11. ROXANNE
Chapter eleven
“No. Freaking. Way,” Stephanie shrieks, eyes roaming over the large plate of french fries in the middle of the table. “Tyler owes me $100.”
My best friend’s face had lit up at the mention of my plans to head to The Burger Shack after school, and with her famous puppy dog eyes she begged to come with me while I wait for Harley. Her promise of a strawberry milkshake was enough to herd me out of the car and inside of the building that always smelled like greasy burgers and fried potatoes.
It was one of my favorite scents, but even as I stared at the waitress setting the plate down on the table, it didn’t calm this ugly feeling inside I couldn’t seem to shake.
Cookies . I told Noah he smelled like fucking cookies . What is wrong with me? I mean, okay, he doesn’t actually reek like the dumpster behind a 7/11, but he did smell like danger.
I push on and chalk it up to the craziness of the day. Maybe I’m just hungry.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mumble, grabbing the ketchup and smothering the fries with it. I keep glancing out the window every five seconds, hoping to catch Harley coming down the street.
The Burger Shack is decorated in its usual retro kitsch, some clear attempt to evoke the 1950s. Black and white checkered floors, blue booths with a white stripe along the back seat, all lined up in rows against the windows. Above every table, those huge-ass lamps hang like UFOs, casting such an intense glow that sometimes I felt like I was in the back of a police station being put under a lie detector.
It seems to fill up slightly, but it’s packed with the regular suspects—hungover rich kids hidden away in the back corner booth, the elderly couple who held hands across the table while they drink their coffee, and us, tucked in a booth cracked and full of holes, the stuffing slowly spilling out.
“One straw or two?”
“I think we will be needing two straws,” Stephanie grins, holding up two fingers before she tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. The waitress sets the strawberry milkshake down with a gentle clink, the pink cream spilling over the edge. Stephanie swipes her fingers up the glass to catch it, licking them off before she grips the base of the frosted glass and pulls it toward her.
“Anyways,” she starts, sticking her straw in her mouth, “you have to call me later and tell me how it goes.”
“You know I will.” Still gripping the ketchup bottle, I set it down to the side, drumming my fingers instead against the white table to the beat of Raspberry Beret playing from the jukebox. “You not doing anything today?”
Steph takes a sip of her milkshake before answering. “You mean besides sitting in front of my radio all night trying to record the new Bon Jovi? Nope.”
I stare at the droplets of condensation racing down the sides of the glass, not blinking until the left one wins. “You know I could buy you that cassette from work, right?”
“I know, but this gives my life purpose.”
“Or you can use Tyler’s $100 for it,” I mutter, leaning in to take a sip through the straw.
“Thank you for reminding me that I’m not done talking about that.” She’s pointing a finger at me now, and her smile is annoying, as it usually is when discussing this topic. “I thought you hated Noah, but you let him crack you in a day. What’s up with that?”
I smile, blowing a puff of air to get the hair out of my eyes. “Hate’s too strong a word… Noah’s just an ass. And honestly? I can’t really say what it is, but I kind of...” My eyes fall to the fries between us. I reach out and pluck one up, popping it into my mouth and chewing on it slowly.
My mind has not stopped running back to the moment Noah dropped that comment about my drumsticks, and damn, did it hit me in the gut. The stomach sore was now blown up.
Actually, it turned into a little devil on my shoulder that had the audacity to point out that not even Harley pays that much attention to me. To him, he thinks I want to be the next big singing sensation. When has he ever heard me singing? Or seen me carrying around a microphone? It makes me grind my teeth against the fry a little too hard that I bite the edge of my tongue.
I don’t know why, but it was something that made me feel... seen. Validated even. Not in some cliche romantic or attention starved way. It was deeper than that. Like Noah could see my worth and talent without even witnessing it first hand. He didn’t think I was a shitty drummer, and somehow he could tell that from looking at me.
It was respect.
Noah Jackson respects me. Is the world ending?
“Well...” My head jerks between the plate and the window, hoping Harley’s car will magically appear before I have to spill the beans. Before I have to admit Noah broke me like a wild stallion. The last thing I want in this world is for Steph to start doodling ‘ Noah + Roxanne ’ on notes to me.
