in dark—a fallen angel with broken wings patched by the shadows.

Her lips part slightly, soft breaths whispering out my name into the morning air— okay probably not, but let me dream . I fight against the mind of my hand to move the hair out of her face so I can see every little detail, to see more of her brow that looks so smooth and free of “irritated at Noah” creases.

She must have taken her flannel off at some point during the night. She’s only wearing a black tank top, and I’m seeing her perfectly round shoulders bare for the first time. They’re dotted with the most adorable moles, little chocolate chips I want to kiss right the fuck off.

I can’t believe I never noticed how stupidly beautiful this girl is. The kind of beauty where you want to wrap your arms around her and squeeze the shit out of her, the same kind of beauty you feel when listening to the guitar solo of Lady Starlight . I want to spoon her little mossy eyes out and eat them for breakfast.

What is this girl doing to me? Where has she been the past seven years?

As I watch this sleeping girl make my heart slip out of my asshole, my mind drifts back to last night.

It happened. She finally opened up to me, lowering those fortress-like Berlin walls she keeps up around herself. Her voice was so soft and tortured as she told me things she said she’d never shared in detail before.

The emotional revelations kept coming, and I wanted to thank her for letting me into her room, for not judging me, and never making me feel stupid when it was clear that I was. Instead, I got the strength to tell my own painful secret, one that has held me down since the age of twelve when Dennis first twisted his fist in my shirt and threw me to the ground because I’d gotten in trouble for sticking a dried worm in a girls lunch box.

Not exactly sure how it happened. Talking about it is something I never do, but with her, I didn’t have to think about it.

In that single hour, I learned more about her and myself than I had since school started.

When we finally drifted off, it felt different between us. The whole Berlin barricade gave way. A bridge built over the stone crumbles of what once divided us.

I can still feel the press of her palms over my ears, and I feel lucky to be let into her world, to be here with her this morning.

Most of all, I’m thankful that Ian decided to kick me out of the band.

I should send him a fruit basket, I snort to myself, covering my mouth with the crook of my elbow as I let out a massive yawn. Inhaling, I catch a whiff of Roxanne’s baked goods smell—sugar and spice and everything nice—on my skin.

“Close your mouth,” she mumbles then, eyes still closed.

I freeze mid-stretch. “I’m literally yawning.”

Please tell me she didn’t notice me gawking like a creeper.

One eye cracks open to peer at me. “Your mouth is open, which means you're about to talk, and I can't be talked to until I have at least an ounce of caffeine in me or eat the old pizza under my bed.”

Her lip quirks up with the sass, and fuck… it’s so cute. Especially with her resting on her pillow with that sleepy look in her eye.

“You know, this is why vampires never sleep,” I play back, stifling another yawn. “Because girls tell them to close their mouths and stop yawning and they’re like 'oh okay I guess I’ll never sleep again.'”

Naturally, Roxanne retaliates by rolling over dramatically, tugging the blanket out from underneath me. She keeps rolling until she’s wrapped herself up into a literal burrito of blanket, leaving me laying on her bare turquoise sheets.

“Don’t take the blanket you wench,” I protest, reaching out to tug at the edge of her comforter. “This is why vampires wear capes.”

She laughs into her cocoon. God, even her morning grumpiness is fucking cute.

I’m so screwed.

After a few more failed attempts at unwrapping her, Roxanne shimmies the blanket down until it’s below her armpits. She slips her arms out and rolls over to face me, body still snug in the blanket around her.

She reaches up and pushes the wild strands of bedhead hair out of her face, throwing it behind her shoulders. Then she rests her cheek in one hand and looks down at me, her eyes still heavy with sleep but crinkling from the smile that reaches them.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” I reply, rolling onto my side to mirror her position. Her tone is so sunny, so smiley, I have to check the two moles on her neck to make sure it's really her.

Golden sunlight catches on the silver of her necklace, making it glitter, and I reach out to gently touch the letter, rubbing my thumb over the smooth metal. Red splotches start to spread across her chest when my fingers brush the skin there, and my eyes fall down.

