31. NOAH
Chapter thirty-one
I slouch back against the cracked leather booth of The Burger Shack, stretching my leg out onto the one in front of me, folding up a paper straw wrapper as I watch Roxanne squeeze ketchup all over her plate of fries across the table. Daniel’s yapping about taking Stephanie to winter formal, his mouth warping into a dreamy smile as he details his plans to buy a pink tuxedo.
I tune out his lovesick rambling, my own thoughts too far gone as they usually are. Even now, days later, my knuckles pulse when I think about how warm Roxanne felt up against me at that party.
Her tongue, her smell, the way she fit so perfectly in my arms, it had been the one bright spot in a week of pure hell spent at home under my stepdad’s evil eye.
He’s been home all goddamn damn week.
I grimace, taking a bitter sip of my Coke. I hate that she had to see that violent side of my messed up life. Witnessed firsthand how royally fucked my home situation is.
I had been so ready to take her to my bed. To finally have her, to run my hands over every inch of her smooth fucking skin, to hold her down and make her feel how much I fuck with her.
My gut tightens at the memory.
It tightens more knowing she’s not on the same wavelength and isn’t reading into my deep-seared, heart-filled desire for her. It’s more than my dick in my pants for me. She doesn't see me like that at all and, to her, I'm another warm body, someone to give her some much needed sexual attention. Me being a diversion to fill her days until someone better comes along, even as my own want rages dangerously out of control, cuts deeper than I knew it could go.
I can’t blame her skepticism. My past behavior fosters assumptions. Hilarious, isn’t it?
I guess I am getting a taste of my own fucking medicine now.
Still, I want to be around her in any way I can. I want to make her feel good and feel safe. I don’t care about myself because I care about her, and her needs and wants eclipse my own. That’s why I suggested that club. Somewhere open where I can’t put myself in any personal danger with her, where she can find what she needs. Where I can still be close by.
Public. Good for both of our health.
No, it’s not some ploy to lure her back to my bed, and yeah, it’ll tear me apart to see her crawl into someone else’s, but when I’m with her, the bitter anger and muscle-deep exhaustion I’ve been lugging around just fucking evaporates. I’m just here. Just with her. It just feels good.
I’ve been stuck in this pit for so long and she's my riot of color, shocking life back into my blank existence. The world's been a monochrome wasteland, but Roxanne cranks up the saturation until every surface is tagged with vivid color. The way she talks, the way she smiles are aerosol screams that mark me in ways no paint can and human hand has touched. I’ve been sleepwalking through life and she’s slapped me awake, noticing all the little things that make life worth the pain.
She woke me up.
All the shit that had sucked me dry is overflowing with life, and I’m excited for Halloween parties, English class, and sitting inside the lunch room.
It's temporary. This bubble we're in is fragile as fuck, and reality's got a nasty habit of bursting in. But for now, I'm riding this high for all it's worth. For however long she’ll let me sit in her glow.
For now, I like that she likes me enough to keep me around.
“You hitting up the dance?” Daniel nudges me.
I grunt, eyes fixed on the leaves outside. I'm pathetic staring out the window and smearing the condensation from my cup on the table with the straw square. Like I give a shit about some dance right now.
“I’ve never actually been to one before.”
Roxanne’s soft voice snaps alert.
“Seriously?” Daniel’s jaw drops like he’s seen a ghost. “No proms, homecoming, nothing?”
Those eyes of hers strike a razor-sharp arrow at my heart, and she shakes her head.
I cock an eyebrow. “Are you a dance hater?”
Her brown little lips curl up. “No, I’ve always liked the idea of getting ready and getting to dress up and all that. Like, just hanging out with your friends and taking pictures. You know, the whole prom queen fantasy.”
The way she describes it, so simple and innocent, as if it’s been her secret dream forever. And to never have had it... to be 18 and never been the most beautiful girl at a dance?
She deserves that. She deserves everything.
“Then why haven’t you?” I prod.
“I don’t know. No one ever asked and I think you’re forgetting that I have a bit of stage fright, so dancing is not exactly my forte.” Her eyes drop down as she absently stirs her strawberry milkshake. “Plus, I’d probably enjoy the getting ready part more than the actual event. Why waste the money?”
