Pants And Roses

Chapter 4

Read till the end For a cookie.

The sun hadn’t fully woken yet, but I was already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment. Not that I had many choices — yesterday, my sister had practically forced me into a “practice double date,” and somehow, I had survived without tripping over my own boxers. Barely.

Dragging myself across the yard in my pajama pants, I spotted her.

Roxy.

Well… I didn’t know her real name yet. To me, she was Tattoo Girl, queen of sarcasm and danger wrapped in roses. And right now, she looked more serious than I had ever seen her, balancing a bouquet of red roses in one hand while dodging the early morning drizzle.

She was on a delivery. Sharp-eyed, all-business, with that faint edge of danger that made me keep my distance yesterday… and today.

But today, something was off. A shadow was following her.

It wasn’t a friend. Not a customer. Not a schoolmate.

It was the client from last week — the d**g addict who had cornered her, demanded her name, and somehow thought being scary was a full-time job. His hoodie hung low over his eyes, and he muttered under his breath as he shuffled closer.

“Oh no,” I muttered. My day had barely started, and already I wanted a fast-forward button.

I was about to retreat, maybe make some toast, maybe daydream about rom-coms where the hero didn’t look like a walking disaster in boxers, but I couldn’t.

Because no one — no one — harassed my rose girl.

So I ran.

Not gracefully. Not cool. Just ran. And tripped. Multiple times. Probably screamed a little. But I made it to the corner where she was walking.

“Hey! Hey! Stop!” I shouted, which sounded more like Help! I’m clumsy! than heroic.

The client turned. And oh, perfect, he smiled. That awful, slimy grin that made me instantly regret life.

“You again?” he sneered. “Little boy playing hero? Don’t tell me your name too. What is it — Pants Boy?”

I didn’t even respond. I just glared. The silent-but-terrified glare.

Meanwhile, Roxy didn’t flinch. She rolled her eyes, balancing her roses with one hand and placing the other on her hip. “Back off,” she said. Calm, deadly calm.

“You’re not funny,” the guy said, leaning closer. “I just want your name.”

“I’m Roxy! Back off!” she shouted, fierce and fearless. The words cut through the drizzle and chaos, and I caught them clearly — Roxy. That was her name. I tucked it away in my brain, thinking I’d remember it later.

And, of course, he didn’t leave.

He grabbed her wrist. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her yelp.

Instinct took over. I lunged. And tripped. Almost literally into the puddle. But somehow my flailing arms collided with his chest, knocking him backward just enough that he stumbled into the roses she was holding.

Red petals exploded into the air like confetti at a parade gone completely wrong. If rom-coms had slow motion, it would’ve been right there — petals, rain, me flailing, Roxy glaring like I had ruined her life and saved it at the same time.

The client recovered faster than I expected and swung at me. My reflexes were about as refined as a newborn deer. I flinched, got shoved, and hit the ground with a thud that would have echoed across the city if it weren’t for the drizzle.

“Ethan!” — okay, not yet — still “Pants Boy”! I groaned, squirming on the wet grass, realizing I had no idea how to fight anyone.

Roxy wasn’t having it. She grabbed one rose, then another, then somehow smacked the guy on the shoulder with the bouquet.

“Back off!” she shouted.

Petals flew everywhere. One stuck in my hair. Another landed in my boxers. I froze, realizing the universe hated me as much as my sister did.

The guy cursed, slipping slightly on the wet grass, and finally let go of her wrist. She didn’t waste time. She shoved him hard enough that he staggered back, muttering, “You’ll pay for this!” before running off into the foggy morning.

I sat there, drenched, muddy, and mortified.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, brushing petals off her jacket. Her face was still stern, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a tiny, almost guilty smile.

“I—uh—I was trying to help,” I mumbled, tugging at my wet boxers like anyone could possibly look heroic in this state.

She crouched beside me. “You just got yourself beaten up for my delivery.”

“Yeah,” I admitted sheepishly. “But, you know… who wouldn’t?”

She rolled her eyes again. “You’re ridiculous,” she repeated, shaking her head. But her hand lingered on my shoulder for a moment — fleeting, almost accidental.

We sat there. The rain had stopped. The air smelled faintly like roses and wet grass. Somehow, amidst the embarrassment, I found courage to speak.

“I—uh… I guess I should tell you…” I trailed off.

“Should tell me what?” she asked, half sarcastic, half curious.

“My… my name,” I said, blushing like a complete i***t.

“Finally,” she said softly, almost like a joke, almost like a challenge.

“I—I’m Ethan,” I whispered.

Roxy stared at me. The corners of her lips curved up in that grin that made my stomach somersault. “Ethan,” she repeated, tasting it. “Nice to meet you, Ethan.”

And just like that, I wasn’t Pants Boy anymore. Not to her. Not in this muddy, rose-strewn yard.