It turns out that my feeble attempts to make him work for my answer like Stephanie suggested was about as effective as trying to teach a goldfish to ride a bicycle.
Finally, I let out a dramatic sigh.
“Okay, fine ,” I confess, leaning in. “Yes, I can’t deny the truth any longer. The boy did charm me a little.” I give a rueful half-smile. “I think I was cursed.”
More like under some vampiric thrall.
“Cursed?” Stephanie smiles at this. “You think you’d have to be cursed to find the hottest guy at school charming?”
I throw my arms out in a big shrug. “I don’t know, man. I don’t really want to talk about Noah being hot right now. He is… decent, okay? He’s attractive. I’ll give him that. But he’s a dangerous mess .”
The words sounded sarcastic in my head, but when I said them out loud, it sounded a lot more like an angry outburst. My friend’s hazel eyes widen, and she does a quick scan to make sure no one overheard my little rant.
“I get it, though,” she whispers, leaning over the table when the coast is clear.
“He’s still an asshole who thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips.”
“He has a way of weaseling his way into your little heart. He’s very good at playing that whole bad boy routine.” Stephanie shakes her head. “Maybe he is a wizard and that’s how he charms.”
“Wizard. A demon. Whatever it is, someone is definitely putting something in the water at the Jackson house and I don’t know what flavor it is.” I spit the words out fast like I’m trying to get rid of that bad taste in my mouth that’s been there ever since I tasted his cologne on my breath.
I don’t want her thinking he won me over by his looks. I only agreed because it was the best thing to do for myself .
For me. My success. Me only. Only me. Nothing else.
Trying to change the subject, I dunk a french fry into the milkshake. “Last night I was actually wondering if he’s a vampire.”
“A vampire?” She hums, resting her elbows on the table and tapping her fingers together. “Yeah, you know, I could see it. Noah definitely gives off ‘creepy ancient vampire who feeds on high school girls’ vibes.”
We both laugh, and she grabs at my arm, lightly shaking it before pulling the milkshake back to her.
“Why were you thinking vampire? Did you happen to see him stand by a mirror and he didn’t show up?”
“No, but he’s been on my tail every single day like a true stalker,” I reply, words garbled around another mouthful of fries. “The mirror thing’s still up for debate, but the lack of a straight answer definitely points to him absolutely being a vampire.”
Maybe that black ring he wears is enchanted… or he slathers on an elixir of baby tears each morning to walk in the sun.
“Yeah... he does seem like he’s always trying to hide something too.”
Oh, we are so going down this rabbit hole.
I lean across the table. “And he sends a chill down my spine when he looks at me, like he’s making my blood run cold.”
Stephanie blinks at me before doubling over in laughter, wiping at the milkshake on her chin that she snorts out of her nose. “That was definitely on purpose. And probably for an entirely different reason.”
I have no clue what face I’m actually making, but going off Stephanie’s all-knowing smile and the way the lamp four inches above our booth seems to magnify the heat I feel in my cheeks, I can take a wild guess that I’m fucking boiling at her assumption that Noah turns me on.
I yank the milkshake to my side of the table. “I’m just saying he could probably pass for one,” I mutter into the straw.
“Yeah, I mean those eyes are more like scary black holes trying to suck your soul right out before he sinks his fangs in.” She makes exaggerated hissing noises before collapsing into another fit of giggles.
“Now that you mention it, he does look ancient. It’s like he crawls out of a dungeon every morning, all hot and brooding with those sharp cheeks and little black pants.”
My body freezes, hand hovering in the air with a hot fry pinched between my fingers. The heat is not only burning my face again, but my entire body, and that damn lamp above us turns me into an ant underneath a magnifying glass in the sun.
“Shit, I mean—that’s not what—” I wave my fry around as I fabricate an excuse.
I have nothing.
Stephanie leans back in the booth, arms crossed over her chest, giving me that same look when she beats my ass at the game Clue.
