by Kilby Blades
"Of course I did." By then my voice had calmed.
"Alright, I'll come over. How about after school? You promised you'd play the piano."
And it hit me then. In just two days time, Roxy would be serving more than a brief visit—I'd have her at my house for hours. She would eat in my dining room and sit next to me on my piano bench. She would enter the bat cave and touch all my things. She may even lie on my bed. Visions of her sprawled out and ready for me assaulted my mind as I thought of continuing where we'd left off earlier that day.
Sweet Jesus…
"And I will," I promised, struggling to keep the raging erection out of my voice. "But now that we have that settled, you should really be going to bed. I just called to say a quick good night."
“Night, Jag." She yawned, her fatigue striking right on time. "Sweet dreams."
"I'll see you in the morning, my Roxy."
Twenty
Best Day of My Life
I'm never gonna look back.
Whoa, never gonna give it up.
No, please don't wake me now.
-American Authors, Best Day of My Life
Roxy
"Ready?" Jagger called to me warmly as he approached where Zoë and I were sitting atop a picnic bench. He held out his hand in an offer to help me down. Ignoring the interested stares of our classmates, I kept my eyes on him. He didn't break his gaze until our hands were joined and his kiss brushed the top of my fingers.
"Your chariot awaits.” He smiled as I stepped down from the bench and slung his arm over my shoulder. I didn't miss Zoë's triumphant smile as I nuzzled into his neck. Once Gunther slung her messenger bag over his own shoulder and got Zoë on piggyback, we four beat a lazy retreat across the quad and toward the cars.
"How were the paparazzi today?" Jagger asked, squeezing my shoulder protectively.
In the two days since we'd gone public with our relationship, things had been unreal. The searing kiss he gave me in the parking lot the morning after Littleton had taken Trinity High by storm. People passed me notes in class all morning on Thursday asking whether we were going out. Olivia Bush snapped a candid of us and blushingly asked whether she could use it for the yearbook. By lunch on Friday we laughed over what the rumor mill was saying. Zoë liked talk of our secret engagement. I preferred speculation that I was a religious zealot who had converted Jagger to join my cult.
Jagger, for his part, seemed eager for the exposure. He'd kissed me deeply again this morning. At my puzzled look when we came up for air, he'd admitted to liking the idea that the whole school knew he was mine.
"You didn't read it in US Weekly?" I asked in response to his paparazzi question. "I'm pregnant with your alien love child."
He laughed at that. "So I'm an alien now? That's a step up from yesterday. Cults kind of creep me out."
When we passed the two douches with the truck from the gas station, they were staring at Jagger and me. I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue. Zoë did not resist her urge to give them the finger.
We went our separate ways then, Zoë with Gunther to her place and I with Jagger to his. I'd been blissful all day, but my apprehension mounted as we approached his house. I was thrilled—and terrified—to meet his parents and spend time where he lived. I think he could tell I was nervous, which made him nervous, which made us both, well…nervous. I just hoped to hell my initial judgment of our worlds being too different turned out not to be true.
His house was modern and enormous, all light through glass and art. Yet, strangely, it felt like a home. Though I was certain that some of the paintings and trinkets I saw cost more than a brand new car, it seemed elegant rather than ostentatious and the design assembled to a perfect fit.
Grinning like a little boy as we approached the kitchen, he grabbed my hand to pull me forth.
"I smell cookies," he declared.
"Oatmeal chocolate chip?" I asked peering down at the delicious-looking biscuits on the plate.
He nodded reverent affirmation. Pulling back the Saran Wrap, he pinched off a corner of the biggest cookie and held it up to my lips. My eyes rolled back and I moaned a little as I tasted the exquisite confection.
"You shouldn't make sounds like that when I have you alone, Roxy. It's giving me ideas."
He was being playful, but his dark eyes and slightly strained voice made it clear that the words he was saying were true.
