Your Biggest Fan

37. NOAH

Chapter thirty-seven

These damn calluses. Three weeks of constant guitar playing and my fingertips may as well be made of leather, and even though I hate them, I’m a little proud of them.

My eyes flick up to the mirror mounted above my dresser, and I adjust the collar of my black button up shirt that’s peeking out from underneath my white blazer. The jacket fits like a second skin, and I wore it with matching white pants, which is my only nod to formality.

I’ll be damned if I’m trading in my Chucks for some dress shoes. A mans gotta have his limits.

My fingers play with the black belt edged in tiny silver squares. It’s dapper as hell, no matter what Daniel says. That asshole had scoffed that it was too frilly and looked like a grandma’s accessory. I politely told him he could fuck off—he’s the one wearing a pink and white tuxedo.

Smiling at the look that was on his face when I’d said that, I spritz hairspray, trying to tame my hair just enough to slick back the top while allowing my curls to still frame my face.

I have to look good. Any minute now, Roxanne is going to be arriving with her friends in tow, and while this might not be my first Winter Formal, it is the first one where my heart’s about to fucking explode out of my chest like a face-hugger. I’m talking full-on, scalp-sweating, pulse-racing, “holy shit, I think I might puke” levels of nerves here.

All because of her .

The last time I saw Roxanne was at band practice this morning, and, for some reason, she waltzed in wearing nothing but a pair of cut-off jean shorts, a tight black tank top, and a flannel tied around her waist. In December , for fuck’s sake.

Yeah, my head totally didn’t completely rewire itself at the sight. She knew— I knew —exactly what kind of trouble she was stirring up.

I have a score to settle now. Which is why I unbutton the top two buttons of my dress shirt, letting the collar hang loose, and my silver chain nestles right in that perfect little hollow at the base of my throat. I slide on a ton of black rings too, and do a swipe of chapstick for a tasteful finishing touch.

The best part? I didn’t bother putting on underwear.

All is fair in love and war, or whatever.

A knock sounds at the door, and I heave a sigh, already knowing it’s Daniel coming to give me shit about my outfit for the umpteenth time. Do I care that I look like an extra escaping from the set of Saturday Night Fever ? Not a chance.

Dennis and my mom are gone as usual, so I’d invited him over to get ready together. The door opens and he sweeps dramatically into the room, somehow making his bright pink jacket and white pants glide like liquid as he struts across the floor.

“Daaaamn Nojo,” he catcalls, grabbing me by the shoulders and looking me up and down. “You’re looking fly, playboy.”

Damn straight I do.

“But you gotta fix this...”

He moves to reach for the buttons on my shirt, but I smack his hand away with a warning glare.

“The chest stays out, Danno.”

“If that's the case, then you’re gonna need more than an alluring amount of man chest.” He lunges towards my dresser and snatches a bottle of cologne, dousing me in a cloud before I can even think to stop him.

“Jesus Christ, I hate you,” I hack, blowing a raspberry to try and purge my mouth of the taste. “No, really. I think I might actually hate you.”

He grins, straightening his bubblegum-pink bow tie and unbothered by my suffering. “Hey, we gotta pull out all the stops tonight, even if I have to marinate you in Eau de desperation myself.”

I grimace. Little does Daniel know how little I need his help. When it comes to Roxanne, I can handle things all on my own.

Not that Daniel has noticed or taken note of anything, despite being our third wheel these days. He’s the one person who is around us the most together, the one reason we are being held ten feet apart at all times.

I’m grateful for his romantic ignorance. Means I don’t have to hear him blathering constantly about “Operation Seduce Roxanne.”

Or worse… I told you so Nojo! She’s been crushing since the pencil snap!

“Now show me how you’re gonna ask a lady to dance with that shirt unbuttoned the way Jesus and all the Saints intended.”

I slip open another button. “I was thinking I’d do that.”

Daniel scoffs. “Yeah, I don’t think so, my friend. You gotta go the full nine with this one. You have to do the shirt shake.”

I blink at him, wondering if he’s having some kind of stroke. “What the hell is a shirt shake?”

“It’s when you keep your shirt half unbuttoned or loose if you're in a t-shirt, and while standing near a girl you like, you take the front of the shirt and slowly shake it. This is designed to catch a lady’s attention. It works every single time.”

“Wow…” I side-eye him. “A classic, timeless move.”

“Try it out. I’m telling you, it works.”

“Is this a time-tested fact?”

Daniel rolls his eyes, flicking a speck of lint off his sleeve. “Don’t sass me, loverboy. All the girls love the shirt shake. It’s the oldest trick in the book. And when you see her face light up with the shirt shake, you’ll thank me.”

Thank god I already have Roxanne. No Shirt Shake required.

I point a finger up at the mirror reflection of Daniel, ready to ask him who the hell he’s been using these shirt shake tricks on, when that loud monster of a car starts barreling down the street, followed by the cutest little honk.

They’re here.

“Shit, how’s my hair? Do I have anything in my teeth?” Fuck, I shouldn’t have eaten that Steak-umm sandwich earlier.

Daniel, the bastard, laughs at me and gets up from the bed to clap me on the shoulder. “Relax, Romeo. You look great. Though you might want to do something about that tent you’re pitching there.”

Horrified, I glance down at my crotch, only to find…

Nothing. Only the smooth, uninterrupted line of my white pants.

“Oh, you fucking dick,” I growl, punching him in the arm as he cackles. “I’m gonna get you back for that.”

Irritated and glaring, I still love the big lug. He always knows how to snap me out of my own head or how to wind me up, but he'd also take a bullet for me without hesitation.

That’s what pond brothers are for, I guess.

I trace the outline of the fresh tattoo inside my bicep, still tender from our matching ink session last week. It's our first matching one—a stylized skateboard with 'SK8 OR DIE' scrawled beneath in my signature graffiti style. The same art we'd first spray-painted on the abandoned Cinema wall downtown.

“Seriously though,” Daniel says, his laughter fading to a grin, “you're golden. The ladies will flip when they see you.”

I draw in a deep breath, and every other thought flies right out of my head, replaced by visions of Roxanne’s small hands entwining with mine, her fingertips pressing into the fresh guitar string indentations I’d gotten today while staring at her.

We share one last look in the mirror, hardcore grins spreading across both our faces, then bolt out the bedroom door, hot on each other’s heels.