The heat rises off her, and I spot the outline of her bra under the thin tank top, the rise and fall of her breasts synced with her racing heart. The hard little points of her nipples are poking through her shirt, staring right at me.

How the hell did I miss this before? I’ve never noticed her body like this. She’s got a large chest for her size that runs my mouth dry, and I’m stunned by how I’ve overlooked it all this time.

Yeah. So screwed.

I straighten the necklace, running my finger under the beads until the pendant sits perfectly in the middle of her. My nails lightly trail down her chest, and just as I notice her eyes following my hand’s path, the blood in my veins freeze to ice when I’m wrenched back to real life by a voice.

“Roxy, sweetie? Are you awake?”

Her eyes snap up, and my hand quickly moves away from her neck. Before Roxanne says anything, an icy hook curls underneath my navel and ripples throughout my entire body, stretching from the center and out to my fingers and toes, when the knob to her bedroom door starts to jiggle.

Oh shit, this isn’t going to be good.

I can guess that Roxanne is equally freaking out, because she jumps up in her blanket cocoon, fighting for her life to get out of it as she shouts, “Yeah! I’m awake!”

Her sudden change from sleepiness to fright is laughable, but I smack a hand over my mouth realizing we're most definitely, absolutely, totally, fucking screwed right now.

“It’s almost 8, aren’t you supposed to be at school?” Her mom says from the other side. More door knob jiggling. “Can you let me in?”

“I’m changing!” She whips towards me, eyes bulging and finger stabbing towards the window.

When I don’t immediately leap into action, she crawls across the bed on hands and knees, and pushes me off the mattress. I catch myself with my feet, blinking at her now rushing toward the window and furiously throwing the curtains open, shoving the panel up, and throwing my shoes outside.

“You need to leave right now,” she whispers quickly, and even though the cold morning air whooshes in through the escape route, the fiery blush blooming across her cheeks isn’t calming down in the slightest.

I can’t help it any longer. I have to laugh.

“God, you are so precious,” I gasp between chuckles, clutching my side as her mother’s voice drifts over to us.

“Noah, I’m not joking anymore. You need to leave now!”

But the sight of her—hair wild, tank top sliding off her shoulder, nose scrunched adorably, the anti-Noah brow cranked to the max, comforter pooling down at her feet—it’s too much.

“You mean I don’t get to meet your mom?”

The crazy haired girl closes her slacked jaw before promptly screwing her face up and whisper-shrieks, “This is seriously not funny, please just get out!”

Roxanne sounds seconds away from a meltdown, and I, who’d been less than helpful by taking in her bare stomach because her shirt rode up—cute little belly button I’d kill to know intimately—and the sweatpants that are oversized on her, break from my daydream.

I drag my eyes back up to hers. “What, I don’t get breakfast? Not even a Pop-Tart for the road?”

“Just go!” she hisses. “Before my mom goes nuclear on me.”

“Everything okay in there?” her mom calls.

“Yeah, one second!” she shouts again, then whips back to me. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to do.”

The last time I’d heard those words, she attacked me with her lips, and I wish, desperately , that she will take pity on me and break her rules to do it again.

Roxanne bounds toward me, placing her hands on my chest. My teeth sink into my bottom lip as her fingers splay across my shirt, her face so close I’m able to count those freckles across her nose.

But then her hands slide down to my stomach, backing me up until the backs of my knees hit the window ledge.

This is it. She's gonna—

She pushes me backward, and my heart stops in my chest as I plunge at what seems a million miles an hour.

The ground comes up quick—and hard—and I land in what I thought would be a pile of soft grass, but instead, it’s like hitting bricks—bricks still cold and wet from the rain last night.

It only offers me two seconds of mercy before the pain registers in my tailbone, and I start to groan. My ass is throbbing, and the sting slowly moves up my spine.

Roxanne’s stream of cursing, protests, and apologies spilling from her mouth is above me as she stumbles over the blanket pile on the floor at her feet, whipping around to face me once more before slamming the window shut. She glares down at me as if she’d been grounded for life, and my heart beats with guilt.

I feel like an ass, and I’m not even sure why. But it makes me want to crawl back into her room and wrap her up in her blanket all over again.