I've been having ideas all along, I wanted to say. But since I didn't want his parents' first impression to involve me getting jiggy with their son on their gorgeous granite countertop, I reined in my hormones and let him keep feeding us cookies.
"Thirsty?" he asked after we'd eaten half the plate.
"What do you have?" I asked casually, because casual had become my middle name. I was a study in exuding normalcy despite an inward state of perpetual bliss.
"Soda, purple stuff, Sunny D."
I chuckled. "How 'bout a glass of milk?"
By the time we resumed our tour of the downstairs, I was more at ease. When I laid eyes on the black Steinway in the music room, I smiled.
"Play for me?"
"Only if you sit next to me." I joined him on the bench.
What came next was the most hauntingly beautiful melody I couldn't help but feel I'd heard somewhere before. That I couldn't specifically remember when or where didn't stop me from begging him to keep playing. I vacillated between rapturous surrender to the music itself and shock that my dark, tortured man hid something so beautiful. I was dimly aware of the day fading to dusk, and how we were still sitting close in the dark. His foot on the pedal made the last of the notes linger. I felt loss when they faded away.
"Did you like it?” His whisper was insecure.
Under other circumstances I might have laughed, but such thoughts stopped when he lifted his eyes. What I saw in them matched the intensity of his song and swept me deeper into his ocean. Pulling his hands off of the keys, I brought one to my arm and ran his fingers across my goosebumps. I swallowed thickly, gathering my courage. Our faces were so close I could feel his breath.
"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard," I confessed, not realizing we weren't alone.
"It's the most beautiful thing he's ever written," came a wise, delicate voice that had to belong to his mother.
I barely had time to register my shock that Jagger had actually composed the masterpiece I just heard.
"Mom, this is my girlfriend, Roxy." He helped me off of the bench and as he spoke he smiled shyly and sounded proud. "Roxy, this is my mom," he gestured in between us as we crossed to where his mother stood.
"It's such a pleasure to meet you, Roxy," she exclaimed warmly, pulling me into a hug. "We're thrilled that you could come."
"It's nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Monroe," I said, still surprised at the gesture, even as we pulled away. "Thank you so much for having me."
By contrast to Jagger’s taller build, she stood the same height as me and was a bit round in the middle. The green of her eyes was a darker shade than his sage-colored ones, and the burnt amber of her hair was brighter. But in their lips and their foreheads they looked alike and, like Jagger, she was quite beautiful.
"Please, dear, call me Elsie. At home, we're pretty informal."
She was striking, but not intimidating. Refined, but approachable. And, just like her house, the contrast worked. She pulled my hand from Jagger’s and hitched our arms as we climbed the stairs. She asked whether I was okay with pork chops for dinner and promised we'd be great friends.
"This must be Roxy!" the second most gorgeous man I had ever seen exclaimed, placing the lid on a pot and wiping his hands as we walked into the kitchen. He took my hand from Elsie and encased it in both of his, grasping them warmly in a light shake. "Welcome, Roxy. I'm Jagger’s dad. Please call me Jack.”
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr.—…Jack,” I stammered with a blush.
"You didn't exaggerate, son," he beamed, shifting a proud gaze at Jagger. "She's a
bsolutely charming."
"Dad…" Jagger said in a tone between a warning and a whine, but Jack ignored him and turned his attention back to me.
"We have a Beatles-only rule for dinnertime listening. Which would you prefer: Revolver or Abbey Road?"
"Do you have The White Album?" I asked, still shy. "That one's my favorite."
Jack smiled even more widely and placed a fatherly arm around me.
"Magnificent taste, my dear."
The hour that followed was a foray into something the likes of which I'd not witnessed before: a family sitting around the dinner table, laughing together, sharing a lovingly prepared meal. A single thought looped through my head like a mantra:
Do I really get to keep this?