“Race you to the car,” Daniel shouts, already three steps ahead. I snag my smokes off the entry table, stuffing them into the inside pocket of my jacket before chasing him out the door and slamming it behind me.

He’s already crawling into the back seat by the time I jog over to the car, the opening strains of Roxette’s Dangerous muffling as I push the seat back upright.

Tilting my head back, I take a few deep breaths and send up a silent prayer to the gods.

Please, please let tonight go smooth.

Then I slip into the waiting passenger front seat that everyone always leaves open for me.

The door closes with a heavy thunk, and I settle in, spreading my knees a bit wider than strictly necessary as I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. I brace myself as I turn to look at her, the kisses she gave me today while Daniel ran ten minutes late to practice still fresh in my mind. The feeling of her mouth on me, the slide of her tongue against mine…

“Hi,” I croak, sounding like my balls dropped for the first time.

HI? That’s the best you can do, you fucking walnut?

What the hell happened to my game?

As if hearing my thoughts— dear God, please don’t let her be a mind reader —she rewards me with a smile that pulls at the corner of her brown lips as her eyes comb over me.

“Hi yourself.”

Damn if that voice doesn’t do all kinds of things to my insides.

Her body is hidden by that baggy Levi’s jacket she usually wears, cruelly keeping me in suspense about what she’s wearing underneath. I feel like a puppy denied a treat, straining for a glimpse.

Tyler leans over the center console, his brown eyes blocking my view as he notices my purposely unbuttoned shirt. “Noah. Lookin’ slick.”

I can already detect Daniel stifling a laugh from the backseat. I smile slowly, nodding my chin over to Tyler’s simple black and white tuxedo.

“You clean up real nice too. That thrift store tux almost fits.”

Stephanie barks a laugh from the back, and Tyler grins, shaking his head as he disappears to his seat. “I even had to bust out the ironing board for this occasion,” he sniffs, then sighs when he adds, “It’s a special night.”

Too true.

“Why does it smell like a Macy’s perfume counter in here?” Stephanie asks, her voice a nasally whine.

“That’s all me, baby,” Daniel pipes up, taking the fall for his idiocracy at least. “I’m wearing the good stuff.”

I laugh as Stephanie’s complaints waft up from the backseat, and sneak another glance at the breathtaking girl beside me. She’s watching me, her dancing green eyes stirring one too many feelings as she stares down at my exposed chest.

And it gives me an idea.

As normal as I can manage, I turn my body in her direction. Watching those eyes fall down on me, I reach one hand to grasp the edge of my already gaping collar and…

I do The Shirt Shake.

This is it—the grand magnum opus of seduction apparently.

Her eyes snap up to meet mine, narrowing slightly as she nibbles on the corner of her lip.

Holy shit . Did Daniel actually give me a girl tip that works?

My moment is short-lived, however, as Stephanie’s retching wafts up from the backseat again. “I’m gonna have to open up the windows in order to get rid of this toxic overspray you have going on back here. Smells like my great Aunt Marjorie.”

Roxanne shakes her head over her friends and leans back in her seat, gripping the wheel with her eyes locked on the front of my garage. “You can open the windows if you want. Won’t be able to drown out the stench of your egos though.”

“Wow, ego? I think you mean sex appeal, Roxy,” Daniel protests.

“No, I’m pretty sure she had it right the first time,” I correct, earning her gaze, and I let her see every scrap of want. “My ego might be the only good thing about me.”

A smirk so deep that I can see the crease of her dimple is there as she asks. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“I can think of a few reasons.” Leaning in close, my breath teases over the side of her neck, right where her throat meets the collar of her jacket. I turn up the volume of the radio a smidge, letting the music cover my voice. “My ego can be a lot, but it might be the thing that gets you into bed tonight, Roxanne.”

Her breathing hitches and, in what I think is an effort to collect herself, she pushes against the steering wheel, arms pin straight as she shoves her back against the seat as her face goes pink against the moonlight. Almost like she’s trying to hide from her friends.

Truth is, I'm all talk. Yeah, I want her in my bed—Christ, do I want her—but not like this, not as some conquest.

For now, I'm content to play the cocky asshole, to make her heart race and spread color across her cheeks like watercolor on canvas.

“Now how about we go paint the town red?” I ask, and she gifts me a private smile that makes my stomach swoop with all the decidedly un-gentlemanly things I’d like to do to her. Starting with peeling her out of this jacket with my teeth.

Reading my dirty thoughts again, Roxanne arches one perfect brow at me, and I watch on with eyes shaped like hearts as she cranks the stereo volume to its max and hits the gas, reversing into the street without breaking eye contact with me.

Here’s the thing about Winter Formals in Bellpond—Trinity Chen is the uptight student council head honcho responsible for all these functions, and she always buys out an entire party store.

Emphasis on the entire .

This year, she’s transformed the whole school and gone all out with a “Great White North” theme, which means the hallways are now sparkling with dangling paper icicles and the lockers are covered in blue and white snowy fabrics. There’s approximately eight billion white twinkle lights lighting up the hallway, leading down like an icy path to the gym.

And that’s only the hallway.

Judging by the packed parking lot, the noise spilling from outside the gym doors, it seems the rest of the student body has beaten us here. I keep my eyes on the floor as we walk down the wintry gauntlet.

The second my feet meet the gym floors, I look up, and promptly feel my jaw unhinge and drop to the floor.

Holy mother of fuck .

We all freeze, gaping at the glittering fantasy world Trinity managed to pull off.

The entire ceiling drips with flowing fabrics in shades of icy blues, greens, and purples. It sways gently in the air-conditioned breeze, giving the illusion of the northern lights dancing above our heads. Prismatic crystals dangle everywhere, fracturing the shifting colors into rainbow fractals against people and surfaces. Pine trees cut from black construction paper are taped to the walls, their branches clumped with fluffy fake snow.

In the center of it all, stands an honest-to-god ice sculpture carousel, with seals, whales, and penguins in tuxedos.

Oh, and a shark. Because of course there’s a shark. It is Bellpond High, after all. Gotta have our mascot represented.

Now I know where all the money goes instead of replacing locker doors.

My face goes hot as we step further into the gym, already feeling the heat of 100 bodies in the room sinking into the black of my shirt. Thank god I opted for no underwear.