That seems like such a Roxanne answer. I can absolutely imagine her walking into the gym, taking one unimpressed look around, and bailing to get smashed behind the gas station with a box of donuts.
“Shit,” Daniel interrupts, consulting his watch on his wrist. “Gotta jet. It’s almost 9 and Mom’ll kill me if I don’t bring the orchids in. Good practice today, guys! Later, Nojo!”
He tosses some crumpled bills on the table and vaults out of the booth. The cheery jingle of the overhead bell marks his exit, leaving Roxanne and I alone in the quiet diner. It’s pretty dead inside, only her and I and the waitress in here.
I study her downcast face, wishing I could smooth away the fold between her brows with my thumb.
I take my leg off her seat, an idea starting to form. One of those bad ones. Probably the dumbest one.
“Well,” I start slowly, leaning in with a small grin that feels dangerous. “Now that Daniel’s gone, no one can stop me from asking you myself.”
“Really?” she squeaks, fumbling slightly as she tucks a rogue lock of hair behind her ear. “I—what? Go to... with you? You’d want to go with me?”
Shit . My nerves kick up under her astonished stare.
What the hell am I playing at? Am I trying to kill myself?
“You’ll probably need some dance lessons first,” I say. “Consider Cat Skull your practice run.”
At the mention of our future Chicago plans, her sunburst eyes dim, and she starts to toy with her milkshake again.
“Right, can't wait.” The frown in her eyebrows is back, creating more lines I want to erase.
“Although...” I prop my elbows on the table, the neon lights from the window glinting off my ring. “Couldn’t hurt for you to get some rehearsals in first. Now that I think about it, you could use some practice before Cat Skull too.”
She looks up, and before she can say more, I’m on my feet, bolting for the glowing jukebox a few booths behind her. I fish out quarters from my pocket, knowing I’m being a goddamn idiot, but I have to make her smile, make her laugh, and make her remember this moment.
I flip through the songs, seeing her reflection in the glass. Her arm folds over the seat back behind her, chin resting on her elbow, her eyebrows still folded together. It’s cute, the way she’s in a dilemma about what I’m doing but can’t resist being curious.
She’s in for a treat.
I feed the machine, weighing my options like they’re life or death. I queue up two songs, starting with Dancing with Myself , and I shoot her a pointed look as drums flood the space, miming exaggerated guitar riffs with my fingers against my chest. Through the window, neon from the OPEN sign paints her face in crimson and yellow.
“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m dancing in here.”
I hold my hand out to her and wiggle my fingers as I beg her to. “If you don’t, I’m going to embarrass the shit out of you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
When she remains anchored to the booth, not believing me at all, I shift my shoulders back and narrow my eyes. Have it your way then.
“Guess I’ll be dancing with myself then,” I sniff, spinning on my heel to set this place on fire.
I pull out one of the chairs underneath the table beside our booth, using it as a stool to step up on the table for a makeshift stage. While the song pumps through the air, fist raised microphone-style to my lips, I sing along, upping the stakes with a body roll as I point a finger out at her. Roxanne loses it, doubled over, gasping for air between laughs.
With every point, my finger gets closer and closer until I’m right in her face, pointing at her dimples as she laughs even louder.
I straighten with a grin as she props her chin on her palm, eyes sparkling. The guitar kicks in and I amp up my performance, moonwalking in the small space and gyrating my hips.
Chris has nothing on my table balancing moves now.
Holding my arms out, I keep dancing and singing along, hopping from one table to the other, pretending to lose my balance each time I look at her. My heart throbs when she looks panicked that I’ll fall, which only strengthens my moves.
“Noah! You need to get down before you break something!” Roxanne scolds through her giggles. Her eyes are bright, color high on her round cheeks.
Like hell I’m stopping now.
Screw the waitress who could round out from the back of the room any minute now. All I care about is moving to this beat and keeping that laughter coming.