I wanted to keep it all. The clique full of beautiful people. My doting boyfriend who showed me off and wrote beautiful songs. A cookie-baking mother who was better than mine. I wanted to be sure. And though his recent validation had carried me far, I still held the tiniest remnants of doubt.
Jagger had said all the right things and brought up some fair points when we'd finally talked. But he also dazzled me into kissing him before we really finished talking-the longer that sat with me, the less I liked it. If there really was a good explanation for my lingering questions (like, where did he disappear off to on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and why didn't anyone else seem to know? And what did he do to all those girls last year to make them hate him so much?) now would be the time to clue me in. Because I really wanted to keep this, and I needed affirmations that what I so dearly wanted could really be mine.
Twenty-One
Say You Won't Let Go
I knew I loved you then,
but you'd never know
‘cause I played it cool
when I was scared of letting go.
-James Arthur, Say You Won’t Let Go
Jagger
"I hope they didn't embarrass you too much," I whispered in Roxy’s ear as we climbed the stairs.
Annika, Declan, Zoë and Gunther had just shown up, and we were all headed up to my room.
"For the record, I did not encourage my mother to take an interest in your shampoo-commercial hair or your flawless complexion…though I do agree with her on both counts.”
She just smirked. "Any embarrassment I suffered at your parents’ hands was worth the look on your face when the baby pictures came out. Wittle Jagger was so cuuuute!"
Her hand reached out to pinch my cheek, and Declan snickered loudly. I felt smug satisfaction when my reaching out to smack him earned a smirk from Annika.
"Besides," Roxy said, "we're even now. I owed you one after my dad.”
Damn right you did, I thought indignantly as I squeezed my girl's hand.
Heedless of the others as we walked into my room, I watched for Roxy’s reaction. Part of me was afraid she'd freak when she saw all my stuff. I could tell the house and the cars and all the antiques had given her pause. Relief washed over me when she scanned the room and smiled.
"Welcome to the bat cave," I said finally, ushering them all in. "Home to our Friday nights."
"Why do you call it “the bat cave”?” Zoë asked, flitting across the room, starting to check out all of my stuff.
"'Cause Bruce Wayne here is all dark and mysterious, and this place is like his lair."
Fucking Declan.
"I thought you guys just hung out and played video games." Annika eyed my monster computer set-up speculatively. "This place looks wired to initiate Def Con 5."
"Actually, Annika, Declan’s quite fond of my computer…" I said suggestively.
Take that, fucker!
"I'm sure he'd be happy to give you a tour."
Turning away before I could catch the receiving end of Declan’s death stare, I fixed my eyes back on my Roxy.
"Shall I kick your ass at Guitar Hero now?" I smiled wickedly.
"You can certainly try." Her smile was sweet.
An hour and a half later, we'd abandoned the video games and were paired off in various spots in the room: Declan and Annika on the couch, Zoë in Gunther's lap on the computer chair and Roxy and I propped up on our stomachs and elbows on the bed.
Yeah. I know.
Sick of Gunther and Deck handing me my ass about Roxy’s epic Guitar Hero win, I changed the subject to what we'd be doing the following night.
"So what is roller derby, anyway?"
By then, I was the only non-initiate. Even Gunther had done his research. Annika and Zoë's team were up against Littleton and the rest of us were going to watch the bout.
"Soft porn," Declan mumbled reverently, which only earned him another smack.
"Shut up. It's a serious game." Annika turned to me then. "The object of the game is for one player on each team to score as many times as possible in a two minute period. That one player—the jammer—scores a point each time she can lap a group of blockers."
"Get to the good part, babe," Declan whined, "Tell him about the names."
My interest was piqued when Gunther chuckled. Even Roxy was laughing.
The names?
Gunther pointed at Zoë and Annika.
"When you hear “Zobra Kai” and “Anita Reason” called onto the rink, the announcer is talking about them."
By the time they were on about the finer points of the game I had completely lost interest. I blamed Roxy, who was curled next to me in the most appealing way as she scrolled through the music on my phone.
