34. ROXANNE
Chapter thirty-four
Initially, I felt so horrified by the ugly truth that Noah had so obviously brought me here to cruise for girls. The sane way for me to react is to start running until my lungs burn and my legs give out. Who cares how I’d get home? I could figure that shit out later while I rage-cried my way through the city streets.
Anything would be better than being forced to watch him flirt with a girl who looked like she’d stepped off a runway and into my nightmares.
Walk away, Roxanne. For the love of God, fucking walk away.
A mistake, apparently. That was what led Noah to his next action.
Snarl on his lips, he ignored me and now has his hand under my skirt. With the fabric all the way up to my hips, his fingers have nothing but my tight little tights and my red, soaked panties against them.
And I can feel every bit of him pressing against me. Every callus, every ridge of his fingerprint dragging against me.
Fingers that are so warm, slipping up and down so delicately smooth, yet slowly and frustratingly so because of how much I’m craving more. More warmth. More heat.
More, more, more .
His breath fans across my mouth and I don’t care that there is a toilet right beside me. My body is trembling beneath his hands, vibrating like the strings on his guitar as he plays with me, my grip on him tight enough for him to feel my nails through his jacket.
“You can tell me if I go too far,” he rasps, eyes on me, watching me . “We won’t have to stop but I’ll move slower. I want to make this good for you.”
“Noah, stop talking—” The cotton between my legs grows slicker. “Don’t be so nice right now.”
The pad of his finger presses against me again, firmer than before, and a noise I’ve never made for anyone spills deep from within my throat.
“Sure thing, mistress.”
Oh, god .
I’m trying not to overthink what’s happening. I don’t want to think about what he has to be thinking seeing me like this, whether I’m being loud enough for him, if my body is pretty enough, or if he’s enjoying himself as much as I am. It would make me too nervous.
For once, I let my head turn off.
It’s in the silence of my mind that I realize I don’t care what Noah thinks of me. Not because I think he’s below me, but because he’s already made me feel incredibly beautiful, desired, and reckless in so many ways. He makes me believe I'm a goddess capable of anything, and I know he wants me.
I want to feel. I want to feel everything.
I want to feel more .
My eyes fall down to his waist and I glide one hand up his stomach, my fingers dipping through every crevice while I slide against his hand. God . I want him to rip my tights down and tear me to shreds. He’s so hot right now and even he looks like he knows we're about to break every single rule I set for us.
I spread my legs wider to make more room for him, wanting him to take me while I’m so achy and empty and hollow, waiting to be filled with his touch. I need more before I fist his jacket and take it myself.
I just want to make you feel good.
Impatience fizzes up in my chest like that Dr. Pepper can and I take his wrist out of my tights. Sinking my claws into his chest, I push him backward until he hits the other side of the stall.
In a snap, I’m not just aching for him anymore. That little primal, touch-starved gremlin, the one that’s been locked up inside of me, is ripping the chains off and running wild and free and making all sorts of Tasmanian devil noises as I reach down between my legs, stick my fingers into the hole of my tights, and pull.
Noah’s chest caves, and I lock eyes with him, knowing he’s watching me while the fabric slowly frays until it completely tears open to my panties.
Now, he looks at me from a different side and all I feel is heat. The heat of his gaze, the heat of my exposure, the heat of my need.
His eyes show him thinking the same as me, and I want it. God, do I want it.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” he growls as I pull him back, my lips falling open as soon as my back contacts the smooth metal.
Our motions are hurried as I open up my legs, seizing his wrist and putting him right back where I want— need —him. He bunches my underwear to one side, one palm back on the edge of the stall, and steps closer until I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
The stall becomes our stage.
Madonna’s Like A Prayer starts to filter from the other side of the wall, and I can’t help but hide a smile behind my bottom lip.
“What do we do if someone comes in?” I ask though I don’t give a damn.
“Then you better be quiet.” His head snaps downward to get a better glimpse of what he’s doing to me, running his fingertip across the length of my slit, teasing but not yet going past the skin. His touch lingers there, almost daring me to make a sound before finally swirling his fingers against me. “Or they can watch.”