Maybe some groveling doughnuts left in her locker would smooth things over.

“Shit.” I sit up, groggy as I expect one does after being shoved out a window, and hold both hands up in the air with an apologetic grin as she shuts her curtains.

I scramble to wipe off the dirt from my ass and lay on a thick layer of rushed curse words as I stretch my back out, trying to crack it. Then I haul ass home.

When I do make it, after burning the muscles off my calves to jog the whole way here, I’m left with another pile of cash, and Dennis gone, only this time my mom is still here, asleep in their bedroom.

I start pulling on a new pair of light jeans from my dresser, teeth gritted and heart thudding in my chest as I put on a black button-down shirt that’s a size too big and has pearl snap closures because it’s slightly cold for mid-October. I leave it unbuttoned over a faded white tee and throw my red jacket over all of it.

The last thing I need to do is shrug on my backpack, then hightail it to class. Shockingly, my fingers turn to butter when grabbing my keys, fumbling them on the way down the stairs and out the door. I even miss the keyhole on my bike entirely before managing to finally lock it in.

My head is still spinning from being airmailed out a window by an adorable PMS-ing she-demon. But what matters infinitely more is getting my ass to class on time to cool down the wrath of Mrs. Taylor.

And to make sure Roxanne isn’t pissed and hating me after all of this.

Even though she said it was okay staying and sleeping in her bed, the look on her face when she shoved me out the window said it all. I went too far not leaving last night.

Is she mad? Embarrassed? Amused? She told me herself she hated being open in front of me, and nothing is more vulnerable than seeing someone’s eyes open for the first time in the day. Or their mom—that they hate—bugging them on the other side of her door.

She guards her soft side like a dragon with jewels. Finding a near stranger touching you first thing would freak anyone out. I kicked those fortress walls right back up, didn’t I? Now her anxious mind’s replaying the entire situation and chewing on regretted overshares while deciding she shouldn’t trust me with such private information ever again.

She gifted me honesty—I can’t lose that now.

I park my bike in the usual spot by the front sidewalk, barely bothering to kick down the stand before letting my helmet dangle from the handles. No time for neatness. I’m already twenty minutes late.

At least the journey gave me time to spin an excuse. Doubt Mrs. Taylor would buy the ‘saved an orphan from a burning building’ line again. Maybe ‘abducted by aliens’?

Nah, too far fetched.

I race across the lawn, leap onto the walkway, shove through the front doors, sneakers squeaking on those shiny floors as I zoom past the rows of lockers until I burst through Mrs. Taylor’s class. I skid to a stop when all twenty-four eyes are on me, plus the Arctic mega-glare from the queen herself.

“Mr. Jackson. Glad you could finally join us,” Mrs. Taylor says, her tone as tight as ever.

“Sorry, I uh... overslept,” I mumble with patented grin #2.

“Please take a seat so we can continue.”

I fold my lips behind my teeth and jerk my brows up, strolling past the first rows of students.

“We’ll discuss your tardiness after class,” Mrs. Taylor drops. “Now, as I was saying...”

My eyes lock onto Roxanne on autopilot as I walk down the back row to our corner. She peeks up from her seat once, decked out in a flannel as always, but today it’s stonewashed jeans instead of shorts. Her chocolate lips twist to the side, and her cheeks turn that delicious little shade of pink, matching the scrunchie around her wrist that I know she probably borrowed from Stephanie.

She’s definitely got last night and this morning on her mind too. Well, at least she’s not tearing into me. Yet. She’s not in full Godzilla mode, but perhaps mild Mothra mode.

I sink into the desk beside her, slinging my backpack over the chair. Mrs. Taylor drones on about Wuthering Heights , breaking down Heathcliff’s eventual descent into bitterness and vengeance. I snort quietly to myself.

Nothing like bottling emotions to rot you from the inside out.

I dig in my notebook and rip out a scrap of paper. I scribble a quick note to Roxanne: How’d you sleep, sunshine?

I fold the note into a tiny square and hold it between two fingers. With Taylor’s back turned, now expounding on the dangers of unexpressed feelings, I extend my hand towards Roxanne’s desk.