“I…” I clear my throat, snorting in what I hope is a totally casually convincing way. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”
“Oh, believe it, babe. You admitted that you think Noah Jackson is a hot vampire. This is the best day of my life.” She chuckles a little before sliding the milkshake back to her side of the table. “You’re right, though. He might just be a vampire. Like the quintessential vampire.”
“Vampires are supposed to be sexy too.”
Fucking—
My face flames red hot yet again as my brain catches up to my mouth.
Shit .
“Um, forget I said that too,” I mumble, staring hard out the smudged window and willing the lamp above to fall and knock me out. “Please stop letting me talk.”
Stephanie meets my mortified gaze for a split second before we both burst into a fit of laughter, our breath billowing out like a gust of wind that sends spit and crumbs flying. She folds over the table, one hand smacking the surface while she clutches her stomach with the other. I curl in on myself, wrapping my flannel tighter around my body and press my forehead to the tabletop, banging it lightly in self-hatred even as giggles keep escaping.
“That’s more like it!” Stephanie shouts, her chest still shaking with laughter. “Does his breath smell like garlic, because that’s the real question.”
I lift my head, feeling the cool rim of the table’s metal edge imprinted on my skin. “No, his breath smells like onions and beef jerky, which might qualify him as a troll.” I give her the side eye. “Which I hear you’re quite the expert in.”
“Rude!” She smiles wide while I picture Noah’s jaw morphing into warty green skin. “I think we can make a strong case for Noah as a werewolf, a vampire, a ghoul, and yes, potentially even a troll.”
Oh if Noah is a werewolf, he would not be subtle about it at all. He’d make sure everyone knew he turns all wild and animalistic at the full moon. And vampires are supposed to have that hypnotic allure, right? At least it would explain why my mouth runs away from me whenever his name comes up.
“He is a predator of some kind,” I say, heaving a deep breath. I grin and lean over the table. “And since you brought up his breath, I can’t help but notice how close yours is to my face.”
Stephanie scowls at me and snatches the milkshake back in retaliation. “Be grateful I’m not attacking you with my fangs.”
Shaking my head, my eyes roll back over to the window when I see the white Bobcat turning into the lot. The setting sun glints off the windshield and he moves into an empty parking spot.
Harley.
My friend’s eyes are on me when I start to fidget with my fingers, digging my thumbnail under the black polish on my pointer finger.
It’s her question that brings me back to reality.
“Are you and Harley okay?”
“Yeah. We’re fine.” I shrug, eyes downcast as I continue worrying my thumbnail.
I sound a hell of a lot more convincing than I feel. There’s a lot of tension between us these days, and it’s visible to everyone. I never want to talk about it though. I’d rather pretend we’re peachy while our relationship circle swirls down the drain.
No matter how much I try to slap on a happy face, nothing I do seems to make things better. I’m the only one making an effort while he keeps walking further and further away regardless of how fast I run after him with waving arms.
The stress of trying to make things right has my mind whirring and I’m so worried that I’ll push too much and cause everything to fall apart. So much weight. So many feelings. It's a slow descent into insanity.
Stephanie gives me a look like she sees the literal nerves vibrating off of me and slides the milkshake peace offering back my way.
“Okay, so I don’t know if it’s just me, but does Harley seem... off lately?” I ask softly, wrapping both hands around the glass to stop their shaking. “More moody and secretive than usual, I mean?”
Her eyes light up at my question like she’s been waiting for ages to dive into this juice of this. “Oh yeah. Whenever he was talking to you yesterday I wanted to string him up by his hair. He was acting like he was on drugs or something.”
“I thought you were going to throw a record at him.”
I stop picking at my fingernails, wiping the flakes of polish off the table, and take a sip of the shake. Harley is still in his car, fidgeting as if he’s angry about something and throwing his textbooks around. Did he lose something?
“He asked to talk to me after school today—said we have something to talk about. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what.” I take another sip. “Do you think it has anything to do with Noah?”
My gut twists with anxiety, always a trusty barometer. I’m pretty damn intuitive about these things. And right now alarm bells are clanging like we’re on a sinking ship.
