40. NOAH
Chapter forty
I hate how when you’re looking forward to something, how time feels endlessly slow because I am fucking ready to see her. The exact moment the clock hit 4:30 PM on the official second day of 1991, I set off for Roxanne’s instantly, saying farewell to Josephine for the day, and am now turning off the street I know by heart in Roxanne’s absolute behemoth of a car.
This thing is a fucking tank. We could hide in the back during an apocalypse and survive because no radiation is getting in through these thick walls. We’ll be eating Twinkies and Spam in this metal cocoon while the world burns.
From the driver’s seat, my hair is a mess around my face thanks to the cracked window. Ever since the dance, her heater has been stuck on full blast mode.
“So, sunshine,” I drawl, cranking the window down another inch while the dice dangling from her mirror shakes as I hit a pothole. “I didn’t expect you to be a Pulvertongue fan.”
A lie . I saw the records on her shelves a while ago, but I’m looking for a reason to hear her voice.
Roxanne hums as she struggles in the back seat. “Yeah, my dad and I listened to them a lot.”
Even her elbow peeking out from behind my seat in the rearview mirror looks hot, and the blue jelly bracelet sliding down her wrist. Fuck me .
She’d rushed out of work at the record store, insistent that I drive the way to Chicago so she can change and do her makeup. And very insistent I take my sunglasses off so I can’t look at her changing in the back without her noticing. I obliged, of course, giving her a smirk as I tucked them into the neck of my shirt like a good boy.
I'm cruising down the interstate, dressed in my jeans with rips at the knees, Chucks, and black rings tapping against the steering wheel.
Black on black, baby.
Well, not all black. My shirt is a short sleeve black button up, but the front has a brown stripe going down each side of my chest, thank you very much.
I kept the top three buttons open because, yeah. I’m a whore.
My eyes stay trained ahead, ignoring all the little flashes of skin popping up in my peripheral or the mirror. After nine weeks of being “just friends,” I still haven’t seen anything north of her waist. Not even a flash of bra strap.
No matter how fucking badly I want to possess every breath, every sigh, every inch of her body, I’m not going to push her into anything she’s not ready for. I respect her boundaries, always.
“We should probably establish some ground rules for this totally platonic outing. Like, am I allowed to stare at your beautiful face, or is that off limits?”
“Noah!” I hear her sputter, sounding torn between laughing and groaning.
I try not to smile, focusing on the road ahead. “What? I need to know these things. Communication is key in any relationship, even the ‘just friends’ kind.”
Just friends. A cage of syllables trapping the truth gnawing at my ribcage that fucking howls for release. It’s official that I want to be anything but that, though the timing never seems right for that conversation. To announce the feelings she brings upon me—comfort, yet really antsy where I think I’m not supposed to sit still anymore and am meant to pick her up and run away with her. The one where I confess I’m basically in love with her and want to be allowed to scream it to the world, spray-paint it on abandoned walls, and hold her hand in public.
Maybe she’ll let me do that today without caring who sees since we’re going to be an hour away.
“Fine.” Roxanne’s voice drifts from the back, muffled as she presumably pulls a shirt over her head. “You get two longing gazes. No more, no less. Use them wisely.”
“Two whole gazes?” I gasp and switch into the next lane. “Why Roxanne Wishmore, you spoil me.”
“And you can’t use either one of them to look back here.”
“I am a perfect gentleman, I’ll have you know.”
She laughs, bright and uninhibited, and my heart smothers the beast in my chest. I love that sound. Love being the one to bring it out of her.
“A gentleman who so happens to have left his top three buttons undone.”
My lips curve. She noticed. Of course, she noticed.
God, I’m fucking excited. A whole night with Roxanne, losing ourselves in the music, and enjoying each other’s company... I can’t wait. I've been waiting for a moment like this with her.
I laugh every time I hear her grunts, followed by a thump that I can guess is her wrestling with her pants. It’s cute, actually, hearing her express every single emotion that she used to repress in front of me. She is more open nowadays, and that makes me feel too damn good.
“What’s so funny?” she giggles, the sound slightly closer now, and I resist the urge to check the mirror.
“You sound like you’re wrestling a bear back there. Need any help?”
“Oh, get bent,” she huffs, emerging from the back. And holy mother of sin , if I thought she looked good before.