She eyes me skeptically before snatching it from my fingertips. My gaze stays on her as she unfolds the note, as quiet as a bull in a china shop, the paper loudly crinkling underneath her desk, dark eyebrows raising. I bite my lip to hold in a laugh as she clicks her tongue.

Overacting casualness, she throws herself over her desk to shield The Note, scribbling down something.

Her elbow knocks her book down to the floor with a loud boom. She freezes to look up before she holds the note out to me, eyes darting to the side to check the room for witnesses.

This girl is something else.

I open it eagerly. She’d written one word: Fine .

I wheeze, covering my mouth with a fist to disguise my outburst as a coughing fit. All that panic for something so simple?

I grin, then write back: Do you dot all your I’s with hearts?

I fold it up and flick it her way.

Do you always snore? She wrote, her neat cursive flowing across the page.

Do you always sleep in the fetal position? I put a tiny heart for the dot in the i and look over to see her reaction. Talking to her feels like finding a string in your sweater and pulling it, only for it to never stop coming out.

She wrote: Do you always ask so many questions?

Only with you.

I slide the note back to her and watch as she scans my words, lips pursed to hide a smile. She bends over the paper, long night-dark hair falling over her folded arms.

Her reply: Sorry about the rude exit earlier.

You threw me out the window. Rude doesn’t even begin to cover it. But you’re forgiven. I probably deserved it.

I pass the note and see more color on her cheeks as she reads it. She bends over the paper again, scribbling quickly before dropping it in between us and sliding it over with the toe of her shoe.

I guess now you know my biggest secret. Noah Jackson has slept in my bed.

My heart skips a beat.

And next time I won’t be leaving it.

I flick it on top of her desk and cross my arms. She glances over, meeting my gaze for a brief moment, the hint of a smirk on her lips matching my own. Then, she turns swiftly back to the front, tucking the note into her pocket. I lean back in my seat, stretching out my long legs, and try not to fidget as I wait.

Wait impatiently for the bell to ring.

Wait for another chance to show her my better side.

Chris’ Halloween Bash was so popular last school year that I suppose I shouldn’t be that surprised when it’s all anyone was talking about the whole day, even Daniel won’t stop jawing about it as we grab our gear after class. Makes sense considering Chris is the king of zero parental supervision, so anticipation is high for more chaos.

When the parents are away, the kids wanna play.

“It’s gonna be sick,” Daniel says. “His parents will be out of town again, so you know it’ll be wild. I wish I could go.”

I nod along, only half listening as I picture seeing Roxanne there in costume. She'd be in something completely abnormal compared to most girls—like a RadioShack employee or a Rubik’s cube. Maybe she’d pull a risque move and show up à la nude with some strategic spray paint to turn herself into the physical embodiment of the Berlin Wall.

I might have to steal that idea for myself.

“Yeah, should be crazy,” I murmur, adjusting my helmet strap under my chin. Daniel leans against the bike rack next to me, flipping his skateboard between his hands.

“You thinkin’ of asking anyone to be your date?” he asks with a shitty little grin.

I narrow my eyes on him. “What are you getting at?”

“Oh, nothing… I only overheard that you’re sleeping with the enemy and I’m deeply offended you didn’t tell me yourself.”

I groan and scrub at my face, my Chucks scuffing the cracked asphalt. “I’m not sleeping with the enemy, you drama queen. Don’t even joke around about that.”

How are there already rumors making their way around? I didn’t need gossip spreading and compromising my standing with her. Even more irritating is the tiny part of me that wishes it was true. All day I’ve wanted to know what Roxanne might be like whenever she does actually like someone—how she acts and what she feels like when she wants to be touched.

Would her touches go from annoyed punches to soft caresses? Or did she like being a brat and would twist her fist into my shirt, pulling me into her?

Harley would know . Gross.

Bad train of thought. I try to kill that one immediately, but sometimes the image of Harley and his stupid fucking hairspray is like the Graboid at the end of Tremors when Kevin Bacon keeps throwing bombs at it but it just won’t fucking die.

“Why not? I heard Linda in geometry say she saw you sneaking out of her window this morning.” Daniel wiggles his eyebrows up at me.