This has to be about me joining the band without telling him first. Yesterday he shot down the idea without any consideration, which is so unlike his usual method of weighing up the pros and cons with me. He must not be a fan of Noah and is jealous at the idea of me spending time with the popular kid, but that seems too petty, even for him.
Harley never cared about me interacting with other guys before. Hell, he didn’t even blink when Brad Mason kept “accidentally” brushing up against my ass at Pizza Hut last month, even though it was obvious he was doing it on purpose.
Him being possessive and caring seems more like my dream fantasy of wanting him to brawl out for me and carry me off to the sunset.
Unless…
My stomach swoops.
This could have nothing to do with the band and there’s something else entirely that I’m missing. My leg jiggles restlessly under the table. What could be bad enough for Harley to make a whole production over “needing to talk”?
My fingers search for one of the straw wrappers on the table, eyes still stuck on him hunched in the front seat of his car. What the hell is he doing in there? My fear is mounting with every passing second while he’s too busy doing Jack all?
I meet Stephanie’s eyes again, seeing my own gnawing fear reflected back. I’m overreacting, but the next few minutes until I find out what’s going on might be some of the fucking longest of my life.
“Hey, it will be okay. Take a deep breath,” Steph soothes, patting my jittery hand. “Harley does probably want to talk to you about Noah, but what does he possibly have to say about it? It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong practicing with him.”
Harley confronting me about it is enough to make me shred the straw paper into microscopic pieces. Stephanie’s right that it shouldn’t matter, but I always cower down so easily to him— to everyone —in fear of setting off some invisible fuse.
“You’re right. Why would it be such a big deal?” Except the fact that I haven’t told him. Minor detail. “I’m practicing with Noah and that’s that. The end.”
“Exactly.” She leans in and I get a nostril full of her signature Love’s Baby Soft perfume that I know Tyler gifts her every Christmas. “You run the show.”
I put on a tight, forced smile and look over again to see Harley finally stepping out of his car, slamming the door shut behind him.
Man, Stephanie might be onto something. He does look a little... weird. Strung out and crazed almost. If I didn’t know him, I’d think he’d try and sell me stolen speakers from the trunk of his car.
It’s something in his eyes. They used to be these gorgeous hazelnuts that made me crack open and stuff me with warm and ooey-gooey goodness, and now, they’re darkening—the color changing to something indescribable, and that something is seeping in, taking over all the color he once had. Turning a shade darker each day.
Each step toward me.
“I’m sure it’ll be totally fine!” Stephanie chirps, patting my forearm to wake me up. “Selfishly, I hope it is about him because a Harley-Noah rivalry would be hilarious. They’re both huge idiots.”
That makes me scoff, my tongue hitting the back of my teeth while I flick a french fry at her head. She laughs, brushing the fry onto the floor as she squeezes out of the booth, slinging her backpack over one shoulder.
“Could you imagine what would happen if they got into an argument?” Leaning down with both palms braced on the table edge, she tracks Harley stalking across the lot. “I think I need to see that happen in my lifetime.”
“There’s a mental image I didn’t know I needed until now.” I shake my head, lips quirking.
Harley trying to fight him? Or even talking to him? My mood spirals back down imagining the loud grunts as muscled bodies strain and collide, sweat dripping, and fists connecting. Why can’t dudes get along and talk out their issues calmly? No, it always has to come to chest-thumping contests and territorial squabbles. What are we, mountain goats?
Although with the image I conjured up in my mind, I can’t say I really mind...
“Do you think Harley knows how to throw a punch?”
I shake my head again. “Nope. Not at all.”
“Honestly, I could see their fight being entirely one-sided. How could anyone lay a hand on Noah Jackson? He probably does pushups in his sleep.”
I laugh with her, eating another fry. She has a point. Harley might be wider, but Noah is taller and looks carved out of stone, more like a teenage Greek god incarnate.
Which is why I’m convinced he’s not human. There’s no way a person can be so blessed with everything: money, a huge house, eating whatever the hell he wants and his body staying the same, his perfect hair that I know is all natural, and a singing voice so sweet it could make angels cry. He’s too close to perfect, not a single flaw in sight. Only non-humans can be that untouchable. I bet he belongs to a superior alien race sent to watch over us.