Van Halen comes blasting through the speakers, and a grin slides across my face as I turn to gauge Roxanne’s reaction to all this.

Big fucking mistake.

The second I lay my eyes on her, the gym begins to spin and every molecule of oxygen vacates my lungs in a single, punched-out breath, being pumped instead into the 100 bodies surrounding me.

She’s... wow . There are no words.

She’s handing her jacket off to someone, and my eyes can’t absorb fast enough.

At first, all I can stare at is the dark hair falling softly over her face and shoulders, cascading down towards her perfect, red dress. The top half is dangerous. Her breasts are perked up so high and snug, leading down to even more skin-tight red fabric until it reaches her hips and flows subtly outward.

With the thin straps, it leaves her cute, creamy shoulders with those little dots of moles visible, and the elegant line of her throat completely uncovered.

Don’t get started on the bottom half, because…. fuck .

The fabric ends right below her knees, showing her black and white high top Chucks. So perfectly, quintessentially Roxanne that it makes my heart jump in my chest.

This girl is walking danger wrapped in a holiday gift bow. And I’m just standing here.

I’m in overdrive. I’m poleaxed, thunderstruck, obliterated.

My vocabulary has failed me. No words invented by mortal man can begin to encapsulate the immense beauty and exquisite perfection of the goddess standing right before me.

I’m glued in place, holding back a throb between my legs in the middle of the gym and realizing the whole no underwear thing was a stupid fucking idea. I shouldn’t be looking any longer unless I want to get caught, but… shit .

I’ve been staring for too long. I know I have. Any second now, she’s going to catch me. But I can’t look away. I won’t.

I tongue my cheek as we finally make eye contact. Her mouth and eyes open wide, and I swear, I go cross-eyed with how badly I want to kiss her. Especially when she points that finger at me.

“ Don’t ... ” she mouths silently. Daring me.

“ Or what?” I mouth back, wanting to see what quiet Roxanne Wishmore would do if I did put my hands on her and kissed the shit out of her right here in the gym.

Chills run up my spine thinking about it, her presence pulling me in like gravity as I step closer. I’m too distracted to pay mind to Daniel coming around the corner, telling us he’s taking Stephanie out to the dance floor. Now that Roxanne is up close, I’m noticing the dark eyeshadow smoldering around her green irises. It's not just smokey, it's a full-on forest fire.

God, she’s so sexy.

I fucking hate using that word, but no other word can capture what’s before me and I have to go back to the ways of cavemen and start jumping up and down and hooting and hawing. Unga bunga. Pretty lady. Fire bad, tree pretty. I'm one step away from dragging my knuckles on the ground and offering her a freshly killed mammoth.

She is an elemental, primal, scintillating sex appeal incarnate. A Big Bang of beauty that's creating and destroying universes with every breath.

My tongue is a useless slab of meat in my mouth as I try to string two fucking words together. Tyler presses Roxanne on the shoulder, reminding me of the English language as he tells us, “I’m gonna go find the drink smugglers.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” she mumbles, still looking at me. Christ, I don’t know if I even deserve to look at her at the moment.

“That dress was born to live on you.”

Thatdresswasborntoliveonyou.

Smooth. Why don't you just go full Neanderthal and drag her back to your cave by her hair? God, I'm an idiot.

She arches a questioning brow. “Yeah? Do you like it?”

Like it? I place one of my ring-clad hands over my chest. The truth goes far beyond mere liking. My heart is slamming inside my chest like an ax breaking down a door, screaming ‘Heeeeere’s Johnny!’ with each thump against my fingertips.

She frowns, taking my predicament as disapproval. “What, is it… bad or something?”

“No!” I cry hastily. “You—”

“You cannot make fun of me, Noah.” She holds up a warning finger, gliding even closer to poke me or maybe shove me on the ground. I’m not quite sure what would be the best option, but whichever one means she'll touch me the longest.

I shake my head, still grappling for appropriate words. “You look really—”

“Just do me a huge favor and don’t say I look like an angel or something cheesy like that,” she interrupts again.

I snap my mouth shut as she skewers my exact thoughts. “Got it. No angelic compliments for my little hellcat. Too wild for an angel, anyway.”

I opt for simple honesty instead.

“You look gorgeous as fuck,” I declare, laying it all out there. “That dress should come with a fucking health warning.”

I grin as she processes my words, her eyes darting from the silver chain peaking between my open shirt, all the way down to the belt while I tuck my hands into my pockets. My leg twitches when she returns to my face, and even though her expression is neutral, those killer— beautiful —green eyes make my skin heat nonetheless.

My plan of her being forced to look at my hotness is totally working.

And then her brown lips stretch into a smile. “You look gorgeous as fuck yourself, rockstar,” Roxanne tosses out casually, and my mouth goes dry like I’d swallowed a bunch of cheerios. “Maybe I can administer first aid.”

I’m in total danger tonight.

“Now come on,” the goddess says, “I wanna see if you can actually dance as good as you talk.”

My entire mouth seems to fill with more cereal.

She wants to dance—voluntarily—with me?

“I was about to ask you the same thing, sunshine.” I lick my bottom lip. “I want to see if those lessons will make you dance as good as you look.”

Willing my knees not to shake, I offer my hand, and watch her take it.

She leads me assertively through the crowded gym floor as a funky guitar riff oozes from the speakers—the opening of Rush by Paula Abdul. She stops and turns, her face falling.

“Shit, I was all confident because I thought they’d be doing something upbeat. I don’t really know how to dance to this,” she admits. “And now I look dumb.”

“No better time to learn.” I click my tongue, palms skimming her waist, feeling her lungs inhale as I pull her close. “Stand on my feet. I’ll guide you through it, nice and slow.”

She plants her matching shoes on the top of mine and I start to sway us to the rhythm.

Those soft, pretty curves pressed against me banish my lingering awkwardness, and the lights making those iridescent crystals reflect on her beautiful face turn her into something more breathtaking than the sight of a midnight lightning storm over the trees.

She is mesmerizing .

So mesmerizing up this close, underneath my nose while those lashes sweep upward, brushstrokes too fucking perfect for this world.

Roxanne is pretty like dark lipstick contrasting pale skin. She's a palette of color—red roses against a black lace dress, red wine in a crystal glass by candlelight.

A femme fatale in Chuck Taylors.