She’s a vision in blood-red, the short sleeve top tight on her skin. With the shoulders cut out I can see all of her cute little moles, and an inch of her tummy is showing between her leather pants. Her eyes have more makeup than usual in shades of charcoal and silver, her lips are stained dark brown, and her hair does that wild child thing in her natural waves. Our worlds were finally combining or something. Like at the end of Grease , but at least Danny gets the girl.
One day she will be fucking mine and I will become the happiest, most stress free man that walks this earth.
A horn blares behind us, and I jerk the wheel along with my attention back to the highway.
“Shit, sorry,” I mutter, easing off the gas. I hadn’t realized I was drifting.
Roxanne clears her throat, clipping her seatbelt on. “It’s fine,” she says, a little too brightly. “Maybe keep your eyes on the road from now on. I’d like to make it to the concert alive.”
“I’ll save the gazes for when we’re not blasting down the highway at seventy miles an hour.”
“You should because I feel like hot garbage,” she states while flipping down the sun visor.
I choke on my own tongue. GARBAGE? Is she fucking high?
“You look opposite of garbage, hence the staring,” I murmur, as I force my eyes back to the road.
She looks beautiful, as always, but different. The outfit is a step out of the box, but she has her own flair to it that makes her stand out in a world of people all trying to look the same.
“I am garbage,” she shoots back, this time with a hint of a smile.
“You’re outta your mind.” I glance over from the corner of my eye, hands flexing on the wheel. “There is not a single ugly part about you, Roxanne. I know this to be true, because I am your biggest fan.”
She snorts, swiping on another round of lipstick. “I’m not sure if I agree with that. I think you’re more like my groupie?”
I grin, reaching my hand over to rest on top of her thigh. “I’m more than happy to fill any position you need.”
She sucks in a sharp breath as I squeeze her, her lips parting on a gasp, and fuck , I want to pull this car over right now and put my mouth on her, want to taste that pretty sound right from the source.
I slide down her thigh to take her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. It’s not good for my heart to be doing this, but it doesn’t feel that way when I think about how many times I’ve wanted someone to hold my hand.
“You’re such a dog, I swear.”
“Woof,” I deadpan to watch her face scrunch up in that Wishmore way that means she’s contemplating kissing me or punching me.
God, I love her so fucking much. It’s disgusting.
“Right now,” I murmur, brushing my lips over her knuckles, “this is all I need.”
“Me too,” she whispers back, squeezing at my fingers.
I turn back to the road, shaking my head at us. Roxanne may not believe it, but I’m serious. I’m not blowing smoke up her ass when I say she’s gorgeous. I mean it. The attraction I feel for this girl, it’s... it’s staggering. Like, knock-me-on-my-ass, take-my- breath-away, make-me-question-my-entire-worldview levels of intense. And it keeps getting stronger, day after fucking day.
She drops my hand to dig through her bag, yanking out a tape, and I already recognize that little blue art before she flips it open.
“Do you always have that album on you?” I ask, watching her pop open Heart’s 'Brigade' and honestly shocked it’s not glued into her car radio.
Roxanne shrugs as she slots the tape into the deck. “I have to listen to it in full at least once a week. For my health.”
“Once a week?” I raise an eyebrow. “A full listen to that album only once every 7 days?”
Please. She has that shit on repeat 24/7. I bet she sleeps with it under her pillow.
“Sometimes two,” she admits.
“Liar. You can’t miss a day listening to that tape, can you?”
“Okay, maybe I listen to it every day. Or maybe I listen to it several times in one day. What would you know?”
“I fucking knew it,” I crow, grinning as I shift into the left lane.
The opening notes of the album fill up the car and Roxanne’s face goes soft as if hearing the voice of God, and she might as well be since this tape is her religion. I turn up the volume a little more for her.
When the music sweeps over my ears, I glance down at the giant red and blue ‘H’ on the middle of the cassette. She always keeps this with her, no matter what . It’s one of the things that I noticed about her first, that she has a mix of tapes with her at all times, but always this one.
The drive goes by quickly, and I would like to say that throughout the experience me and Kevin have officially become one.
That was not the experience at all.
Kevin is a temperamental son of a bitch. Loud as fuck, with an even louder heater that blasts me in the face the whole time. My palm sweats all over the steering wheel, and the constant wind in my left ear isn’t much better. But damn if I’m not… happy.