We laughed, because what else do you do when you’re soaked, bruised, and covered in petals? It was ridiculous. It was romantic. And, I realized, it was the start of something neither of us were ready to name.

We sat there for a few awkward seconds, dripping wet and surrounded by crushed petals. I tried to brush mud off my boxers without looking like I cared too much, which, of course, made me look exactly like a disaster in slow motion.

Roxy tilted her head, smirking, eyes scanning my flailing attempts. “You know,” she said, “you’re the worst hero I’ve ever seen.”

I frowned. “Worst? Really? I just saved you from a psycho.”

She laughed, and it was that small, quiet laugh that made my chest tighten. “Saved me? You almost got us both beaten up, and the roses are destroyed. Yeah… real heroic.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to pretend I wasn’t embarrassed. “Hey, at least I tried. Most people would have run away. Maybe even me. But I didn’t. I stood here… like a man.”

She raised an eyebrow. “A man in boxers?”

Touché. I looked down, realized the mud had practically glued itself to my pants — no, boxers — and groaned. “Fine. Worst hero. But at least I know your name now.”

Her smile softened a little. “You mean Roxy?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to act casual while my heart raced. “Roxy.”

Her gaze lingered on me, just long enough that I felt both proud and terrified. I had no idea what to say next, so I did what any awkward sixteen-year-old would do: I pointed at her bouquet. “Um… you’re okay with me carrying a few of these back?”

She blinked. “You want to carry flowers for me?”

“Well, yeah. I mean… I tripped on them anyway, so it’s sort of my penance.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Fine. But don’t break them again.”

I grabbed a few of the still-usable roses and started walking with her. Mud squelched under my shoes with every step. I felt like a walking comedy sketch, yet somehow, Roxy seemed… impressed? Or maybe she was just humoring me. Either way, I wasn’t complaining.

As we walked toward the edge of the yard, she glanced at me, raising one tattooed eyebrow. “So… Pants Boy, huh?”

I winced. “Don’t call me that. Please. Ever.”

“You’re lucky I’ve seen worse,” she said, smiling. Then, in a tone that made my stomach flip, she added, “But it’s growing on me.”

I nearly tripped over a puddle. “Growing on you?” I stammered. “You mean… in a good way?”

“Maybe,” she said lightly, tossing a stray petal at my face. I sneezed. She laughed again, and I had to fight the urge to grin like an i***t.

We walked in silence for a bit, just the two of us surrounded by damp grass and the faint smell of roses. I wanted to say something clever, something that would make her see me as… not a disaster. But my brain short-circuited.

Finally, she spoke. “You’re really weird, you know that?”

“I know,” I admitted. “And yet, here I am, surviving mud, petals, and early morning chaos.”

She laughed. “You’re lucky I like chaos too.”

I grinned. “You like chaos?”

“Yeah,” she said, glancing at the roses. “And apparently, you do too, Ethan.”

Wait. Did she just… say my name correctly without me stammering it? My brain nearly exploded. I nodded like an i***t. “Yeah. That’s me.”

A silence fell between us. Not an awkward one — the kind that buzzes with possibility. I wanted to tell her so many things: how I’d thought about her since the first time I saw her, how she made me feel like I could do something brave even if I fell flat on my face, how… well, a lot.

But before I could open my mouth, a sudden noise made both of us jump.

A bicycle screeched to a halt nearby. A group of schoolmates had apparently come to watch the morning chaos unfold. Some of them snickered. Some just stared.

“Ethan!” someone called. “Is that you?”

I groaned. “Great. Witnesses.”

Roxy rolled her eyes. “Ignore them,” she said. Then, softer, “They’ll get over it. Focus on… walking with me.”

I nodded, trying to act casual while secretly wishing I could disappear into a puddle. But at least she didn’t let go of my arm. Not fully, but just enough to make me think she wanted me there.

As we got closer to the street, I noticed a familiar glint from a distance. Someone watching — tall, expensive-looking, the kind who would clearly own the whole school if he could. My stomach sank.

It was him. The rich ex.

He was standing there, arms crossed, expression unreadable. And he was looking at me.

I froze.

Roxy noticed too. Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry about him,” she said, but her voice held a note of caution. “He’s… complicated.”

Complicated didn’t begin to cover it. My mind raced. The last time he’d been near me, I’d nearly gotten in a fight I couldn’t win. And now he was here, probably judging, probably plotting, probably imagining a way to make my life hell.

I wanted to turn and run. But I didn’t. Because I wasn’t just Ethan the klutz anymore — not to Roxy.

She glanced at me, half-smile on her lips. “Come on. Let’s get these roses back to the shop before someone else decides to start another morning drama.”

I followed her, trying to look casual while my insides did backflips. Somehow, I had survived mud, petals, a near fight, and now the looming shadow of the rich ex.

And somehow, I was already thinking… maybe this was exactly the kind of chaos I needed.

Congratulations, Cookie on the way