A wicked smile plays on his lips when he does just that, dazzling and disorienting me until my knees buckle.
My composure and sense of rational thought abandon me completely. That pianist’s finger glides down on me, and I already bite back a groan, my chest rising faster with every heavy breath as he watches himself work against me, how he’s touching me.
My hands fist against the wall at my side when he starts to press inside me lightly, a gentle in-and-out focusing on my entrance that must be meant to make sure I’m not in pain, but is so doing the opposite.
And I want you to tell me when it does.
“That feels good.”
“This?” His eyes lift up to mine as he gently pushes past his first knuckle, pulls back out slowly, then back in.
I nod, breathless and wishing I could squeeze him between me. “Yeah… really good.”
“That’s good,” he whispers, nose skimming down the length of mine. “I want you to feel good. Need you feeling only perfect.”
His parted lips and the way the cords of his neck flex as he inhales intensify the storm brewing through my body. I lick my drying lips, his stare alone sparking the wildest tempest, and when he finally slides a finger in all the way, those dark ocean eyes descend to between my legs.
A tight smirk forms on his lips, the whirlpool igniting, tightening my gut.
“Has anyone ever made you feel good?”
“No… no one… no one else,” I whisper in between breaths, my voice weak.
I’m embarrassed to say it, but the truth is there. It’s in my muscles tensing, preparing for something, the sensation like electricity moving down my spine.
“Ever?”
“Never.”
“Good god, you’re about to really fall in love then.”
If he weren't making me feel so good when he slides out of me, taking the warmth with his finger as he circles my throbbing clit before pushing back inside, I’d kick him.
“I’m seriously the first person who’s ever made you feel this good?”
“Yes.” I don’t think, just speaking from the heart. “You’re the first, and I need you to shut up and give me everything.”
Noah stops for a heartbeat to look at me when I say that, fixed on me like he’s in pain, and the only remedy is lowering his mouth toward mine. We share breaths as he kisses me, his free hand moving up my neck to slide through my hair, then his lips brush across my cheek to whisper into my ear.
“Roxanne, you have no idea how much I’m going to give to you. You’re going to remember who made you feel so dirty and so good at the same time.”
I hope he’s right.
Noah’s energy is hot and determined as his lips work magic at my skin, and his thigh presses between my legs, parting them with quiet insistence.
Warmth beats out of every single one of my pores while he draws my pulse to the surface of my neck as if taking blood from a vein, then soothes the string with his tongue.
My ears are ringing as his mouth begins to explore more of me, lips warming me from the crown of my head all the way down to the soles of my feet as he kisses the side of my breast. I’ve never felt anything like this before, and every nerve in my entire body is on fire.
Every inch of my skin is screaming for more touch, more pressure.
I grind my hips down against his knee, the denim of his jeans scraping against my inner thighs, and it should hurt, but it doesn’t. It just adds to the overload of sensations bombarding my brain. His hand is there, cupping me as his thumb brushes against my pounding clit. The pressure is...
More, more, more.
“Please,” I beg, my breaths coming in rapid gulps. “I need you to do more. Something. Anything.”
“I’ll make it feel better, but you’ll have to keep quiet.” His finger glides in and out, finding that sweet spot I’d only ever read about. “No sounds.”
My vision blurs when his lips find my collarbone, arching my body into him as he pushes two fingers inside me. They slide in smoothly, and I clamp my lips against a gasp from the cold band of his watch that brushes my inner thigh.
“You’re going to be uncontrollable for a couple of seconds, but that’s right where I want you.”
I’m… what?
His groan drums against my skin as I grip the sides of his jacket, taking control and guiding his fingers within me. I need to be fucked, ruined. My body begs for it as he moves inside me, the stretch and slide building the storm into a spiraling tornado inside, and the sound of our collision against the stall reminds me of two clouds banging together.
We are the thunder.
A burst of lightning-fast heat strokes through my bones, shaking my body with a whimper as his ring rubs against my entrance this time. Heat pools lower and lower as my back bows again, spreading outward with each touch of his hot fingers and the cold band of his ring, as reminiscent as sticking my hand underneath warm water after playing out in the snow. It’s new, it’s dirty, and it’s fan-fucking-tastic.