I try to really imagine him fighting with someone, but Noah has this aura of invincibility too. I’m sure he’d be scrappy as hell in a fight, but I know that he’d come out unscathed.
I cram more fries in my mouth. “Okay, hypothetically, who do you think would win in a fight?”
“Noah.” I’m not sure if I should be offended because I had the same answer. “If him and Noah got into it, it would probably be like a man picking on an innocent little child,” Stephanie says, reading my thoughts again.
Just because I have them doesn’t necessarily mean they should be said out loud.
“You realize this is my boyfriend you’re talking about, right?”
“No duh. But he’s also eight inches shorter than Noah. Why am I the one making these important observations?” She smiles wickedly, leaning off of the table. “You have met your boyfriend before, right?
“What about his friend who was checking you out earlier with the tan legs and probably a bunch of broken bones he hasn’t treated properly?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows while sipping from the milkshake. “Or am I the only one making these important observations?”
“You mean Daniel?” Her chin turns toward the door at his name, one of her hands starting to fiddle with the scrunchie on her wrist. “Yeah, Harley is screwed. They’re skateboarders, so he’s doomed if he has both of them on him.”
Ah ha . Is that deflection coming from Stephanie Bell? She totally did notice Mr. Baggy Shorts checking her out earlier. Knew it.
“Harley can handle his own.” I lean so my back is flush with the seat, eyes staring ahead as Harley reaches the door. “You seem to know a lot about Daniel being a skateboarder,” I say, side-eyeing her. “Are you a skateboard queen yourself?”
“Oh wow, look at the time,” she blurts out fast, her Keds squeaking across the checkered floors as she bolts backward. Her voice falls into a whisper as she mimics a phone with her hand against her ear. “Call me if they duke it out.”
I smother a grin as she rushes out, nearly face planting as she gives Harley a fleeting wave as the bell jingles above her. Every muscle in my body turns to concrete as he slides into the booth across from me, placing both forearms down with a thud, those dark hazels never leaving mine.
Well, whatever he is about to say, I know it’s going to be bad.
“Sorry I’m late,” he mutters tonelessly. “Traffic was awful.”
I throw him a wobbly grin but Harley’s glare is heating up the plate of french fries. I push the shake aside, paranoid of doing anything remotely stupid around him like spilling it or getting cream on my nose.
“Don’t worry about it!” I chirp. Too happy.
Be casual . Everything’s chill, just hanging at the diner, nothing life-altering or guilt-inducing about to occur.
My fingers start to fold up the other paper straw.
Then I hear his neck crack loudly. Shit , so much for easing in. I brace myself as he opens his mouth, my own panic rising up to meet his.
Here it comes. 3... 2... 1...
“Are... you alright?” he asks instead, one brow raised curiously as he steals a limp fry.
I freeze mid-fold, face screwing up in confusion. Is this some kind of trap?
“Yeah, I’m... fine.” I bare all of my teeth to him.
Harley frowns. Yeah, because who smiles like that?
Note to self: work on normal human facial expressions.
I mentally script a million smooth conversation openers, but none of the options sound right. I don't think there is a single good way to go about bringing it up, so I take a deep breath, and—not so much with courage but more so with obliging responsibility—rip the bandaid off. If this is going to be weird, I might as well get it over with.
“Look, I know why you’re here, so let’s cut to the chase. Lay it all on me. You can even slap my wrist if you want to.” I thrust my wrist out to him, hoping if I try to be cute it’ll lessen the damage.
I shake the pathetically offered appendage when his eyebrows pull together and he glances down at my bracelets, then back up at me. He slowly finishes chewing on a fry and runs his tongue along the top of his teeth.
“Uh, what?”
I pull my wrist back, my confusion matching his. “You wanted to talk about me hanging out with Noah... Right? Or is there something else I’m missing?”
His gaze immediately snaps up from my wrist. “Wait... What? You’re hanging out with Noah?”