I heel-drop off the table and hop onto the long bar-seating counter, letting the music possess me as the beat moves me down its length. It’s not just a song anymore. I’m not listening—I’m fucking feeling it. It's hijacked my nervous system, puppeteering my limbs with invisible strings.
I'm not dancing. I'm combusting. Every cell in my body is a miniature sun, and my body is on fire. The music, the movement, the madness—it's heated, intense, and it's all there is. And then there's her .
The key change hits, and I'm moving faster, my heart syncing with the rhythm as I skip over salt and pepper shakers. I throw my arms up and fling my head back, giving her the show of her life. I finish by jumping off the bar into a dramatic knee slide across the floor as the song climbs to its end, going out with a bang.
Hopping up on my feet, I slowly spin down the aisle and dance toward Roxanne as Billy Idol starts shouting about sweat.
The juke clicks over to the next track.
“Ready for your first lesson?” I pant, extending my hand again. This was going to be the good part.
Unchained Melody starts playing next, the sound a little crackly but the lyrics still wistful. And I see those two dimples in her cheeks go deeper, her bright eyes so soft and fond.
“There’s no escaping me now, Roxanne,” I threaten lightly as she stares unmoving at my palm. “I have all night for this.”
She groans at me, but caves and slides out from the booth, passing her hand into my waiting fingers, igniting that spark that races up my arm. My pulse fires as she follows my lead, and instead of my usual wild-man routine, I press her hand to my chest, wrapping my other arm around her waist to pull her into that beautiful, dreamy world where the only thing that matters is us.
I take her other hand in my own and hold her in our spot between the tables and the booths as if it were our personal ballroom. It's only her and me as we dance to the soft ebb and flow, our feet in perfect sync with the beating of my heart.
Roxanne hums along with the song, so genuinely wrapped up in the music. It’s rare to see her like this, or for me to even feel like this while holding someone. I can’t help but pull her closer to me like she is the most delicate thing in the world.
She is, though. My little daisy in the midnight silk field.
I make her twirl, her pure laugh bouncing off the walls with that sweet smell of the strawberry milkshake on her breath.
That’s when I want to do something I’ve seen in the movies—the thing where the guy dips the girl, bending forward to bring her down right at his level, and then he goes in for that sweet kiss. I want to be able to taste the strawberries on her breath.
Only this is too sweet of a moment to spoil with my own selfish needs.
As the music whispers into our ears, I bring her back against me, lightly pressing the back of her head with my palm to rest her cheek against my chest.
My chin tucks into her hair, that sweet warm bakery scent invading every hair in my nose and filling up every little hollow sac inside my lungs.
It’s amazing how she still never smells the same. There are always different hints of it. It has to be her shampoo or lotion, or what she’s wearing that day, but I know I can never get enough of it.
She’s my perfect slice of sweetness, and today she smells like dark berries and a burnt match.
For the next few seconds in which she stands this close to me, her hair tickling my nose, the world stops. It’s only the two of us—her soft fingers making my head spin, neon lights on the window casting shapes around the room, slow music that any other day of the week I wouldn’t usually be moving to—and I want to dance with her until my feet bleed, or someone yells at us to get out.
Something’s digging around inside my ribs. There’s been this thing stuck there in the dirt, and this moment is unearthing it, letting it expand in my chest until I can barely breathe.
When was the last time I felt this unencumbered? This fucking content?
“Noah?” Roxanne’s voice hits me, soothing and all things sweet. “Are we okay?”
I blink, startled. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve seemed… I dunno.” She pulls back slightly, looking for something in my face with her mossy eyes. “Off this week?”
“What? Oh—yeah no, I’m fine. Just… stuff with Dennis.”
The song ends and switches to something more upbeat. Roxanne jerks upright, swiveling her head in the direction of the door as if we’ve been caught robbing the place. I blink a few times, then card my fingers quickly through my hair before adjusting the collar of my jacket.
We both go quiet and I’ve had enough moments with girls to know when someone doesn’t want to be seen with me.
Yeah, that ice water came down real fast.
“I gotta say, for an anti-dancer, you’ve got some moves hiding in there,” I prod, searching for the girl who lets me in when I touch the right spot of her.