No, scratch that. It feels fucking phenomenal .
He knows it, too, because this boy doesn’t hold back one bit.
His mouth pulls back from my chest, and I’m mesmerized by the dark burn in his blue eyes as he lifts my chin with his free hand. Noah closes the distance between us in time to capture my moan in his mouth, a relentless blend of searing passion and intent.
The center of my thighs grows so slick as I tug at the front of his shirt, stretching that tsunami all throughout my limbs as I taste his tongue.
My world implodes into darkness as my eyes clench shut, reality shrinking to the electric points where my hands now clutch at his forearm beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his jacket, feeling the hard lines of his veins twitch against his muscles that flex as he pumps me harder and faster.
This must be the uncontrollableness he was talking about. Fuck, do I get it now.
It’s hard to be mindful of everything outside of these walls when he’s touching me like this. I need him so badly—I need to so badly let out the moan pushing against my heart, and holding onto him is the only way I can think to keep myself from screaming.
But it’s so damn good —his sounds, his fingers playing with me, his hand sliding down my throat, the calloused pad of his thumb drawing hot, teasing circles on my clit.
Noah’s hand leaves my throat to grab my thigh, hiking it up roughly. The seam of my tights cuts into my skin as he spreads me wider, splitting me open to him to drive his fingers in deeper.
Another sound builds in my chest. His knee knocks down the toilet paper dispenser until it’s half hanging on the wall beside me while his palm glides over my clit, the pressure bordering on violence as he plucks at the very heart of my pleasure, tightening the string in my stomach. It has to snap off any minute now.
I squirm my hips against his hand, each stroke and press adding to a building tension, teeth digging into my bottom lip as he watches the music flowing from his fingers and into my body.
“Fuck, Roxanne.” Noah’s response is a throaty murmur as we move faster and faster. “You feel absolutely incredible.”
He leans in, our bodies pressed tighter together, chests merging.
My eyes shut tight, surrendering.
“Put those eyes on me and don’t stop looking,” he commands. His hand slides underneath my thigh and pushes it to rest open against the wall, the heel of my shoe knocking the dispenser down to the ground. “I want to see you, the look on your face.”
God. He’s right. I want him to see it as much as he wants me to feel it. I want it so bad.
Our breath passes from him to me, from me to him, breathing it back in and back out. A cycle of sweetness that is sucking my soul right out of my body.
Noah Jackson—the soul sucker.
My eyes open to meet his.
His teeth tug at my bottom lip, and I can’t hold back anymore. I want nothing more than to scream his name, my mind unable to think of anything else. After all, it is a storm of biblical proportions, and I can only hold it back for so long.
My knees are on the brink of a mutiny, threatening to pop out of their sockets from how much I’m stretching to reach the top of the pressure inside me. My thighs ache, my toes curl, and the laces of my shoes start to feel too tight.
I feel the lightning of the storm intensifying, EKG lines flicking up through my body, moving from my center to my heart, spreading out to my shoulders and down to my fingertips.
It’s as if fucking Zeus himself is slamming me down with every pulse of the lightning.
Finally, I can’t help it. I’m letting out hisses and breathy sighs, my fingernails digging deeper into his body as I lose control. A moan rips from my lips and through the space time continuum, the sound so loud even underneath the music playing outside the walls.
Noah doesn’t stop the motion of his hand, but he does say quickly, shittily, “Damn, Wishmore, I think you want us to be heard.”
“I thought you loved an audience—” A sweat beads at my brow, mouth dropping open while my stomach tenses.
This isn’t me, this loss of composure, but god help me, I can’t seem to care right now.
His hand drops from my thigh to wrap around my neck, pinning me against the wall, inhaling and moaning with me. “You’re too fucking good for me.”
It’s frightening to feel so out of control with him, but at the same time it feels so safe.
My thoughts scatter like startled bats. Words tangle on my tongue, a jumbled mess of want and need. “I—fuck—just—please—”
“Please what?” he pants.
“Don’t stop,” I whimper out loud to him, my voice a strangled thing. “Please, for the love of all that's unholy, don't fucking stop.”