Looking at her now, it's not hard to imagine her as some kind of enchantress. The kind who keeps vials of blood on her bedside table while she writes down the names of everyone she hates in a leather bound journal, then seals their fate with a kiss of red lipstick under the full moon. The kind who refuses lamps, preferring to light a thousand candles scattered around the floor of her bedroom while she uses a knife as her fork.

Even in those fantasies, I’d let her.

I’d let her hold me down and take my blood, even if I squirm.

She can take all of it. As long as she leaves me with more teeth and lip marks.

Soon we find our groove, gliding in easy circles with her off my feet. I keep purposely singing the lyrics wrong in the small space between us, making her laugh or irritate her.

All the while, my eyes are riveted to her mossy ones—the ones that make me thankful for the constant drizzle in Bellpond. So when winter is over, I know it won’t be too long before I can see her in every blade of grass.

She keeps gazing up at me under those curled lashes. “You’re awful, Nora.”

“I thought you finally had a soft spot for me,” I murmur.

My hand trails a slow path up her back, fingertips catching on each knob of her spine before I send her spinning out in a twirl. When she pirouettes back into my arms, stumbling slightly with a giggly yelp, I’m right there to catch her.

She slowly loops her arms around my neck, whispering, “I may have been lying about that whole soft spot thing.”

“While you may wish my singing was better, don’t be too harsh, Roxanne,” I rasp, the words scraping out of me as she continues to drug my mind. “After all, even if I can’t sing too well, at least I can still do plenty of other things with my mouth very well.”

Her fingers flex where they rest on my shoulders, and I bring her against me, our faces now inches apart. God, this woman. In those deep, dark eyes, she’s a promise of sunshine after a long stretch of rain, the sparkle of life and beauty that could carry me through any kind of darkness.

We stand frozen while I stare into them.

The violin solo cries and Roxanne moves even nearer until her quickened breaths warm my chin. My hands clamp down on her and drag her close, those tough drummer fingers playing with the hair at the back of my neck.

Every star in the universe seems to contract around us as the song seduces and commands on the chorus to rush .

My hands act, fingers sliding up the curve of her waist and toward her back. Our bodies communicate, swaying in slow gravitation toward each other...

“There you guys are!”

We jerk apart like we’ve been hit with a cattle prod as Tyler materializes out of thin air next to us. Always oblivious to what’s going on and what he interrupted, he grabs Roxanne and I by the hands, attempting to rope us both into some dance as the next song starts.

“It’s like you have a sixth sense for this, Tyler,” I mutter, even though he doesn’t hear me over the music, too busy throwing his arms in the air.

“C’moooon, let’s see those moves! Check what I scored too.” He brandishes a silver flask with a grin. I catch the sugary-sharp scent of peach schnapps as he takes a giant swig.

This guy . One day he’s gonna get sick off the schnapps and realize that flavored liquor is not the wave.

Roxanne rolls her eyes, but she can’t restrain a smile at his enthusiasm. She never can. “Where did you even find this?”

“I know a guy,” he winks.

Meanwhile, I’m blinking hard, struggling to reorient myself to the gym after being emotionally transported to another galaxy mere seconds before. This never happens to me. I always control myself when in public, but with her, she makes me forget where I am constantly.

Her friend is stomping his feet between us now while singing along loudly to the lyrics, still clinging to each of our hands so we shuffle, unwillingly, along.

Tyler takes another swig before offering it to Roxanne. We both watch her take it, seeing the slight grimace on her face as she sniffs it and also realizes sugary syrup is not the move. She takes a quick swig before handing it out to me.

I hold my hand out, stopping her from passing it. “Can’t be put under the bad influence of a high school girl like that.”

Lies . I don’t trust myself if I go under the influence. Not around her. Especially if this is meant to be kept a secret.

At least that’s what I coach myself into believing until the first few bars of that cursed song echo through the gymnasium.

The bongos. The fucking bongos.

Oh, no.

My blood runs cold. “No. No, no, no,” I mutter, frantically looking around for an escape route.

But it’s too late.

“Noah!” Stephanie’s high pitch and no doubt drunk voice screeches out from somewhere in the gym, and though I can’t see her, the crowd parting like there’s a fucking velociraptor in the grass.

When she finally gets to me, sweaty and wild-eyed, the Spanish pop duo is already singing over the speakers, and I sigh, knowing I’m fucked.

The prophecy has come to pass.

“Stephanie, let’s be reasonable about this,” I try pleading with her to no avail. Around us, people are already swaying their hips and gearing up to start the choreography, locking me into the crowd. “I have a note from my doctor about my two left feet.”

She takes both of my hands and attempts to force them into the choreography. I resist, movements as stiff as a corpse, which serves to make Roxanne laugh harder at my pathetic attempts to worm out of my fate.

“Oh no you don’t,” I shoot at her. “If I’m going down, then I’m taking you with me.”

Not letting her get away, I slip one of my hands from her friend’s grasp and grab her wrist, yanking her into our dance circle. She yelps but keeps laughing, enjoying my suffering.

People are really getting into it now, pairs and groups all doing their rendition of the Macarena as the gym thumps with the chorus. And despite my best efforts to resist, my limbs start to loosen up as my arms move to the catchy beat.

Screw it. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.

So, I might have allowed a smile (a small one) to spread across my face as the lights danced across the gymnasium floor, and I moved my hands in sync with the others. My dignity may never recover, but at least no one will ever know that I’m kind of enjoying myself.

That, I can live with.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” I yell over the music, extricating myself.

Roxanne shoots me a rueful parting glance as I head off the dance floor, raking a hand through my hair and wondering if I’ll recapture that magic that was happening between us or if it’s lost for good.

I weave through the crowd until I reach the drink table, my shirt plastered to my back with sweat. The table is lined with trays of frosted snowflake and penguin sugar cookies next to a giant ice sculpture of a frolicking polar bear.

I swipe my finger through the melting ice, and rub the wet cold against the back of my neck. No typical formal red punch here—instead, a fountain bubbles with blue liquid flecked with glittering “ice” chips. Probably Sprite mixed with food coloring rather than champagne, but still fitting the winter motif I guess.

Gotta admit, the student council went all out on this one.

“Noah! Hi!”

My hand stills halfway to the water pitcher. I know that voice. I’d know it anywhere—it haunts my nightmares, after all.

Vaulting over the table and making a break for it doesn't sound too bad right about now. Possible punch stains on my white pants can be a future me problem.