“Yeah, he’s getting that band together and I decided that I’m going to join. That’s why you wanted to talk, isn’t it?” It’s surprising how confused he looks, and not at all angry like I’d thought. “Because you found out and you’re upset I didn’t tell you yet and you think I’m being ridiculous by hanging out with him?”
His face changes almost immediately as my words sink in—the line between his blonde eyebrows smoothing out, his lips rolling into his mouth.
“Yeah.” He starts nodding, a little too quickly. “That’s pretty much it.”
Thank god .
He clears his throat as he reaches out for another fry, and pastes on this unsettling, too-wide smile. “So Noah’s getting a band together, after all? That’s cool, really cool.” He doesn’t sound remotely cool with it. “I’m excited for you, but now that I know you’re in his band, there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”
I slide to the edge of my seat, already guessing where this is going. But I’m not one to usually jump to conclusions.
Yeah, right.
“What is it?” I ask.
He’s probably going to say something along the lines of “ I don’t like the idea of you spending time with him, ” but he’s going to soften it up with that smooth voice of his, and it will make it sound reasonable enough that I end up feeling guilty about it and agree.
I can’t say I blame him. It’s Noah Jackson we’re talking about here, but this band is now a necessary part of my four step plan. I want to move on.
“I’m not upset that you’re working on this band,” he begins gently, “I think it’s great that you’re following your dreams and stuff.”
Here it comes . I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for the blow.
“I want to make sure you don’t let him take you away from all your friends and other stuff.”
Either I’m starting to sweat from nerves, or the overhead lamps have actually gotten hotter. I crack one eye open and see his tongue digging into the corner of his lip before he reaches out, taking my hand and bringing it into his. Then he presses a warm kiss on my knuckles.
“Or me.”
My body stiffens at the way his eyes meet mine from over my knuckles, those butterflies in my stomach scattering any and all thoughts.
“You’re okay with it? I mean, no hard feelings or anything?” I grip tighter at his thumb. He really is fine with this? “Because I honestly thought this conversation was going to be a lot worse.”
“Are you kidding me? Of course I’m not okay with this.” Harley’s laugh explodes like a firecracker, making me jump and grip tighter at his hand. Shit, I wasn't ready for that.
My body cracked with each word, as easy as a branch in a storm of lightning and even the booth in the diner shook from it. This was the reaction I was waiting for.
But then, just like that, Harley's voice softens back to its gentleness, as if he suddenly remembered I'm made of glass, and he's tiptoeing around the shards. “But yeah, it’s fine. I don’t mind. As long as you don’t forget about me, then, it’s totally fine.”
Harley smiles again, this time more genuine. As his thumb continues its distracting movements across the top of my palm, revelation hits.
“Harley O’Reily, are you nervous ?”
“Maybe a little bit.” He starts to puff out his chest in that alpha dog way.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the only thing on my mind.”
“Now I feel like I have to step up and try to be cooler.”
“You are already way too cool. Especially since you’re hanging out with all of the cool, cool kids.”
He snorts. “Yeah, I guess.”
The hungover kids are still in the back scarfing down burgers and I wonder if any are his new friends. He used to be such a lone wolf before, and on one hand, it’s really cool to see him building this social confidence now, but I know it’s not a coincidence that he hung out with them so often and then stopped paying attention to me.
His new cool friends ordered him to ditch the dead weight. Namely, me .
Great, now my brain is turning back into a mess. I don’t want to think about any of that right now. Of course, my brain and mouth are never in alignment.
“When will you get to bring your super uncool girlfriend to one of their cool parties?” I reach out and poke at his arms now crossed against the edge of the table, stopping when he swats me away.
The set of his brow hardens as he turns away from me. “Yeah, soon. Definitely soon. I’ll work on it. I promise.”
There’s still something he’s not telling me. Something about his new circle he wants to keep me safely separate from.
He’s protecting me , I rationalize. That’s got to be it.
“You’re a terrible liar, Harls.” I sigh and pull his hand out from behind his arm to get him to look at me. “I know you’re not really okay with this at all.” I squeeze his fingers. “I promise that no matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere. Even if the band gets as huge as The Beatles and we go on world tours, I’m not going anywhere without you. Not now. Not with Noah. Just you.”