I’m happy . Down to my bones, stupid grin on my face happy . Absolutely nothing to do with the girl sitting next to me the whole ride. Thank god the wind is violent today so she can’t see the smile that’s been on my face since I got into this car.
The album wraps up once we make it to Chicago, and I found I Didn’t Want To Need You scarily hits a little too close to home. It had me grip the steering wheel the whole four minutes.
By the time we pull into the parking lot of the amphitheater, after getting lost and having to circle the block three times—apparently I’m directionally challenged when distracted by a pretty girl singing every song—the sun is starting to dip low in the sky. It’s dim behind my sunglasses, painting the world in streaks of orange and pink.
“Come on, slowpoke!” Roxanne calls over her shoulder, already jumping out of the car. “If we don’t hurry, we’re gonna miss the opener!”
“Heaven forbid,” I mutter, but I’m grinning as I scramble out after her, locking up Kevin and inhaling that stretch of downtown Chicago.
I fucking love this city. Every time I come here, the spirit of the Great Lakes touch my cheek and smile at me.
The street’s lit up like a carnival because of what’s going down tonight, cars flying by blasting tunes while people holler. Trash is all over the front lot, crowds of people are jumping around the leftover rain puddles, and the front doors are wide open with people spilling in. The opening act is already performing, but what really grabs me is the giant flashing sign that reads:
PULVERTONGUE. REIGN OF REBELLION WORLD TOUR.
“Whoa…” Roxanne whooshes out while spinning around slowly.
“Yeah.” I smirk as I watch everyone dressed up in their hats and band tees. “This place is going to be a madhouse.”
I’m buzzing like crazy from having to contain my excitement. Lest I want to look like a fucking little girl squealing. I haven’t been to a concert since Daniel dragged me to see some hip-hop group. And that hardly counts.
“Well,” I gesture toward the front gates, “you’re here to bask in the bass-lickin’ rock god aura. Shall we do this?”
She puts her hand out towards me. “Come on.”
I’ve never grabbed something so fast before. My guitar could fall in slow motion and I still would not catch it as quickly as this.
We hand off our tickets to the big guy at the entrance, walk inside, and the air is already hot and sticky, the place filled with hundreds of people tighter than a cornfield. The floor beneath our feet is starting to shake because of how hard everyone’s feet are hitting the ground.
It’s glorious .
We both spin around, taking in the loud, enormous speakers shaking the stage’s walls. The smoke machines fog the place, millions of colors shooting out from the stage, the brick walls shining like a piece of crystal.
“Holy shit.” My mouth drops open as I gaze upon the belly of the beast. “This place is insane.”
Beside me, Roxanne nods, her eyes wide and shining. “It looks like a circus.”
There’s all sorts of people around us with colorful hair, leather vests over fishnet sleeves. My thumb lightly runs across her palm as we follow them down into the pit.
Roxanne shoots through the crowd, guiding us as close as we can possibly get to the stage littered with amp crates and a microphone shaped in a snake’s tongue. I’m surprised she’s the one that is leading the charge into this.
My fearless little rebel queen.
I never let go of her, not wanting her to get lost or pulled away from me.
The first act is finishing up as I settle my feet in the perfect spot, the middle area, and only a few rows behind. I sling my arm around her shoulders, my fingers brushing the ends of her hair.
“You ready to get soaked in sweat?” I tug at a strand
“As long as its not yours.”
“Please. I don’t sweat.”
And then the moment everyone has been waiting for—we hear it.
The iconic Venoms Kiss .
The crowd goes nuts.
The cheers and screams that cycle through the audience as the set progresses are a wall of sound so thick, that it’s a physical thing beating against my eardrums.
I fucking love it. We both do.
We dance, jumping up and down, going absolutely feral.
Some minutes into the fifth song, the floor has already gotten more crowded with all the frantic energy, and the space between us narrows. I’m in the midst of whipping my hair around when Roxanne leans up, swatting at my arm to get my attention.
“This was my dads favorite one!” she yells over the music.
“For real?” I put my arm back down and pump up the volume of my headbanging even more so, the longer curls forward and dangling in front of my eyes. “Then we better give this one our all.”
I wish I knew what my dad’s favorite song was, or had any memories like that.
Roxanne starts to throw punches in the air and jumps up and down, belting out to the chorus . I make a fist and pretend it’s a mic, singing along with her and passing it back and forth for every other line.