Conquering my fear, I peer around my shoulder and make eye contact with the voice.

Wendy is bouncing towards me in an iridescent dress, all shiny green, with white gloves and giant pink pearls around her neck. Her straight hair sways as she air-kisses my cheek and I have to bite my tongue from asking what the hell she thinks she’s doing.

“Been forever, how are you?” She flashes her bleached teeth, pretending as if she didn’t use me as an emotional punching bag. I don’t care about any of the events that transpired between us anymore, but I sure as hell am not trying to be her best friend.

“I’m dandy,” I deadpan while I scoop some of the blue liquid into my cup. Tragically non-alcoholic.

“Well, I’m glad we can put our differences aside for one night. We all want to have a good time, don't we?”

Not with you, I think, but hold my tongue to say: “Sure.”

“You look good,” she smiles, all fake. “Are you here with Roxanne?”

I bristle, my knuckles whitening around the plastic cup.

“Yeah. We came as a group. Are you here with Chuck?” I ask, a bit of snark in my tone.

“Glad you could get his name right this time,” she chirps, but there’s an edge to it.

Good.

“So, are you two, like… together?”

I nearly snort blue Sprite out my nose. It’s funny how we want what we have going on to be a secret, yet everyone seems to assume something about it.

“No, we’re just friends,” I reply with a dismissive shrug, playing into her attempt to make Roxanne sound like a fling. “I’m still shopping around, though, Wendy. Can’t just be stuck with one.”

She doesn’t even bristle.

“Not even going steady or anything? Could have fooled me. You two spend an awful lot of time together for 'just friends.'”

“Yeah, I guess I have been spending a lot of time with my band members,” I snap back. “Yet no one is asking me if Daniel and I are dating.”

“Huh, how very... bohemian of you all,” she sniffs, giving my outfit a critical once-over with her heavily mascaraed eyes. “What do you call yourself anyways?”

“Band Rejects Anonymous,” I answer, trying to hide how ridiculous it still sounds to me. We were all rejects in our own way, finding each other like magnets in a junkyard. “brA for short.”

“brA?” Her eyebrows shoot up. “Classy. What’s your schtick?”

“Mostly rock covers. We don’t play songs like Love Shack.” I smile to myself at that one.

“Neat-o! You’ll have to let me know next time you play,” she says with a smile too wide to be genuine. “When and where do you all practice anyway?”

I hesitate for a minute, but figure there’s no real harm in her knowing. We’re just a garage band, not a CIA operation.

“We usually practice after school at a space I rent out downtown, sometimes on weekends if we can swing it. What’s with the sudden interrogation?”

“Just making conversation.” Her eyes narrow, reminding me a lot of a shark that’s caught the scent of blood. “If I’m ever bored, maybe I’ll swing by and audit one of these practice sessions.”

Something about the way she says it makes me wonder if satisfying her bored suburban curiosity really is the only reason she wants to know our schedule.

I force a polite smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

Translation: When hell freezes over.

As she beams and opens her mouth to continue the small talk, my gaze slides past her shoulder—and my smile instantly vanishes.

Roxanne is standing by the edge of the dance floor, looking like a goddamn vision in that red dress. But it’s not the dress that has my heart seizing in my chest.

It’s the fact that she’s not alone.

No, she’s currently locked in conversation with none other than Harley. From the looks of it, it’s not exactly a pleasant chat.

Every protective instinct I possess roars to life. My hands clench into fists, and I’m crushing my empty cup, blue sprite dripping through my fingers and onto the floor.

This fucker needs to disappear and die already.

Even from a distance, his overly-sprayed blonde hair shines under the dance lights as he looms over her. Though he’s dressed sharply in a slate gray suit, to me he has all the slick charm of a weasel. What the hell is he doing over there? He should be with his Jessica Rabbit wannabe girlfriend.

As he leans down and murmurs something undoubtedly sleazy into Roxanne’s ear, I know he’s able to smell the vanilla in her hair.

Roxanne flinches away from him, and that’s it—that’s fucking it.

She shifts away from him with crossed arms. Body language I know all too damn well.

My instincts surge hotly to the fore. I told his dumbass to stay away from here, and I should have known better than to think he'd listen. I straighten up and turn to look Wendy right in those cornflower blue eyes. “But we keep pretty busy, so probably not. You certainly don’t want something like a rock band to ruin your image.”

Not waiting for her reaction, I toss my cracked cup into the trash, and my legs are moving me towards Roxanne with my fists inside my pant pockets, ready to send that slimy snake back into whatever fucking hole he keeps crawling out of. His arm wraps around her shoulder, and red-hot fury moves me faster while my eyes burn like flames.

“Everything okay over here?” I ask deceptively light, though my glare could cut holes through steel.

“For fucks sake,” Harley groans, scratching at his jaw. “Of course you're here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you’re always around her. Like… you think you have some hold over her.”

“I could say the same about you,” I counter, taking an extra step.

Harley scoffs weakly, turning unsteadily back to Roxanne. “Roxy, can you please come with me outside for a minute? I only want to talk.”

“Not tonight, Harley,” she mutters evenly. “Not any night, actually.”

He tries putting an unwanted hand on her shoulder anyways like he’s going to talk some sense into her and pull her outside. But with lightning reflexes, I smack it away.

Hard.

“Touch her again, and it’s your neck next,” I hiss. Hopefully he saw what I did to Jonathan Moon’s nose, and that wasn’t even for touching Roxanne.

“I just want to talk to her in private for a second,” he repeats, a nervous tremor in his voice.

I step partly in front of Roxanne, blocking her from him. “I think the lady made it pretty clear she’s not interested in catching up with you.”

Harley rubs his hand, his thin lips curling in a horrifying smile. Which is saying something considering it’s him .

Guess that liquid courage is making Mouse Man here feel bold tonight. The glassy sheen of his eyes, the belligerent set of his jaw, tells me the alcohol is doing a lot more than loosening his tongue.

This is a man with something to prove. And in my experience? That makes him dangerous.

“Getting awfully territorial now,” he mumbles while stepping closer, and only meets my glare for a second before dropping his gaze down to my chest. “Who are you to be making threats? If memory serves, last I checked, she was my girl first before you came around for the leftovers.”

My fingers curl into the silk against Roxanne’s hip behind me, trying to resist the overpowering need to pummel this twig of a man into the penguin ice sculpture while the blood pounds in my ears.