My hand flies to my mouth, trying to muffle the embarrassing sound of his name pouring out of my throat. But he’s having none of it. He takes a deep breath, the kind you take before plunging into icy water, and his fingers wrap around my wrist, gently pulling my hand away.
“I don’t want you to hide it. I want that voice all for me.”
His hand slides to the back of my skull, his thumb grazing my earlobe as I buck against his hand. That storm cloud tightens almost to the point of pouring now.
I can’t even think of something to say back. My usually overactive mind has gone blissfully blank. I’m too breathless. Talking… impossible .
“Let me hear it. Just let loose and let me hear you.”
I nod frantically, my free hand latching onto his shirt.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Hold on tight. I’ve got you.”
Noah’s touch is the flood. Forty days and forty nights of savage waves arc over my body in one heartbeat, all of it condensed into a single moment of pleasure so intense it threatens to annihilate me.
I slam against the wall, my fingers pulling at his shirt as the storm breaks. Lightning sparkles up and down my whole body, and I let it rip out of my throat in all of its glorious devastation while my heart beats against his fingertips.
Our cheeks are pressed against each other now, his breath passing over my skin in a steamy cloud. A soft, quiet moan pours out of me this time when he whispers in my ear, “Oh, god. That’s it. Just like that, my girl.”
My brain floods with a kind of stunned happiness, a dizzying wave of warmth fanning out of my body.
There are no thoughts. No words. No rational thinking here.
All I have is wow .
So… that’s what it’s supposed to feel like?
This is the big sensation. This is the big deal. I understand now why everyone is always talking about it.
I want this forever.
He continues to work me gently, fingers pumping slowly until my head goes limp against the wall. My eyes are so heavy, my back loose and warm as if I’ve stepped out of a hot bath. My arms are heavy, and my thigh muscles are too sore. I’m at peak exhaustion. Did I climb a fucking mountain or have sex?
My grip releases from his shirt, and my eyes fall to the loose toilet paper all over the ground from the broken dispenser.
It takes a moment to find my lungs, but when I do, I break out in a quiet laugh.
Oh, my god. Did we really just do that?
I can’t believe we did that.
Then again, I can.
“I—shit, I...” It has me at a loss for words as my hand covers my mouth. I had no idea that was something I was even capable of.
“Yeah…” Noah smiles softly, his hand still between my thighs. “Wow.”
“I did not expect my body to do a single one of those things.” The weight of my words hit me so hard. It reminds me of how much life I’m always missing out on. “Ever.”
“I didn’t either,” he murmurs. “With me, at least. I wanted to hear it. Feeling your body jolt is my defibrillator.” Crystal clear blues look down on me as he slides his hand out from between my legs. “I enjoyed that.”
“Did you?” I ask in awe, watching as he sucks me off his fingers, wondering what about that is so damn hot to me.
“I did.” His eyes are intense again as he watches me. “I think you’re the hottest thing in the world when you’re red, and I’ve been waiting to see you like that—to feel you. Even right now I’m still thinking about it so I’m a little unsteady on my feet.”
His smile is infectious, and I want to mirror it, but my lips stay pressed together. I’m too tired to do anything but slump against the fucking stall.
This is how I imagine breathing for the first time. Feeling something I never thought I would, like I’ve been freed from my former self.
My head is equally as tired as my body because I can hardly articulate what it is I am exactly feeling, and my fingers brush lightly against my lower lip as I bite it, breathing in the heavy air along with the memories that we just made.
What we just made.
Oh, jesus. Now the panic is setting in, and Noah notices quickly.
“Are you okay?”
I nod, swallowing tightly. “Yeah.”
His free hand grasps mine. “Breathe. You’re okay. We’re okay. You gave me a lot tonight.” His lips brush against the flesh of my wrist, thumb brushing the skin.
“We’re okay,” I repeat, body still shaking.
“Don’t worry. You just let go—that’s all it is. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Let go?” I ask, trying to understand. “Why couldn’t I do that with anyone else?”
Of course it shouldn’t seem that surprising, considering Noah always unlocks something inside of me. Maybe it’s the 60% water I’m made of and his skin is just like that of the moon, pulling on me in a way that other people haven’t been able to.