When she looks up at me, her lips pull into this sweet smile, soft as new moss, while something shines in her grassy eyes as we hold eye contact. Her cheeks are rosy and glowing with happiness as she jumps around, really feeling the music. Seeing her having such a good time is contagious, and this huge grin cracks across my face.
Eh, who needs dads when I’ve got memories I can make with her.
With that grin, I drop to one knee behind her, stick my neck through her legs, secure her thighs with my arms, and hoist her up.
Her hands fly to grip my hair to steady herself, and when she leans forward, her chest is resting on top of my head, and my fingers are digging into her thighs to hold on. My thoughts between the music and her flip flop, the grip she has on my scalp intensifying with every note coming from the guitar until I find the girl above me with a huge smile on her face.
I’m back to jumping around as much as I can in the throng of pushes and shoves from other metalheads, but a human body around your neck really limits a man’s head banging skills.
Not long after, she gets tired and begs for solid ground. I stand behind her now since the absence of her body in the crowd made others move in, and we start moving our shoulders and hips to the music again, bodies grazing each other as we start to dance.
The crowd goes wild when the song ends, and I cup my hands over my mouth to scream back.
I raise my arms and yell along with the crowd as the singer moves into the next song, then slide my sunglasses down on Roxanne’s nose, and bounce her up and down with me.
I hope she’s finding some peacefulness as she loses herself in the music, with no thoughts of shitty parents, school, or Battle of the Bands plans.
Just good fucking music.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders from behind, pulling her closer and holding her tight against my chest as the song crashes around us. I bury my nose in the back of her head, breathing in the smell of her—all caramel and brown sugar today.
“I love you,” I murmur, the words lost to the roar of the crowd. “I love you, I love you, I love you .”
She can’t hear me. I know she can’t. But I don’t care.
“So, what did you think?” I ask, unwrapping the greasy BK burgers on my skateboard and creating a little makeshift picnic on the board. After the show ended, we hit the drive-thru to soak in the city life, eventually parking in a secluded spot up a side road. It's just before the interstate that cuts through the forest, leading to the top of a hill that overlooks the entire outskirts of Chicago.
It’s a killer view, the twinkling lights of tall buildings spread out below us like red, yellow, and blue glitter, the stars above so bright and close, I’d think I could reach out and pluck them.
It’s ten minutes until midnight, but I don’t want this night to ever end.
“Holy shit they were amazing,” she nods, popping a fry in her mouth. “I didn’t even mind the drunk girls behind me screaming the lyrics in my ear.”
She smiles and the moon bounces off her exposed teeth, and I briefly wonder how they would feel on my throat.
Ahem, anyways…
“Thanks for coming, by the way,” she murmurs, voice going soft. “The last time I had a night this fun was when Stephanie and I split a pack of Newports then watched The Blob.”
“Stephanie is cool, but I bet she doesn’t know the lyrics to every Pulvertongue song like I do.” I wink, digging into the burger.
“Ha. Ha.” Roxanne rolls her eyes, her head tilting up toward the stars. “It’s kind of hard to believe that in four months we’ll be graduating. No more canceling practice to go to concerts on a random Wednesday night.”
“Don’t remind me,” I groan. “Though at least we have the battle to look forward to before they hand us our diplomas.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. “Are you nervous?”
“Me, nervous? Never.” That’s a damn lie. My stomach has been in knots for weeks, but it isn’t because of the music. Music has never been the problem.
The music I can handle. The music is the one thing in my life that’s always made sense.
“Tell me, Nora.” Those dahlia dimples pop out on that damn nickname. “What’s the master plan once they hand you that fancy piece of paper? Besides being something someone can remember forever?”
I laugh, surprised she actually remembers those words from way back when. “No fucking clue.”
The closer we get to the finish line, the more I realize I don’t have a goddamn plan. I’m making it up as I go, hoping I don’t faceplant into my own bullshit along the way.
Her eyes aren't looking away from me, deep and dark and swirling with some unmapped emotion. “Yeah… me neither.”
“I’m not really good at many things.”
“You’re good at a lot of things,” she tsks, her gaze dropping to the black polish on her nails. “Singing, for one. Skateboarding, for another. Tattoos…”
I smile, sucking the ketchup off my thumb. “Yeah, keep going.”
Those mossy eyes give me the mother of all side eyes. “Why don’t you do something with that?”