Sensing the violence, her small fist twists into my jacket, holding me back from snapping at him.

Shove it back down the bottle and cap it.

He is not worth it.

“That might be true,” I reply, gritting out the words and stepping closer so she can’t hear them. “But I have had her now, for quite a while, and she has decided that she wants to be with me. I don’t like someone else touching everything that’s mine. So if you know what’s good for you, you will back off. Capiche?”

“Y—Yeah capiche,” Harley stammers, swallowing when he looks up at me, his forehead right at the tip of my nose. “Except she’s not 'yours.' She won’t be around you forever. She’ll leave eventually. Once graduation—”

I grab the collar of his shirt, walking him out through the crowd like a naughty pup. I move us past the silky fabrics trying to mimic the northern lights, past the couples making out near the edge of the dance floor, and right toward the brick wall beside the bleachers.

Those words sting, and his tone and the look behind his eyes make it clear this mouse wants to get a rise out of me. I’ve been waiting to give him one.

“You’re damn right.” I slam Harley against the wall, happy when he yelps, and pin him there with my forearm pressed against the smaller man's chest. “She might not want to be around me forever. Which is exactly why I won’t let her be in your presence for even one more day.”

“What are you gonna do?” Harley growls, that pungent stench of whiskey wafting from his mouth. “What are you gonna do if she leaves you? What if she decides to come back to me?”

I let out a hollow laugh that makes him flinch.

This guy is still too caught up on her. Sad and delusional. Not that I can blame him.

“I’m not even entertaining that thought.” I smack my palm beside his head, pissed the fuck off. “Though I should really thank you for pointing out that she’s not around forever because I want to make sure I appreciate her while she’s here...” I trail off slightly and then shake my head. “Which is exactly why a man like you will never touch her again. I’d rather go out knowing that I gave her the best time of her life. Knowing that I gave her something you couldn’t.”

Harley opens his mouth, but I cut him off.

“You didn’t even treat her right when you were together,” I go on, voice getting more agitated with each word, “and you damn well know that. I don't give a damn about your history. The past is dead and buried. What matters is the present, and in the present, you're going to back off.”

Harley’s jealousy, no matter how much he tries to mask or hide it, is blatantly written on his face. Carved right into the deep furrow of his brow. Right in those watery eyes darting about like a cornered rodent’s.

His pinched mouth twists and twitches, biting back insults and half-formed arguments he knows have no fucking legs to stand on. But logic won’t make that bitter pill go down any smoother as his hands turn into fists at his sides.

I don’t know what’s about to happen next, but something tells me that it’s going to lead to trouble.

Big trouble.

“You know what, Noah?” Harley speaks up, straightening against the wall like he’s got a metal rod jammed up his ass. “You’re goddamn right.”

I blink. Once. Twice.

What the fuck?

I blink again. Then quickly dig a finger into my ear to check for wax buildup in case I heard wrong.

“I did her wrong,” he continues, “for a long time, too. She’s better off with you than she’d ever be with me.” Harley stares up at me with the same fury in his brown eyes, jealousy clawing deep down inside the dirt of them. “And that’s why”—he swallows—“that’s why I want to make sure you don’t do the same.”

He blinks hard as if pushing back tears, or the sting of the truth. Maybe the wateriness in his eyes is because he knows that it was time he admitted to himself that he had screwed up. Not because he was about to rage cry like I normally do.

Saying it out loud hurt him. I can see it in the fresh beads of sweat on his forehead. Even his hair deflated.

“Then stop acting like she’s still yours,” I hiss out, poking a finger in his sternum. “That’s what pisses me off the most. You have no right to be claiming her anymore, so stay the hell away from her so she can move on and have a chance.” I push off the wall and add quietly, “And then maybe you can find the courage to move on yourself.”

My shoulders are a lot less tense now that his face falls like it’s all sinking in that I’m right, no matter how much he may have cared for her. He nods to me, all the fight gone from his eyes, shifting to something a lot less angry and a lot more sad.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Yeah, you’re right.”

The both of us lock eyes and that’s when I know I’ve reached him—either that or he’s piss-scared of me—and I let out a breath I’d been holding in. Deciding I've finally gotten my point through to him, I take a step back to give him some space, rubbing at my temples where the adrenaline is turning into a headache as I stare down at the ground.

Fuck. I’m so tired of all the fighting, and I feel kind of bad for the poor bastard, so I do the unthinkable.

I offer my hand out to him.

“You'll be able to move on one day,” I tell him with a nod as his grip on my hand tightens. “But I think you need to give yourself time to figure out your shit first.”

“I can’t say that you’re wrong.”

This game finally feels over: him coming to terms with the fact she isn’t his anymore. And during this weird air of peace, my tongue loosens up.

“You want to know the truth?” I scrub a hand over my face, acting ten kinds of fool. “When I first said I wanted her to myself… all of that rage came from a place of fear.”

“Fear?” he asks with a tilt of his head, probably wondering why I’m still talking to him. I can’t answer that either. I think I need to talk to someone who knows there is something between her and I. “What are you afraid of?”

“You,” I reply simply. “You’re her first love. You’re someone who she has known for more months than I ever have or probably will.” I’m fucking ashamed of myself, for admitting these things to this guy. “If we had never met, she would probably go back to you, loving you all these months.”

Harley looks equally confused yet curious, but he doesn’t say anything. He keeps absorbing my words silently. He listens .

The truth often has that effect on people.

I keep going. In for a penny, in for a fucking pound, right?

“I’m scared I’ll hurt her,” I continue quietly. “Not physically, but emotionally. I’m scared that if I start to care about her too much, or if I can’t get enough of her, I’ll end up scaring her away.” I shake my head at my unwelcomed therapy session and meet his eyes. “So, yeah. I’m terrified.”

Surprise registers plainly on the slump of his shoulders as he hears me out, and his eyebrows jump up his forehead. He must have expected me to lash out and stay on the attack, but instead, he starts looking at me like I’m a lot more interesting.

He’s seeing me from a new angle that isn’t as dark.

That I’m not a vicious monster. That I’m not his enemy, or hers.

That I’m not the problem.

I plow ahead before I can lose my nerve. “I also know that I can’t keep her for myself forever. That she’s too good, too fucking special, to be tied down to a guy like me. But she deserves a guy that will treat her better than you ever could.” I sigh, slipping my hands in my pockets. “Hell, maybe I’m not that guy either...”