Not totally true. If Harley wants to stay here while I leave well…. That’s a bridge we’ll burn when we get to it.
“Right. Good. Okay. That’s, uh, that’s great.” He clears his throat, not quite meeting my eyes. “When do you think you’ll have your first practice? Just out of curiosity.”
“I know we talked about how I’d never forget about you or my friends but...” I glance down at my watch. “It’s actually right now.”
“ What ?” he balks. “Right now? Right now?”
“Yeah, it’s right now.” I grin at how his face journeys through the five stages of grief in a few seconds flat as I start to slide out of the booth, pulling out a couple dollar bills from my pocket and tucking it underneath the plate of fries.
“I take it you’re not gonna come with me?” My voice is packed with sass as I step over to the side of his booth, resting my knee on the edge.
“Hell no,” he barks out with a laugh. “I don’t know if I would be a great addition to the band. What instrument would I even play?” Harley raises an eyebrow. “Unless you have some special position that only I can fill.”
My brow matches his, and if I’m not mistaken I swear he’s making a sex joke with me.
“I’m sure we could find some vital role only you can fill.” I lean into the seat more, the vinyl creaking under my knee. “I bet you have lots of bangin’ talents.”
Harley smiles up at me, shaking his head to figure out how to top that one. My lips curl up a bit more, until his face squashes and he pulls back from my touch.
“Roxy,” he whispers. “Not in public. What if someone sees us?”
“What? We’re not exactly in the middle of the quad,” I laugh as pink spots rise on his neck. Since when is having a mildly risqué conversation in broad daylight bad? It’s not like I jumped his bones on the tabletop.
Given his reaction though, now feels like the perfect time to finally address the elephant in the room, but I haven’t the slightest fucking idea how to breach that subject. I wish I could be forward and outright ask him why he doesn’t touch me anymore. Every time I work up the nerve, images of him shutting me down and never talking to me again cower my courage.
Then you’d really have no one left.
I blink back the hot sting in my eyes and reach down to lace our fingers together, needing that touch to soothe the dumb ache rippling through me, but his entire body goes rigid. Like I’m contagious. Unwanted.
“No, Roxy. Not here. Not right now.” Each word is a needle sinking deeper into my skin as his hands drop into his lap. He can’t hold my hand for two seconds?
“Later? I can make it up to you then?”
I might as well be screaming: love me, want me, please notice I exist.
“No, really, it’s fine,” he reassures, now taking my hand down low in between us and rubbing at the nail I picked at while dreading this conversation. “You have the freedom to do whatever you want without any ultimatums from me.”
And while I respect that, that was not the answer I wanted. My frustration has developed gills at this point from perpetually drowning in his disinterest.
I back off, instead addressing his initial point about not wanting to be seen, and appreciating that he at least doesn’t seem that upset about me having to skip out early for practice.
“Okay,” I murmur, leaning in quick until my lips brush the top of his hair.
As I draw back, something in his resistance starts to crumble. His pupils dilate and his tongue swipes between his lips before he flicks his eyes up from my knee to mine.
The warmth in them is back.
For one beautiful damn heartbeat, I think he’s about to run his rough hands up my thigh and wrap his arms around me. His gaze darts around the diner again, triple checking for observers, and a fresh wave of embarrassment washes over me as I retreat, pissed off and annoyed.
Why does he act like I’m committing a crime when I enter his space? We’re not hiding our relationship. The poor waitress at The Burger Shack has seen our lips locked more times than she can count.
My knee drops from his booth, but the questions continue to bubble up as I see his shoulders relax the more distance I put between us. I know it’s going to eat at me if I didn’t ask right here and right now, then I would never be able to stop thinking about it during practice.
I have to.
“Okay, actually, one more thing. How come we don't—you never—you know—like, we haven’t?”
Silence follows my words where I think I might have cardiac arrest.
Harley keeps searching my face. “We don’t... what?”
Wow, Okay. He’s really going to make me ask.
“I need to know why you always pull away whenever I try to get intimate with you,” I blurt out, fast and awkward, but they still have the power of my irritation behind them. And hey, that’s the second time I’ve been proud of myself for growing a pair. There was no stopping me now.