"What are we listening to next?"
I rested my head on her shoulder and kissed under her ear.
"I like the songs on this one playlist called 'Beautiful'," she said.
Her perfect oblivion as she went through the business of scrolling through made me just have to say what I said next.
"You should," I admitted so that only she could hear. "Those songs make me think of you. That's how I came up with the playlist name. Roxy. Beautiful."
Her finger stilled on the iPod and I felt her take a deep breath.
"Why do you say things like that?” she whispered, sliding her deep brown eyes up to mine.
"I only say what I feel."
Gone were the days of me hiding how I felt. She was giving me a look like she gave me when I'd played for her. I hoped I was right about what I thought it meant.
"What do you feel right now?" she asked as if torn between wanting and not wanting the answer.
I love you. Some part of me knew it all along.
"The first time I say it, I want us to be alone."
Please, love me back, Roxy.
"Me too."
My lip twitched before curling into a disbelieving smile, one that quickly turned into a grin. And then she was smiling too and I was showering her with kisses and rolling her playfully on my bed.
"Get a room, you two!" Gunther shouted jokingly, but he was smiling as he looked over.
Roxy and I were both laughing as I pulled her into my arms.
"This is my fucking room."
Roxy
"So give me the scoop—how was meeting his parents?" Zoë asked excitedly as we sped away in her car.
"It was perfect," I sighed dreamily. "Everything was perfect."
And it really felt like it was.
"Well I think I might need a new doctor," she said, looking like she wasn't joking. "Did you see Dr. Monroe?”
“Oh my God, Zoë…”
“Whatever.” she huffed. “I’m not blind."
Zoë chattered on about how she wouldn't mind getting a physical from Jack and how Jagger would look like him one day. I was only partially listening, my mind consumed with something else. Meeting his parents? Hanging out in his room? A triple-date, for cripe’s sake? We were joined in ways I’d have laughed at two weeks ago. The chemistry between us was insane, and the emotion was becoming too great.
"Things looked pretty cozy with you and Gunther," I fished carefully. "How are things going with that?"
Her eyes really should have been on the road,
for how fast she was going, but she trained a knowing gaze on me.
"You mean, when are we going to do the deed?" she asked cheekily. "He's sleeping over tomorrow night. Being the child of neglectful parents has its merits and Niede won't tell."
Sometimes I worried about Zoë, wondered if her wild-child tendencies were a twisted cry for help. I got the sense Gunther pulled her out of some of her shit and gave her love and attention no one ever had. She hid it well, but Zoë's life was not ideal.
"Jagger and I are…getting closer.” I mumbled.
"No shit," Zoë laughed. "You can't keep your hands off of each other, and that boy is in love. If I wasn't sure you felt the same way, I'd warn you to be careful with his heart."
For the most part, her eyes were back on the road, but she took a long moment to cast a smug glance.
"Looks like all's well that ends well," she murmured quietly.
Or, translated into Zoë-speak: I told you so.
Jagger
I watched Roxy’s ass appreciatively as she sauntered to the snack bar. She was wearing those tight jeans again. Her shiny hair cascaded in waves down her back and a snug, long-sleeved v-neck hugged her delicious curves.
"Looks like all's well that ends well, huh, bro?"
Declan had caught me staring. He'd torn himself away from his own girlfriend's ass long enough to throw me a shit-eating grin.
"No need to thank me now," he continued in a low, hoarse voice, "but some day, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me. But until that day – accept this justice as a gift on my daughter's wedding day."
I blinked.
"Declan. What the fuck are you talking about?"
He took a little step back in surprise.
“Please tell me you’ve seen The Godfather.”
Seriously. What the hell was he talking about? When I looked distractedly at Roxy again, he laughed.
“I’m saying you’re welcome. You’re happier than a pig in shit since you got with Roxy. And, see? Your boy had your back. We both know you never would have friended her yourself."