That’s how it feels, the pull towards Noah. An unstoppable force, never resisting.
Mercy me .
“I'm hoping it's because you've never felt safe enough with someone to the point where you could let go like that.” Noah lets out a slow breath, his fingertip moving down my wrist. “Otherwise that means no one has known what the hell they’re doing.”
“It’s probably that last one.”
“That’s definitely possible. No one has known what to do with you.” The smile he’s wearing sharpens, fingers trailing down my forearm. “They never knew how to treat you and that was their loss. Remind me to send them all flowers so they know what they’ve missed out on.”
“We don’t need to remind them,” I laugh, finding it odd that I’ve never felt half as good as I did now with him.
“You’re right. We don’t need to, because at least I have the honor of getting to be the one to see how fucking beautiful you are when you come.”
My lungs fill back up while I try to dial down my heartbeat all over again.
“I hate you.” I don’t . “It makes me sick how good at this you are.”
“You hate me now…” His eyes glance up and down my still bare thighs. “Give it time. I’ll make you love me.”
“I’d sooner die,” I reply without an ounce of malice.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t. Would ruin the experience for me.” He smiles, squeezing at my arm. “Are you okay now? Feeling light headed at all?”
Saying something like, “you know what, actually I am a little bit light-headed,” seems like the correct response, but that’s a lie. What I’m really feeling is more intense than any drug or high, and lightheaded is the last word I would use to describe this.
“I’m feeling… more than okay,” I whisper, my eyes never leaving his. “Do you think you can take me home now?”
“Can’t handle walking on your own?” He grins at the same time I pinch the strong vein in his forearm. “You sure?”
I nod my head, so ready to fall into my bed and avoid processing all of this.
“There is one thing that’s for sure,” I say. “I won’t be able to listen to Madonna the same way again, ever.”
His laugh hits my eyes and he adjusts my skirt until it looks like nothing ever happened. I yelp when he pats my ass to start walking once he opens the bathroom stall, and I can hardly feel my thighs from how weak they are as I walk out from under his arm.
He doesn't let me get too far before he whispers one more thing from behind in my ear.
“I want to ruin every song for you.”
The drive home is complete torture, and it isn’t because of my body pressed against Noah’s back. My arms are so tired, and my chest burns as I hold my breath, my mind racing as fast as the bike’s wheels, questions and daydreams rotating on repeat.
I don’t know what is supposed to happen next between us, but what has happened is all I can think about. It gets to the point that I’m so sick of hearing the voice inside my head, that as soon as the clouds start to pound down hard, putting us in the middle of a rainstorm once we cross over into Bellpond, I’m happy about it.
I stick my hand out, catching all the droplets that are pellets against my skin, and make Noah hold his hand out too to catch the drops with me.
He lifts one hand from the bar, raindrops splashing his strong fingers. I trace drippy hearts and stars on his back with my nail as we sail through the storm, the artwork washing away as quickly as I can doodle it.
I’m not ready to talk about what happened between us. I’m completely content to keep replaying every little detail in my mind on an endless loop, and press my lips into the back of his jacket where I still feel the tingle of his touch tipping my chin up as he brought the cigarette to my lips. Good lord .
Nothing before has ever made me feel the way I did in that bathroom stall.
Now I crave more of him, as much as my conscience knows I should tap the brakes.
When he drops me off in front of my house, neither one of us can find the right words. I stand there like a clueless, rain-soaked noodle, scuffing my Converse against the curb and chattering out nonsense syllables while I will him to speak.
He just grins, water dripping from his dark curls as he murmurs, “Goodnight, Roxanne.”
I mean, yeah, it is mid-hurricane outside. Not exactly the best moment to ask someone what we’re supposed to do now, probably? I swallow the questions on my clumsy tongue. Whatever we are supposed to do, it feels easy enough to leave it at a nod and shut the front door behind me.
At least that’s what I go to bed thinking that night, and the next night, but then I wake up at 4 AM Monday morning and try to tell myself all of that again while I stare up at my dark ceiling.
I cannot get back to fucking sleep.
It isn’t quite as bad as the tossing and turning from last week, where I thought Noah was too embarrassed to be around me after Halloween night, but it's still driving me up the wall.