“And you believed that? Linda?” I scoff, trying to cover up my tracks. “You mean the girl who’s failed every test and can’t remember her own name half the time? Yeah, right. Come on, Dani, you’re better than that.”

Daniel doesn’t look like he believes me, and I can’t say I blame him because my voice cracked on the last sentence, and my eyes kept shifting around the parking lot like I’m up to some shady shit.

“So, you didn’t sneak out of her window?”

Not technically. It was anything but stealthy.

I clear my throat and tug at my collar, avoidance tactics failing. “I went over to work on analyzing Heathcliff’s bottled up emotions for our English reading,” I mumble.

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

My shoulders slump. I don’t know why I’m hiding anything from him.

“Okay, you caught me. I may have snuck out of her window,” I concede with a sigh and quickly tack on, “but don’t make a big deal out of it.”

I cringe at his bark of laughter.

Daniel grabs my shoulders, shaking me so hard my teeth rattle. “Dude! You hooked up with her?! You’re gonna Yoko the band!”

I shove him off, scowling when I spot curious freshmen glancing our way. The last thing I need is more rumors swirling.

With more oomph in my voice this time, I say, “Daniel, it’s not like that. Don’t go making crazy assumptions and messing up band dynamics. Just trust me, okay? Please.”

“Okay, then what’s it like?”

Complicated. I shake my head, looking him dead in the eyes. “I mean, we did hang out in her room for a little bit. Just talked. And we fell asleep.”

Well, talked, laughed, sang along to records, and shared things I hadn’t told anyone else.

He didn’t need those tender details, or what had driven me to seek her out that night in the first place. It was all still our little secret. Meant for just us .

“Riiiight, an ‘innocent little sleepover,’” he throws back, jazz-handing air quotes. “With your pretty drummer nemesis.”

Oh boy. I lean back, hoping my hair will drape in front of my face to block his view of it.

“Believe what you want, but Roxanne is... a friend.” My voice falters on the word. “Point is, nothing remotely romantic happened and this stays between us.”

Daniel mimes locking his lips and tossing a key. “My lips are sealed, Romeo.” Then his smile turns impish. “Your secret crush is safe with me.”

“ Not a crush. She’s cute though, I’ll give you that," I hear myself say out loud, startling even me. Daniel straightens up his stance with the goofiest fucking smile and drops his skateboard to the ground.

“Aha! You do like her!”

I shift my eyes away, feeling a sappy grin surfacing before I can stop it. “I mean, objectively speaking, yeah, she’s attractive.”

“Objectively my ass!” Daniel crows, slapping me on the back. “Admit it dude, you’ve got a thing for Roxanne.”

I shake my head. She is cute, but that doesn't mean I have a thing for her.

“I'm not going to deny it. You know I like attractive people, and we both know Roxanne is attractive.”

“Humor me.” He leans against the bike rack. “What else do you like about Roxanne?”

What would I say? The way we can riff off of each other when I'm singing? Her passion for playing the drums? Her snarky comments, which always make me laugh? No, I can't say any of that, but Daniel's looking at me expectantly, so I find myself answering anyway.

“She's smart. I like it when she goes all bossy and takes charge.”

Daniel nods encouragingly. “Go on.”

I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck. “She's a hard worker, and despite being a complete pessimist, she's usually pretty optimistic about band stuff. I like how she can challenge me, and how her mind is always somewhere completely different than mine.”

“Keep it going.”

“I like that she'll never back down or sugarcoat anything. I guess I respect her for being strong and independent. Also, she's got a crazy laugh—you know, big, like, open-mouthed.” I sigh. “Oh, and she gets this little crease between her eyebrows when she's concentrating on a drum part. Fuck. And her eyes.”

“Anything else?” Daniel prompts, his grin widening.

“What, do you want a checklist or something?” I chew on my lip, thinking about her smile and the light dusting of peach fuzz I spotted on her cheek this morning. The way she smells like donuts all of the time, enough to make my mouth water. The way she taps her fingers against her knee and offers me a small smile that nearly falls me every time I pass by her.

My eyes bug out. “Oh, shit.”