“I don’t know. A rockstar tattoo artist? Sounds cool but also unstable career wise.” I go quiet, tracing my finger along cracks in the grip tape. This talk of tomorrow’s is casting a shadow over our night, choking out the starlight. Why does the future feel ready to wash away everything we’ve built?
Roxanne scowls, reaches across the skateboard and shoves at my shoulder, nearly sending me ass over elbows into the dirt.
“Screw stable and conventional!” she shouts, eyes flashing. “If music and ink make you come alive, then chase that dream with everything you got.’”
I need nothing else except for you to marry me.
“Damn, Wishmore more is anti the man.” I smile back, softer this time. There’s nothing I’d love more than to spend my days hunched over with ink, or scaling a parking garage for the perfect empty canvas, and my nights on a stage. To put all the noise in my head and the fire in my blood into something real and mine .
It’s a nice fantasy to jerk off to in the dark, not something I can actually have. Not in the real world, where rent is due and food ain’t free. There's probably thousands of kids out there with the same dream, all of us thinking we're hot shit with a spray can.
“It’s okay to be scared,” she murmurs, reaching out to cover my hand with hers. “Never let that fear stop you from chasing your dreams, though. You’re too talented to settle for anything less than what sets your soul on fire.”
I swallow hard, my chest tight. “You really think I could make it? As a musician or an artist?”
She smiles, so fierce and bright. “I know you can. You’ve got the drive, the sheer fucking guts to put yourself out there and make people sit up and take notice.”
Shaking my head, I flip my hand over to lace our fingers together. “Easier said than done, sunshine.”
“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “I believe in you.”
Fuck. If she keeps saying things like this, looking at me like that, I’m going to do something stupid right here in the middle of this field.
“I don’t think anyone has ever stopped to ask me what I want to do.” I clear my throat and crumple up my burger wrapper, tossing it into the bag. “If you ask my parents, a perfect plan would be me graduating from Bellpond, going to Chicago University, getting a degree in something boring like accounting, and working at an office right here in Bellpond”—I can’t help but make a face at that—“then eventually getting married and having ten children.”
Roxanne wrinkles her nose, genuinely grossed out as she leans back on both palms. “I don’t want to think about ten miniature Noahs running around.” She shudders. “I can barely handle one of you.”
I bust out laughing, grabbing one of her fries and chucking it at her. “What about you?”
“What, children? Hell no.” She brushes the fry off her lap like it’s a bug. I flick another one at her because that’s not what I meant and she knows it.
Roxanne sits up straight, crossing her legs and clasping her hands together in her lap. “I have this big jar hidden in my bedroom, stuffed with all the cash I’ve been saving for the last three years. It’s not as full as I want it to be yet, but once I grab my diploma, I’m getting the hell out of this town and leaving everything behind and starting fresh.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Damn, girl’s got plans.
“Look at you, Bellpond’s rebel with a bag of cash and a one way ticket outta here.” I try to keep my voice fun, but that root inside my chest twists at the idea of her leaving everything behind. Including me.
“You really hate it here that much?” I ask, picking at the peeling Thrasher sticker on my skateboard.
Roxanne shrugs, a strand of hair falling across her face. “It’s not that I hate it... I just feel trapped sometimes. I don't want to blink and be 45 years old still living in the same house and taking care of my mom.” A shiver runs through her, and I don’t think it’s entirely due to the chill in the air. “I refuse to be that person, Noah. I refuse to let this place suck the life out of me.”
She looks over at me then, really looks at me, and the fire in her eyes steals my breath away. “I need to leave. Not only this town, but... but the memories. I need to leave the memories of this place.”
“Is that why you need the battle money?” I ask quietly, piecing it together.
She nods, crumpling up her own burger wrapper and shoving it in the bag.
God, do I get it. I understand her cravings for more than a 9-5 and white picket fence life. My eyes fall onto my skateboard between us, another thing I didn’t have to work a single shift for, same for the shoes on my feet still clean and new despite the mosh pit. All the trappings of the “good life” I’m supposed to want. It always felt wrong.
Roxanne’s got her own demons to outrun. I’ve seen the shadows under her eyes, heard the whispers about her mom’s unpaid bills. For her, staying means drowning. For me, it means applying ice packs to my body while slowly suffocating in comfort.
We’re both trying to escape, just from different cages.