God, I'm such a train wreck.
Not your average run of the mill disaster, mind you. We're talking full-blown, multi-car pileup on the interstate, with flames licking the sky kinda catastrophe.
Not even Noah Jackson gets to share the blame.
Oh yeah, Noah I-get-a-hard-on-for-Sharpies Jackson. The guy who swiped the Battle of the Bands trophy from under my nose multiple times and brings me a cherry Pepsi every time he shows up to practice.
The same Noah Jackson who had me seeing stars and speaking in tongues just a day and a change ago, all because I went and vomited to him about my— ahem —needs.
Fuck. I punch my pillow, laughing despite my embarrassment. I should have kept that to myself. But noooo , I am a trainwreck.
Moving forward, the smart thing would be to keep my distance, at least until I regain my bearings, but…
I don’t care about being smart right now. I’m sick of overthinking everything . I want more of those deep kisses filled with so much impatient want, and hidden knee touches.
His charms will eventually wander, but right now, I kind of love being the sole object of it. He’s never played things close to the vest—if he wants you, you know it, and his body Saturday night shouted exactly that. It feels so damn good to be wanted that way after so many months of being anything but.
The smart part of my brain can catch up later. Soon, I’ll be out of this shitty town and he can go run and tell his friends about his conquest of me then.
I don’t bother going back to sleep, buzzing with too much adrenaline to get to school. I can’t wait to see him again in person, to see what his reaction will be. Will he look at me differently now? Give me one of his smiles? Telepathically transmit his thoughts? Will he play it cool, pretending like nothing happened at all?
That last one makes my stomach cramp.
To make sure that won’t be the case, I take extra care getting ready in the morning. I go with my favorite pair of black jeans that hug my thighs, and a stark black tank top showing a hint of midriff. I let my hair air dry as usual, feeling it wet down the cropped denim vest I’m wearing too, and grip my shaky wrist to make sure my eyeliner comes out more perfect than usual.
Standing in front of the mirror, I slide my lipstick across my lips and feel this new, almost dizzying high of confidence I hadn’t realized was missing before. Something deep inside of me has definitely changed since that night. It’s as if I can feel him watching me even when he isn’t, and as I lace up my docs, I think of the way he looked at me—like he wanted to devour me whole, and I liked it.
I blow out my apple butter candle and shove my books into my backpack, sticking Angela’s top back in there too, and head out the door with an extra sway in my step.
I am feeling good . I want Noah’s eyes to follow my every move today, wanting him to wonder what the rest of me looks like instead of my waist down.
Nothing can stop me from teasing and tempting him at school. Whether passing in the hall or sitting together in class in first period, I’ll find small ways. A whisper in his ear. A hand on his arm. A note flicked at him.
First things first…
The horn of my car pulls Stephanie out of her house, the screen door slamming behind her. She hurries down the walkway, her pink paisley bandana barely containing the wild mess of curls atop her head. Her denim jacket and jeans match perfectly, an outfit I’d seen at least a dozen times before, yet she manages to make it look new every time.
We go through our usual Funyun ritual as she climbs into the passenger seat—her tearing open the yellow bag as I fish a few crunchy onion rings out. The flavor grounds me as I try to figure out how to tell her and Tyler about my crisis.
It’s not really a crisis, but more some highly confidential important information I need my best friend to know, because Noah probably told his best friend and my best friend is dating that best friend, so I have to beat Daniel to it.
Even if I want our relationship to remain a secret, I suck at keeping secrets from my best friends.
Gathering my nerve, the backseat creaks under Tyler’s weight as he folds himself forward. I flick the radio on, thinking maybe music will help buy me more time.
“Roxy? Earth to Roxanne.”
My eyes snap up to meet Tyler's glare in the rearview mirror. The Funyun in my hand is now nothing but onion-flavored dust.
“Huh?” I grunt.
“Do you ever listen?” he throws back with an eye roll. “We’re trying to figure out if we all want to go to winter formal together.”
My eyebrows pinch and I turn to Stephanie. “I thought you were going with Daniel?”
“I am, but I was thinking… you, Tyler, and Noah, too.”