Daniel stands up straight, patting his hands against his thighs. “What? What is it, boy? Timmy fell down the well?”

I start laughing, though I'm pretty sure I sound manic. “Fuck me. I think I'm starting to like her as more than a band member.”

Daniel throws his hands up. “Hallelujah, he gets it! Maybe you should do some recon on Halloween.” He crosses his arms, trying to act like the cool, aloof guy that he isn’t. “Maybe brush up against her in the crowded living room? Accidentally grab her hand instead of your red solo cup?”

I turn my gaze out to the parking lot. Looking for that monster car. I'm positive she'd slice my balls off with her drumsticks if I attempted to grab her hand. I don't think she likes having me around, much less thinks about me when we're not together.

Daniel isn’t wrong, though. Why not ask her to the party? That’s something totally and completely normal that friends do together. No big deal.

Behind his beanie, his dark hair bobs with barely contained laughter at my reddening ears, and I honestly have nothing left to say on the subject.

I quickly shoot out, “Yeah, maybe. I gotta make a stop at the record store real quick. Meet you at the skatepark in a few?”

“No problemo, dude. See ya there.” Daniel bumps fists with me and pushes off, zipping across the parking lot on his board.

Swinging my leg over my bike, neck burning from more than the sun, I gas in the opposite direction. I take the scenic route and head towards Main Street, zipping past all of the street lamps with deep purple asters hanging up that’ll be dead once winter strips off their petals, thinking about the record store where Roxanne clocks most of her hours.

I want to buy myself enough time to make sure she’s there and, let’s be real, to psyche myself up. I drive up and down the street twice, trying to weave in between the white dotted lane dividers while picturing her bobbing her head along to music, black hair swinging against her back, as she organizes albums. So fucking cute.

What I really want is to see fun, carefree Roxanne again like I had the night of the bonfire or the day she sang in the garage. I bet with the right costume and a few drinks, she’d cut loose at a Halloween party. Hell, she might even dance with me.

I nearly crash into a Honda Civic daydreaming about it.

Ask her to the party, I coach myself again. Jesus, why the fuck did asking her to a party feel like a huge task? This is the shit I’m good at. Girls .

It’s always been about the build up with those three key steps: flash them a little smile, charm her good, then swoop in for the final kill. I was Cupid with a skateboard and it worked every time.

Except… Oh, right .

Not on Roxanne though. She always sets me back to step one with those snappy comebacks. Made me work for those rare genuine smiles that lit her whole face up. Probably why I can’t get her out of my head.

She’d said, use your words Noah .

I shake my head. Please . Words schmerds.

Words don’t mean anything. It’s all about the actions.

My heart pounds like a bass amp as I park my bike outside the record store, next to all the storefronts and cafes decked out with fake spiderwebs. I crack my neck, taking a deep breath of that October air, trying to look—and feel—normal as I walk inside.

The bell jingles overhead as Fools Game starts spitting out from the speaker behind the register Angela’s guarding while blowing giant bubbles with her gum. I start scanning the aisles for that daisy in a sea of black satin.

Bingo .

She has her back to me, bobbing her head from the back corner as she flips through albums. As I expected. A silly grin spreads across my face and I lift my chin up as I brave down the aisle.

Her head tosses back when she spots me walking towards her and lets out this loud groan, but it’s missing that usual edge. She’s softening with me.

“What are you doing here? Come to torment me more?”

Friends do it all the time. No biggie.

Step number one…

“I came to pick out our next sleepover record.” My eyes flick down to a B-52's album and I grab it. “Perfect.”

Roxanne scowls, eyes scrunching like a pissed-off kitten as she snatches the album from my hands, shoving it back on the shelf. Yup, definitely a biggie.

“In your dreams, lover boy.”

I lean against the shelf next to her. “Well, we can listen to Lover Boy if you prefer.”

“Wow, you’re such an ass,” she says, rolling her eyes but not pushing me off. I lean in a bit, just to, you know, rile her up.

“I could have gone for some hard stuff like Metallica or Ratt, but I settled for the B52's because I know you have such a soft spot for dance pop, so I think you should be a little thankful.”

“How selfless of you.”