Her eyes are distant, posture rigid. “Yeah, thanks for the lesson,” she mumbles. “I should get going. Early morning tomorrow.”
My heart drops as she tosses some cash on the table. Mumbling that last part like she can’t wait to get away from me breaks something. Did I fuck up that bad asking her to dance with me?
I throw my own cash on the table and hurry after her when she slips out the door in a swirl of autumn leaves, emerging into the chilly night air in time to see her car lights flare to life. Jogging over, I tap on her window before she can flee.
Roxanne hesitates, then rolls it down partway.
“You seem to be in a hurry to leave me.” My breath smokes in the air as I lean on her door. “And here I was, thinking you loved my company.”
“I…” she pauses, her mouth slanting. “I have to get home.”
“That it?” I give the glass a light knock as she makes no motion to roll it down further. “Did I do something wrong?”
She finally rolls it down another inch. “No, you didn’t… really,” is what she says, but she’s staring straight past me. Something is definitely wrong. “I have to get up early and I already pushed off that bedtime by an hour tonight. I need to get some sleep.”
I don’t know why she’s acting this way, but I don’t like it. I deal with enough silence on a day-to-day basis.
As she moves to close me out, I catch the window, leaning down to lock eyes. “Do you wanna try that again? Why are you actually running out of here like I’m the devil?”
Roxanne worries her lip. The silence stretches, punctuated only by my heart beating inside my ears and the wind rustling leaves.
“What’s so wrong with wanting to go home?” She looks down at her body, then her gaze rises slowly to meet mine. “Why are you acting like it’s so important to keep me around?”
Ouch.
The way she delivers it, the way she doesn’t seem like she’s interested in extending the conversation…
“I’m sorry, I just... think I need to go.”
Even if I wanted to chain her here, I’ve got no right to make her stay.
“Okay,” I whisper, finally releasing my grip on the window and stepping back. “Then I won’t keep you any longer.”
I turn away, heading for my bike before I piss her off even more, and take the hike she so clearly wants me to do.
“Noah,” she calls out to me, her window still down.
I face her frown. The quiet in the parking lot continues to grow as she stares at me, lips opening and closing, reminding me of when you try to scream in a dream but can never get the sound out. Is that what I am to her? Some nightmare she needs to escape?
Right as I’m about to retreat back to my bike, she bursts out: “Did I do something wrong? Is it really your stepdad that’s had you acting off, or...?” She leaves the question dangling, but her eyes implore me to fill in the blanks.
No, this simmering mood isn’t a fallout from my latest fight with Dennis. Not even fucking close.
I pace about five steps closer to her, then turn my back and press my lips tightly together, the muscles in my throat pulling painfully tight.
“No,” is all I can get out at first.
I sigh into my hands, bringing them up to cup my face below my eyes. Another sigh, and I rub my thumb over my knuckles. My hand is healing, the swelling and marks starting to fade, but this , the rift between us, is getting worse.
“Then what is it?” she asks lowly.
Oh, I don’t know. In there, holding you, feeling you melt into me . She has no idea what that meant. For a breath, I forgot how impossibly out of reach she was.
I’ve never done this shit before. I don’t know how to use words .
What she's really saying is, “I wish I knew what to ask but I don’t.” And I honestly don’t know what to answer with. I thought about a lie and almost said it to preserve the peace, but I couldn’t do it. Not after she’d asked something I could answer honestly.
Power of honesty.
I lean my head to the side, sucking in air, then turn to face her.
“No, you could never do anything wrong. I’m just in a slump because I can’t get what I want.” Eyes burning, I lean into her open window, palm pressed to the icy roof. “And I think I can’t get to you. So I just need to get you.”
Her eyes, pupils blown so wide they’re leafless, stare at me and all my bruised longing exposed between us. I know it sounds threatening, but fuck, do I want her to know I would do anything —such as telling her my truths with her eyes on mine and a breath so tight in my chest that I can barely move.
The silence between us is agonizing. I’m at the breaking point when I finally manage to tear away from her.
Head ducked, eyes lowered, I tap the roof lightly and speak the words I know I need to say.
“Goodnight, Roxanne. Get home safe.”