Shit, does she already know about my night?
“I have dibs on Noey-bear being my date,” Tyler chuckles.
Double shit. I still haven’t told them that Noah “technically” asked me to formal.
Stephanie’s smile widens, and this is where that sense of déjà vu sets in.
“Yeah, that sounds fine,” I mutter through a mouthful of Funyun while going through the fucking stages of grief.
Why couldn’t my brain pick a goddamn lane? One minute I’m floating on cloud nine, the next I’m free-falling into an abyss of regret. Now, as the walls of my Chevy close in, and my friends’ expectations loom like guillotines, I’m drowning in a sea of my own indecision.
Why am I whining? I’d just experienced the most volcanic O of my life via quickie handy in a grungy club bathroom stall.
Is it pathetic that my sexual peak so far is from that? Probably. Now I have to casually disclose that gift to my best friends.
I toss aside the Funyun bag. My greasy fingers leave streaks on my jeans as I wipe them clean, steeling myself for the shitstorm I’m about to unleash.
Rip off the bandaid, you coward.
“I hooked up with Noah.”
Tyler immediately spews his soda, barely catching it in his cupped hands before it can spray us. I jerk back as droplets squirt between his fingers, splattering my cheek.
“Tyler!” I hiss, wiping a hand across my face. “Dude, you’ve got to stop doing that.”
“WELL, YOU’VE GOT TO STOP TELLING ME LIKE THIS—”
My hand shields his mouth.
Stephanie leans in, gripping her knees as she stares at me. “Wait, wait... you did what with Noah? Like… like, as in… did you sleep with him?”
“Not… exactly?” Heat starts to burn my chest as I pull my hand away from Tyler’s mouth.
“But something happened!” Stephanie bounces in her seat. “You did, didn’t you? You did, right? You… oh, my god.”
“No, nothing like that. He uh…” I wince, but there’s no other way to say it. “We went to third base.”
They both stare at me, completely and utterly stunned. I think they might actually be in a fugue state, and then I look at Tyler. His eyes bug at being told the best news ever, then he’s laughing, then he’s smiling, and in the end, he has the most smug expression in the world.
“You’re joking,” Stephanie slaps her hands over her mouth again, containing a small squeal. “You’re totally kidding. This is a joke.”
Tyler shakes me by the shoulders, grinning ear to ear. “Dude... you dog!” he screams. “How was it?”
“I think I can officially confirm that Noah’s fingers are talented in more ways than one.”
“Was it weird?” Stephanie asks while Tyler looks ready to faint. The entire exchange between me and Noah was as intense as it felt normal so I don’t know what to say.
“Honestly? It was… incredible, actually.” I pick at the beads around my neck. “It wasn’t weird, surprisingly. He was very relaxed about the whole thing after it was over. Calm, you know?”
Tyler squints. “Calm? Dude got to third base with you. He should be doing backflips.”
Stephanie clasps my cheeks, both of us not sure whether to cry or laugh at this news. “But… he… you mean… he—”
“Pay up!” Tyler crows, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “You owe me 100 bucks now, Steph.”
Stephanie throws him the look of a disappointed mother. “I owe you a kick in the face, you ass.” She turns back to me, hands still framing my hot face. “Does this mean you guys are, like, officially dating now that you’ve rounded some bases?”
“100 bucks?” I ask, still stuck on that.
“Oh yeah, we had this whole thing on when you two would fall in love and whatnot. But anyways—dating. Is that happening? What’s going on?”
I gently remove her hands, shaking my head with an embarrassed chuckle. “Uh, no, it’s not like that. We were messing around.”
“Dating is spending time with one person, and you definitely spent time with him Saturday night.” Tyler pokes me in the shoulder.
Stephanie snorts. “Well, It’s unbelievable to me that he doesn’t want you as a full-on girlfriend.”
The chips in my body start to grind against my gut. I’m not sure if I want him to want me like that. I’m still piecing my heart back together. And Noah’s a total player—the bedroom eyes and flirting are second nature to him. What makes me think I’m special?
“Why would he want to be my full-on boyfriend in the first place?”