Step number two . I flash a grin and bow. “I’m all about catering to your needs.”

“Why couldn’t you have been normal and stayed away from my place of business?”

“Because where’s the fun in that?” I tease, nudging her, and am happy by the sound of her quick intake of breath.

It’s all a part of step two—light touches to get her heart racing.

“Of course, because I can’t get away from you at school, so why should I be able to get away from you while I’m having my private time at a record shop?”

“I didn’t realize browsing vinyl was such an intimate activity. Should I have brought candles?”

She shakes her head at me. “God, do you ever shut up?”

“You love having me around,” I laugh, poking her in the side. Another breath. “It’s okay to admit it.”

“You are the human equivalent of a mosquito,” she scoffs, though she doesn’t pull away when I rub a loose strand of hair over her shoulder between my fingers.

“And you have the bite of one.”

Roxanne gives me a hateful look before sighing and returning to the album selection. My skin prickles under her attention and I want that feeling back.

Yeah, no doubts left. I might be crushing hard.

“Is this how you treat all of your paying customers?” I ask, sliding closer and crossing my legs at the ankle.

“Fine.” She glances at me sidelong before she stops what she’s doing, then clasps her hands behind her back, adopting an overly polite tone while she sways on her feet. “Why hello fine sir! Welcome to Primal Vinyl, my name is Roxanne Wishmore. Is there anything I can help you find?”

“I don’t know, do you have any recommendations, bug?”

“Ugh, you’re such a pain,” she groans, though I can tell by the way her throat tightens she’s trying not to laugh.

“You love me,” I taunt. “Go on, admit it. Right now.”

Roxanne scoffs, throwing her hands on her hips. “As if! You’re a pain. You’re a huge pain.”

“I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

“I cannot stress this enough, you are a pain,” she declares, enunciating each word. “I don’t love you or even like you, and I definitely don’t enjoy being around you. I tolerate your annoying presence.”

I put all the worries out of my mind and slide down the shelf until we’re nose to nose. Roxanne freezes, pupils dilating. “I think you’re a terrible liar.”

A color rosier than a bucket of fresh picked cherries takes over the pale skin of her cheeks. She’s going to step away, so it surprises me when she digs her heels into the ground, setting my heart racing.

“I’m not lying,” she insists, trying to sound calm while we’re breathing in each other’s air. “You’re terrible at reading signals.”

I chuckle low in my throat. “Maybe, but I’ve picked up on one very big signal from you.”

Roxanne raises her eyebrows. “And what’s that?”

I gently tap the tip of her nose. Her eyes cross to follow my finger, lips parting.

Fuckfuckfuck . Good god she is cute. Harley can go fuck himself.

“This adorable blush that keeps appearing whenever I get close to you.” I drag a finger slowly down her burning cheek. “So, I know you must feel something about me. You want to hit me one minute, but then you blush for me the next.”

She sucks in a sharp breath, and takes a sudden step back, nearly stumbling over the album bins behind her feet.

“Am I wrong?” I smirk, knowing damn well I’m not. Girls don’t react that way unless you’re right.

“Dead wrong,” she sputters, sounding unsure as hell. “If anyone is crushing here, it’s clearly you on me.”

I make one of those ‘mmm’ humming sounds as I step forward, gently backing her against the other side of the shelves. “Yeah, busted. You caught me… I’m completely crazy about you.”

Her blush deepens, and she grips the shelves behind her, chest heaving. She opens her mouth, but no clever comeback comes out. I’ve left her speechless.

“I can’t even sleep at night. I can’t focus or do anything and all I want to do is walk around and sing your name… Rox…” I take a deep breath and start belting out in a bad imitation of Sting’s voice the opening to Roxanne .

“Oh my g—shut up!” She frantically tries to shush me by grabbing my face, shoving one hand against my mouth, and the other gripped around my neck. “You’re going to get me fired!”

I sing even louder and more off-key through her fingers, snapping my fingers while I’m at it. People are definitely staring, but I’m too fucking giddy off her touch, cold hand cooling my neck on top of her laughter that always adds an extra year to my life. She tries to smother my mouth more, her red face turning up toward the ceiling before she picks up an album from behind her and whacks my chest with it.