But, the selfish guy inside me wants to know: where does that leave us?
What happens to this thing between us? Will it die the second she crosses the county line, and I’m a memory she takes with her and tells all of her friends in the future when they talk about their high school days?
“Oh yeah, there was this guy back in Bellpond...” The thought makes me want to puke.
Or will I haunt her? Will she take a part of me with her, carve out a Roxanne-shaped hole in my chest that no amount of music or girls could ever hope to fill?
“Where will you go?” I’m almost afraid to hear the answer.
She tilts her head up at the blanket of stars stretched above us, leaning back on her palms again. “Anywhere. Everywhere. Somewhere far away from here…” Her voice falls off, as if picturing herself alone on the open highway, finally free. Like she’s already left me behind.
Harley might have been right about his warning. She is going to leave me behind one day. Do I cross her mind when she thinks about getting out of here? I wonder.
We agreed that what this is isn’t serious, but the connection between us runs deep. At least I think it does.
Would she still keep in touch with me?
My foot taps her boot, aiming a small smile her way despite the lump in my throat. “Roxy, wherever that beautiful mind takes you, I know you’ll kill it out there. You’re doing great in life and you have a big heart. You’re going to go so far, obtain your goals, and everything is going to feel right and I’ll be here mentally rubbing your back. I’ll make sure of it.” I lean in whispering over the board, “Any city would be lucky to have you.”
I’d be lucky to have you , I want to say.
I’d feel too guilty laying that on her. She doesn’t need my heart poking her on the shoulder when she’s already got too much weight on them. I don’t think it would be fair to either of us.
“Thanks, Noah,” she murmurs, soft and sweet and tipping her chin down. I never want her to stop looking at me. “What about you, rockstar? Think you might venture out of Bellpond too someday?”
I shrug. “I guess we’ll see.”
The longer I look into her eyes, the more depressed I feel. Not because her eyes mirror my own, but because they’re so bright and sunny and one day I won’t be standing at the other end of that look. I’ll have to conjure it up myself by standing alone under a canopy of trees on the banks of Lake Lickrage, staring up into the sunlight streaming through in the hope of catching a glimpse of her face there.
A gust of wind picks up, and Roxanne grips her arms in front of me. I’m already moving to slip off my red jacket to drape it around her open-holed shoulders. God damn, I really do love her in my clothes.
She gives me a small smile partially hidden by her wind-crazed hair from another icy breeze. The temperature takes another dip, making the trees around us sway until the branches and leaves brush against each other to make that swooshy sound.
“I'm freezing my tits off.” She pulls the jacket tighter, and her teeth start clacking. “Can we go into the car before the menthol crystallizes my lungs?”
I nod, a fucking boulder on my chest. I want to pull her into my arms. To beg her not to break my heart and leave me behind like everyone else has. It’s beyond stupid not to tell her how I really feel about her leaving one day, but the words stick in my throat like glue as they always do when I’m alone with Roxanne.
I grab our trash and my board and hold out my hand. I don’t know where we’ll end up, or how the story goes, but right now she’s mine. That’s enough.
The alternative doesn’t really bear thinking about.
I lock it up tight in the little box in my head labeled “Shit That Will Fuck Me Up If I Dwell On It” and I hold her hand.
I help her crawl into the passenger seat, my hands unnecessarily on her hips as an excuse to touch her as she settles in, hugging her knees to her chest like a little kid. It’s so fucking cute.
I can’t stand her.
Sliding into the driver’s side, I slam the door behind me, and shift to face her, tossing the board and trash behind my seat. Roxanne leans forward to fiddle with the radio knobs until she lands on a station playing something rock and moody. The Cure, I think, or maybe The Smiths.
Someone sad about his existence.
It doesn’t matter because I can’t stop staring at how beautiful she looks in the watery blue light of the dashboard—hair frizzy, cheeks pink from the cold. Yeah, I don’t feel much like moping anymore.
“Are you wanting to head back?” I ask, getting lost in her green eyes that stand out strong against her eyeliner. I see the pine trees of the forest inside them, with new, fresh leaves that have started to bloom in the spring.
They sparkle like sunlight on morning dew when ours meet.
“No,” she murmurs, those killer dimples facing me. “Not at all.”
Fuck yes.
And as I stare down at her, this gorgeous, brilliant, take-no-shit force of nature…
I think I fall a little bit more in love.