Stephanie gets in my line of sight, immediately frowning. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re freaking awesome, and he clearly thinks so too. If you guys are that close, that you, like, do things that intimate with one another, why on earth would he not want to be your boyfriend?”
“Because I’m nothing like the other pom-pom girls he dates or the other girls he has been with.”
I don’t know how to describe it. What if I am his joke? A pity fuck because I exploded my needs on him? It hurts to imagine him laughing about me with his buds, using me physically while too embarrassed to make it public, like Harley did.
Fucking Harley.
My stomach knots up, my bruised heart flaring up all over again. “I don’t know if I even want that from him,” I admit. “I don’t think I’m ready for something like that.”
“If you tell me that you’re not ready to be his girlfriend—if you tell me this right now—I am going to scream so loud that it breaks windows.”
My shoulders hunch under the weight of old wounds and new self-doubt. Stephanie means well, but she doesn’t get it because Daniel is her first real boyfriend. Me? I’m damaged goods. One more heartbreak could be the thing that ruins me completely.
She hasn’t lived through what I did with Harley. Night after night, tears staining the pages of her journal until the binding nearly dissolves. She didn’t have to plaster on a fake smile and lie that she was ‘fine, just tired’ when people asked what was wrong because her eyes were too red. She didn’t have to scrub herself raw in the shower trying to scour away the touch of someone who wasn’t only touching you.
Stephanie still sees the world in bright technicolor while I’m stuck in my dull shades of gray.
No, as much as she cares, she can’t fully understand why I’m not ready for any of that. She never had to peel herself off the floor before, and has only been there to see me do it.
Some scars you carry forever and I need to work through the shadows at my own pace. I need to find myself, the girl after Harley, not a girl that Harley made me into.
I can’t lose myself in another person again.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I mumble, avoiding their prying eyes.
My best friend smacks my arm lightly. “What the hell, Roxanne? You can’t say that after you tell us you hooked up with Noah-freaking-Jackson. There’s really no going back from that, in case you didn’t know.”
Tyler props his chin in his hands. “Yeah, we need details. Like, all of them.”
I rub my arm with a smile, hoping they’ll drop it. “And I’ll tell you guys later, I promise. Just… not right now.”
But Stephanie keeps insisting. “It really needs to be right now, though! I can’t leave the topic of you and Noah unresolved. You have to tell me!”
I slump deeper into the seat of my Blazer, fingers pinching the bridge of my nose.
We’re parked in the student lot and the first bell has already rang, but Stephanie’s made no move to leave, clearly camping out until she hears every sordid detail.
“Stephanie, please.”
“Please can I have more details? Please can I hear about what the two of you actually did? How it went down? How did you hook up? Did you make the first move? What happened? Give me the details.”
I bark out a laugh despite myself. “Good lord. What happened to patient compassion from true friends?”
“Come on, give me something here!” She jabs at my shoulder. “Please tell me you brought protection...”
“Stephanie!” Mortification flames my cheeks. I grip the steering wheel tightly, torn between caving and snapping at her to let it go. “Oh, my god. I promise I’ll tell you everything when we go dress shopping.”
We’re supposed to do that over Thanksgiving break, and that gives me plenty of time to figure my shit out first.
“That's in like… two weeks!”
“Your point is?”
“Oh, so that’s how you want to do this, huh? You want to play hardball?” The smile she’s got on is angelical, but the glimmer in her hazel eye spells trouble. “You don’t realize that I am made of pure steel, and I am here to play the long game right alongside you, my friend. You see, I will continue to pester you about this every single day until the end of time, because I am that much of a pain in the ass.”
She steeples her fingers together, giving an exaggerated villain laugh.
“I love you, now shut up, and let’s go to class.” I flick a Funyun at her head before crinkling the bag up and shoving it into the side of my door.
With annoying reflexes, she catches the Funyun in her mouth. “Fine. If you want to be like that, I’ll be exhausting all day.” She hops out of the car and skips backward towards the school, blowing me loud kisses. “You can’t escape meeee!”
As I trek toward first period, I make a mental note to buy the strongest, caffeine-infused soda from the vending machine. I have a feeling that stealth evasion from my best friend will require some serious energy today.