“You! Are! So! Embarrassing!” Each word punctuated by a thwack .

I capture her swinging hand there, tracing her knuckles with my index finger while I amp up my serenading. Her ears have to be smoking at this point.

Roxanne makes a strangling noise, sets the vinyl down, and then grabs me by my jacket collar, kicking over a display as she drags me behind a shelf out of view.

“If you keep singing that damn song,” she hisses, “I will do something unspeakable to your face the next time I see you.”

My heart swells. Maybe I should keep singing.

“Like what, sit on it?” I ask innocently, earning a middle finger right in my face instead. “Is that any way to treat a person who’s only here to invite you to a Halloween party?”

She crosses her arms and juts her hip out. “You mean another one of those boring bonfires?”

We’re officially in step three now. I fix my jacket around my neck, then slide my hands in the pockets, puffing a lock of hair out of my face.

“More like, Chris’ famous Halloween rager on Saturday,” I clarify.

“Oh, gross. A giant kegger.”

“Come on, you’re dying to go with me,” I cajole, eyes catching on a stray wisp of hair curling over her upper lashes.

“I’ll think about it,” she says, pulling my eyes down to her lips. “Don’t expect me to actually show up, though.”

She’s fighting me, which, to be honest, still turns me on as much as it did the first day she sassed me.

“Sure, sure. I’ll be expecting you to pick me up at 9 PM sharp for this party, Cinderella.”

I keep watching her worry her full bottom lip between straight white teeth.

“Okay Prince Pompous, I’ll grace your party.” Roxanne releases her tortured lip and smoothes her hands down her hips. My eyes follow where her waist dips in, then flares out to— Jesus . Still such a fantastic ass. “Only if Stephanie and Tyler can come, too.”

I can definitely work with this whole hard-to-get act if it means more of Fun Roxanne.

I step even nearer, hands itching to move that strand of hair. “Buying my time with stipulations? Naughty girl.”

She moves in, hands firmly on her hips, chest almost touching mine. “And you’ll meet us at Stephanie’s.” Her eyes flash warnings even as her smile turns feline. “No way am I catering to your ass by picking you up.”

“And why is that?” I ask, lowering my voice.

She leans in. “A real gentleman would send a car for his princess.”

“Now I rate as a gentleman?” My eyes drop to her lips before coming back to her eyes.

“That remains to be determined.” Her head tilts to one side. “I haven’t made my judgment yet.”

“And what exactly is the criteria you'll be using for this evaluation?”

“Seeing if you can behave.” She smirks and puts a hand to my chest, pushing me as she tries to put room between us. “And personal space is also a factor.”

I raise a hand, fingers tracing the buttons of her flannel. “Sorry, I didn't quite catch that.”

She swats my hand away. “No wandering hands, either.”

“When's the final verdict coming down?”

“As of right now, you're not scoring too well in the gentleman category.” She gives an innocent shrug, but her smile becomes something I see when I practice in my own mirror. “Could be as soon as you meet me at Stephanie’s house. Or depending on how the party goes. Who knows, but you'll certainly know when you've lost.”

The girl is fucking trouble for sure, and I like it. A lot. She doesn’t want to be swept off her feet—she wants someone who can match her volume, someone who’ll match her move for move, and still beg for an encore.

“You drive a hard bargain, but fine, you win this round.” I inch closer as my hand finally reaches out for that stupid little strand hanging over her face, wrapping it around my finger, rubbing it between the pads. It falls slowly back against her cheek. “I’ll come to Stephanie’s to meet you lovely ladies before the party.”

Roxanne lifts her chin, eyes sparkling while she tosses her long dark hair over her shoulder. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

And that’s how you do it ladies and gentlemen .

As I stroll out of the record store, I can imagine her cute little dimples without even looking back, satisfied that she won that fight.

I may have had her literal hair wrapped around my finger, but she has me wrapped hopelessly around hers, chipped nail polish and all.

Where Roxanne’s concerned, I’m sunk. Toast. Gone, baby, gone.

And strangely, I’m okay with that. I kind of love being under her power.