Gavin and Roxanne ✔️

THREE

The overcast but dry April evening I left three hours ago has transformed into a chilled, sopping wet, wind-driven downpour. If I don't want to get completely drenched, I'll have to catch the bus home – or call for a ride if I get desperate.

Jeremy calls his own Uber to take him back to the place he shares with Zoe east of the Willamette. He makes no mention of our friendly wager, but with the way tonight has gone, I figure I'll be treating him to a beer sometime soon. We bro-hug goodbye, and of course he wallops my back, even harder than he did earlier. It must be the percussionist in him – everything is a damned drum.

Roxanne and I are on our own now. She's parked on the next block over, so I offer to see her to her car before I bolt for the nearest bus stop. Don't worry, Roxanne's fine to drive – she didn't even finish her second glass of wine.

She fishes an umbrella from her handbag, somehow opening it in one fluid motion despite the wind's efforts to the contrary. We both huddle underneath it, our warm, dry oasis as the rain swirls around us. I could swear there's some electricity in the air when our bodies brush together as we continue on. I can't help but admire the way Roxanne moves – her knee-high suede boots don't slow her down at all in this deluge.

As we walk, I catch a trace of her fragrance, something which has eluded me so far tonight. It's floral, tropical, exotic – a whisper of Hawai'i in an Oregon rainstorm. It's freaking intoxicating. Yet another beautiful woman who smells as great as she looks.

Wait, did I call someone nearly twice my age 'beautiful'?

Yes. Yes, I did. Because she is.

"Where do you live, anyway?" Roxanne inquires, bringing me back to the present as we plod along.

"Right off Twentieth and Burnside," I answer, dodging an inconveniently-placed puddle. "I can catch the bus right down the street. I'll be home in less than ten minutes."

"Oh, so it drops you off right in front of your place?"

Not exactly. I'll have to navigate the three blocks between the bus stop and my building in this weather. With nothing between me and the elements.

"Really close. A few blocks away," I reply sheepishly. I think I know where Roxanne's going with this line of questioning – she wants to give me a ride home. I'm truly torn here. Yes, I'm falling under her spell more and more with each passing minute, but I don't want her to go out of her way for me. Do I?

"Then you're coming with me," she says with a certain sternness in her voice, a tone that could only come from someone who's a parent. "You don't have an umbrella. Your jacket doesn't even have a hood. And you're getting over being sick. I can't let you do that."

"I appreciate the offer," I say. "It's very kind of you. But, really, I'm fine. I'll just—"

"Oh, come on, I'm going that way anyway," Roxanne chimes in with a laugh. "Think of it as me showing my gratitude to you. For helping me have such a good time tonight."

She stops beside a silver, late-model Lexus sedan and strolls over to the driver's side. The door unlocks with a chirp, and I open it for Roxanne. She folds up her umbrella and eases into the driver's seat, careful to keep her floor-length gray skirt off the waterlogged pavement. "All right, get in," she commands, motioning toward the passenger seat.

In only a few seconds without protection from the rain, my hair is saturated, and my clothes aren't far behind. The raindrops sting me like a million cold, wet needles – it's enough to convince me to drop the 'I don't want to bother you' act. And Roxanne keeps drawing me in – her mesmerizing body, her tantalizing scent, her true concern for my well-being. Empathy is surprisingly sexy.

"Are you sure?" I ask one final time. By now I'm more than willing to go with her, but I err on the side of politeness.

"Oh, I'm definitely sure," she answers with a coy twinkle in her eyes. Those icy blues could stare a hole straight through me. I'm beginning to think Roxanne might have ideas beyond getting me home dry and in one piece.

I dart around the front of the car to the passenger side and climb in. My hormones are rampaging inside, but I'm relieved to finally be safe from the wild weather. I sink into the heated leather seat, and its warmth wraps around me like a comforter on a frosty winter night. I can feel my extremities again.

"Wow, nice car," I remark, making a halfhearted attempt at small talk. It's certainly a world apart from Tierney's well-worn, well-loved Subaru that took us on so many adventures.

"Hey, I have to do something with the alimony checks, right?" Roxanne quips, and I manage an uneasy chuckle. If that's the case, her ex's consulting business must be very successful.

Roxanne enters my address into her phone for directions – it's a seven-minute trip – and we pull away from the curb into the sodden night. I'm content to dry out for a while, listening only to the rain pounding the roof and the steady sloshing of the windshield wipers.

After several minutes, I finally speak again. "Thanks for the ride," I say modestly. "I really do appreciate it."

"What kind of friend would I be if I even let you walk half a block in this mess?" Roxanne says with a casual sweetness. "It's no trouble at all."

The near-silence settles back in like a fine mist. My inhibitions are eroding with alarming speed as the wine and spiked coffee deepen their effect. I look over and watch Roxanne drive, those piercing eyes fixated on the rain-slicked road ahead; a passing streetlight illuminates the interior of the car through the moonroof, casting a warm glow on her astoundingly supple skin and eliciting a sparkle from one of her silver dangle earrings. It's all sweet torture to my senses.

For reasons I can't adequately explain, I reach my left hand across the center console, placing it softly on Roxanne's right thigh, outside her skirt. It's more an instinctual move, a reflex, than a deliberate act.

I wait for a few expectant seconds. No reaction. She's not into me.

I freeze, utterly mortified, overcome with shame. What have I done? We have the start of a nice little friendship going, she's being all sweet and looking after me, and I go and take her kindness for sexual innuendo. Nice going, McKee, thinking with your boy parts instead of your brain. As if someone so gorgeous would want your sorry ass anyway, I don't care how old she is.

My cheeks flush and my stomach clenches as I consider the implications of my actions. Now, instead of a friendly face in the percussion section, Roxanne will look at me and see a horny kid who came on to her when she was only trying to be helpful. How will I live that down?

Jesus, McKee, you couldn't have thought of that before you put your hand on her?

I'm an instant away from retreating back into my own space, defeated, when Roxanne's right hand settles onto mine, exquisitely soft. She rubs it slowly, almost seductively, with her thumb. Our fingers intertwine, practically melting together. It's divine. My doubts and regrets, so overpowering a few short seconds ago, vanish as quickly as they appeared.

Roxanne gives me a sideways glance, just catching the corner of my eye. Her own eyes widen, and she raises her eyebrows. She inhales audibly through her teeth, releasing her breath with a low moan – "mmmmmm" – the sound alone is enough to send a shudder through my entire body.

That's no ordinary way she took my hand. That's no ordinary way she looked at me.

That was no ordinary sigh.

My breathing grows shallower, and my insides churn like a storm-swollen stream. My heart is about to explode out of my chest. I'm burning up with lust. I can't deny it any longer – I want Roxanne. Badly.

Sweet mother of God.

********

OK, my first official author's note! Thank you for reading the first story I've ever shared, anywhere – I hope you're enjoying it and your interest is piqued! There are only nine chapters and an epilogue, so the whole thing should be up before too long.

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