“We used to all the time, but then we did that... you know... we—okay, we had a couple of beers and had sex, yes I said it, and ever since then, you seem very uninterested in anything more. And now I need to know. Like, is it me? Did I do something wrong? Do you secretly hate me now?”
Was I bad?
Harley’s cheeks redden as he realizes exactly where this is going. I squirm under his shocked stare, my confession hanging over our booth louder than Can’t Smile Without You blaring out of the jukebox. Yes, I initiated The Talk smack dab in the middle of The Burger Shack.
His pupils are still as wide as the dinner plates as he crosses his arms across his lower body.
Swallowing, he finally uncorks his voice. “That, uh... that first time wasn’t too, um, enjoyable for either of us it seemed.” He studies my agitated hands, visibly piecing words together. “Neither one of us got anything out of it, and you didn’t seem like you had much fun, so I don’t see the point in trying again?”
I blink hard. That’s his brilliant reasoning? Our first attempt wasn’t mind-blowing, so he thinks it’s not worth giving it another shot? Now he’s going to continue to reject my advances and openly declare that we shouldn’t even try again? He’s going to base our first time on how every single time would go? Was I really such a disappointment that one slightly subpar sexual experience where I didn’t get off killed his interest forever?
Breathe .
I listen to myself and exhale slowly. Shit . I shouldn’t have said anything. Now it’s going to become this big thing between us, and it’ll make things weirder when it does happen again.
Another calming inhale.
We have to get past it.
I want to say: that’s exactly the point, let me at least redeem myself! It’s going to take more than one time of having sex before you’re good at it!
“Right,” is all I can manage on my exhale.
Harley looks confused by it. Clearly he expected me to erupt in some female fury, not tuck my tail and nod my head. But as I said before, I’m something of a coward when it comes to confrontation. This was shaping up to be another one of those moments.
Yet I still feel the need to clear my conscience. Everything that had ejected out of my mouth came across as me only interested in having sex with him and nothing more. And that makes me feel all assholey.
It’s not about wanting to have sex with him—it’s about wanting a deeper connection. I don’t want to come across as some sex-crazed jerk, because there are other times when I crave the simple things, like holding his hand or kissing his cheek. I wish I could articulate these thoughts more clearly, but the barrier between us feels higher which makes me feel increasingly small.
That first time wasn’t too enjoyable for either of us.
I want to scoff. I didn’t regret a thing. If anything, I want to have that same feeling again.
The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. My hands grow clammy as I search for something—anything—to say, until my eyes land on a movie poster on the wall advertising the upcoming Predator 2 .
“Alien versus Predator,” I blurt out, desperate.
Harley’s brow furrows. “Huh?”
“You know, Alien versus Predator. Who would win in a fight?”
“Oh... uh... I don’t know. Why?” His confusion is palpable, and I can’t blame him. I truly am an idiot.
“Come on, someone has to win. Which one do you think?”
He shrugs, still looking perplexed. “Which one do you think?”
“Predator. Definitely.”
“Yeah, I think Predator too.”
My grin falls. Even in this, he’s agreeing with me. I can’t tell if he’s actually considering the question or trying to end the conversation.
“Right,” is all I say again.
“You should head out,” he says, interrupting me before I can form my next spiral and glancing down at his watch. “I don’t want to keep you from practice. I know how you get when you’re running late.”
He shoots me a smile, all nonchalant and cute, as if everything is peachy keen. I'm sure it is, and I’m overthinking as usual. Typical me, making mountains out of molehills.
“Have fun and I’ll see you later, yeah?”
My voice strains against the rock in my throat. All I can give him is a meek nod while he grabs another french fry and shoves it into his mouth. That’s when I decide to make my grand exit, wanting him to witness all the awesomeness he’s missing out on. I strut away, making sure he sees every little thing he’s letting slip through his fingers.
Once the glass door swings shut behind me and I hop into my car, I’m not only leaving sexually frustrated but at least I’ve got a new band name idea.
My Frontman’s a Vampire.