I shake my head and expel a heavy breath. “But I’m sure gonna fucking try.”

Harley actually smiles at me, not a single trace of mockery or malice to be found.

“I hope you are that guy, Noah,” he says softly, something like unmistakable wonder creeping into his tone. “I really hope you are.”

Now it’s my turn to look at him in confusion.

It’s fucking relieving to have gotten that off my chest, and all of those emotions that had brought us over to this side of the gym wade out into the air as a new wave of something replaces it, though I’m not sure what it is.

“Thanks.” I match his half smile. There are a few more words I can add, but it feels… better leaving it as that. No need for some male bonding moment.

“Now fuck off back to your actual girlfriend,” I add lightly, reaching to straighten his rumpled suit before aiming him away with a pat on the back.

Harley trips forward, messing with the buttons on his sleeves and mumbling an absentminded “oh yeah” as he glances around, as if he forgot the whole reason he’s at formal in the first palace.

He makes it two steps before my voice reels him back in. “One more thing, Weasel Boy.”

“What?” He squints back at me.

“You aren’t her enemy either. You’re her past. You’re her first love. That’ll always mean something.”

He nods. “I was the guy she wanted once. I fucked it up, and now... you might be the guy she deserves.”

I rock back on my heels. Whoa .

Did he actually say something that profound and self-aware? I didn’t think he was that smart to say something that makes sense.

Clearing my throat, I default back to snark. “Yeah, well, this whole share circle never happened. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still an annoying little shitstain.”

“Goes double for you,” Harley throws back without missing a beat.

As he heads off, some pesky imp tells me to run my mouth again.

“Another thing.”

Harley turns to me, smiling all polite while looking annoyed. “Yes?”

“Lay off the hairspray dude. It's a new decade.”

He barks out a laugh. “Yeah. Fair enough.”

However fucking bizarre the bonding over Roxanne’s light works, my finger still mentally flips him off as he whisks through the dangling fabrics surrounding the edge of the dance floor.

It’s not long before a girl parts through them seconds later, walking fast and right up to me like some kind of avenging angel in a red dress.

“Oh my god, what was that?” Roxanne asks, wide eyed and breathless.

“Me having a heart to heart with Harley,” I reply, looking in his direction as he finds his way to his actual girlfriend. “It feels good to get some things off your chest. Maybe all it takes is a bit of honesty every now and then.”

My attention returns to Roxanne then, a smile on my face as I slide my hands into my pockets. I’m thinking how, while the sky may have cleared between Harley and I, the storm that she causes in my chest will only keep growing because I know that the sight of her grass-colored eyes will always remind me of the most gorgeous of springs.

“You look really beautiful tonight, by the way.”

Roxanne doesn’t acknowledge it, an angry frown still so deep as she glares in Harley’s direction. “I think I can confirm that honesty is not his strong suit.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “No, it’s not.”

Imagine the violence those eyes of hers might wreck if just a weasley teenage boy was the reason for the current burning in her iris’. But I know exactly where to put out the fire, and I’ve never been afraid of getting my hands a little burnt.

“Hey, listen.” Tracing a finger down her bare arm, I take her hand, trying to redirect her back to me. “Now… I’m going to duck into the bathroom. And when I get back, I’ll see if I can make you smile.”

That promise lifts the corner of her mouth, and her fingers curl into my hand. This woman, man.

My eyes fall down to the straps of her dress, and I want so badly to run my finger underneath the fabric it’s too much to cope with.

“I’ll be back,” I tell her, and give a quick tap at her nose before forcing myself out of the gym. My hands are back to fists inside my pocket as I move down the hallway and kick open the bathroom door. The AC is cranked up high, the cold air blowing right through the waves of my hair and warmed skin underneath my shirt. Not a single person is in here.

I'm midway through my silent urinal ritual when a timid little tap-tap-tap is at the door. Since when do drunk kids at a high school formal now politely ask permission to puke their guts out?

“Uh... occupied?” I call out, zipping up and moving to the sink.

The sink gurgles and sputters as I wash up, eyeing the door's reflection in the mirror. But as I reach for a paper towel, the hinges start to screech, each push making them scream and set my teeth on edge until it slams open fiercely all the way.

In the mirror, my eyes float up to Wishmore’s hand holding it open, stretched up on her tiptoes as her eyes dart around the bathroom, probably searching for that secret watch gambling club.

Satisfied with whatever, she slinks in, and the door slams shut behind her.

The paper towel slips from my nerveless fingers, my wet hands spraying water droplets everywhere.

“I hate to break it to you, but this is the guys' room,” I drawl, gesturing to the very obvious urinals with a sweep of my arm. “There's a little stick figure dude on the door and everything.”

“I know, I know,” she says, fidgeting with the strap of her dress. “But I really need to talk to you.”

“Right now? In the john? Where guys do... guy things?” I wave at the urinals again, hammering home the point, and shove my hands in my pockets. My very wet hands. Into my very dry pockets.

She's still blocking the door. “I’m sorry—sorry. It’s…” She stops, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “Do you even know how much I need you right now?”

I stare at her, my throat tight with confusion. There’s no way Roxanne followed me into the men’s room to proposition me for a quickie.

What does she want? I wonder, until her eyes dip down to my hands jammed inside my pants, and hope curls itself warmly around my groin as I realize what she might be after.

“Okay,” I squeak, turning around and trying not to stare at the rise and fall of her tits that I would very much like to explore underneath that very tight dress as she walks up to me. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Her eyes drag up to meet mine. “I…”

You what, Roxanne? Please, god, finish that sentence before I fucking expire right here on this piss-speckled tile.

“I’ve been waiting to do this all night.”

In a heartbeat, her hands push against my chest. Then, in the next, they move to my neck and pull me into a kiss.

“You’ve been waiting to makeout in the bathroom all night?” I try to sound disgusted, except the words flow out so hot, almost like a moan.

It doesn’t help my case that I’m undeniably growing hard against my belt from my fingers finally touching her soft arms.

“You don’t sound that upset about it.” Her hand cups me through my pants, squeezing, and I'm about to black out from sheer, blinding want . “I wonder how much your voice will change when you’re moaning for me instead of talking to me right now.”

“My girl, you cannot say stuff like that in the school bathroom.” My hands slide around to her back, fingers digging into the slick material of her dress.

“I can, and bathrooms are kind of our thing anyways.”

Our thing.

She leans in close to my ear. “Or do you want me to say that in the hallway instead?”

“I’m sure people have said much worse in here.” I pull her into a tight embrace, banding my arms around her waist.

“Maybe we should say it out in the open. I’m sure the teachers would love seeing us making out in the hallway.”

“Yeah, or the Principal can walk in and tell us to get a room.” I lean forward to kiss the shell of her ear. “Maybe we’ll do that too.”

“I’m sure he will love to see that. So much fun for everyone!”

I finger at those straps, dipping down to kiss her shoulder when everything stops. Every thought in that mind of mine gets wiped clean and all that really matters is me and her, here together in our world in the bathroom.

It doesn’t get much better than this.

“Guess what,” I whisper against her ear.

“What?”

“I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Roxanne laughs, sliding her hands up my jacket. “Are you trying to get me hot by saying things like that?”

“Yes,” I answer, giving a quick smirk. “And judging by your reactions, it’s working.”

My hands slide down to give the backs of her thighs a squeeze, and one of those pretty sounds flies out of her before she immediately covers it up with her hand. My heart skips and I pull her wrist away, reaching out for another long kiss against those soft fucking lips.

If it was possible to liquefy the feeling of your favorite song playing at sunset while biting into a storm cloud that's been marinated in lightning, you’d have the feeling of her mouth.

Her other hand grabs onto the chain around my neck, pulling me down as she whispers, “I have a secret too.”

“What might that be?”

Her tongue flicks at my bottom lip. “I’m not wearing any either.”

God could not stop the growl that unleashed from my throat.

Someone better have the number for the nearest florist, because I’m gonna need a metric fuckton of flowers to properly express my eternal fucking gratitude.

“You dirty girl,” I whisper, already biting too hard at my cheek at that hot little piece of information and wanting to lift her dress up right now. “Can we please get the fuck out of here?”

“And ditch my friends?”

“They can walk home.” My voice goes deep. “Or we can come back for them later. Whatever. I don’t care. I’ll ask someone in this damn building to give them a ride home.”

“You sound desperate.”

“Very desperate.” My patience reached its breaking point the moment we arrived.

She undoes another button in my dress shirt, and pushes it further open with both hands, her thumb tracing the muscle of my pec out to my ribs. Her black nails against my skin are making it hard to control myself with each touch.

“You have no patience,” she sighs, fingers running up, down, and side to side. “What’s the rush? I kind of like this bathroom.”

“Oh, yeah, why don’t we just stay here? I wouldn’t want to rush this. After all, I can really appreciate the atmosphere.” I gesture to the giant urinals to our right.

“You know what, I’m going to take my time, I think. I feel totally comfortable and warm right here, so why don’t you settle your ass down a little?”

My eyes narrow down on her as she leans against my chest, pushing me into the bathroom wall where I’d spent most of my free time doodling.

I try one more time to be reasonable.

“Why can’t we—”

She opens another button on my shirt.

Damn The Shirt Shake.

“Fine. It’s not like I’m already halfway undressed or anything.”

Not to mention my body can't seem to do anything but focus on the tongue caught between her teeth as she begins to undo the belt at my waist.

“There is absolutely no reason why you need to wait a second longer…” Not only does she unzip my pants with a smirk on her face, but she unbuttons the fly. “You seem stressed, maybe this will help you relax a little.”

Her hand brushes over the straining bulge in my pants, and my lungs smash my heart. Yes, please .

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep you in these tight pants. If we don’t get you out of them soon, your poor legs might... explode .”

“You’re probably right. I’d hate for that to happen.”

When her fingers begin to slip my pants slowly down my hips, my face burns red at the image of her brown lips sealed tight around my cock. I'm a fucking mess, my heartbeat getting faster and faster as I watch her remove the last couple loops, my dick straining for air.

“They definitely are getting too tight. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Her chin rests below my necklace, finger running up the inseam of my thigh. “I think we need to take them off immediately.”

She pinches the fabric at my thigh and works them down quickly.

Yeah. This girl is definitely registered to hurt me.

Roxanne has a wild side she’s starting to play with, but I never in a million years thought I’d find myself in this position. Half-naked in the bathroom, my poor, neglected dick straining towards her like a compass needle seeking north.

Goddamn do I love it.

“Oh...” I breathe out, the word shaky. “ Wow .”

I'm so worked up when she starts to reach for me, that it takes her gasp to point out the bathroom door squeaking open, and my knees fall down on the floor, arms scrambling to pick up my pants while knee-walking toward one of the stalls and taking her with me.

I push her deeper inside the stall so we are shielded from the intruders, hoping that they won’t notice anyone is in here

Once I slam the door and slide the latch, I jump up.

“Shit,” I whisper-shout, sliding my pants up and only buttoning them for the time being as I back myself away from the door.

Roxanne is pressed up between me and the partition, bringing me back to filthy memories when voices enter the room, laughing about an after party at the lake tonight.

I hold my breath, praying to every deity I can think of that they don’t notice the two extra pairs of feet peeking out from under the stall door.

Roxanne claps a hand over her mouth to muffle a sudden giggle. I narrow my eyes at her, fighting back my own laughter as I press a finger to my lips in warning.

She nods, her shoulders shaking with the effort to keep quiet. But then she leans in close, as she whispers, “I can’t believe I almost had your dick in my mouth thirty seconds ago.”

A strangled sound escapes me before I can stop it. She really is such a nasty girl.

The voices outside the stall go quiet, and I freeze, the muscles in my shoulders knotting up as I wait for the pounding on the door…

The urinals flush, and water from the sink runs for five seconds before their voices drift off and the door slams shut.

It’s pure silence. And then the explosion of laughter.

It takes me a while to realize why she’s laughing at my expense, my brain still stuck on my pants-shitting terror, and then even longer to switch from that panic to relief and then to the same giggly high she’s on.

She leans her head on my chest as she keeps on smiling. “That was a close one. I think my heart almost stopped.”

“Yeah, really.” I let out a small grunt of frustration. “If my luck wasn’t bad enough, I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in at the worst possible moment. Can we please leave now?”

Her lips meet my neck. “Only if you drive fast.”

“Your wish is my command.”