IMAGINES ▹ ROSS BUTLER

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by reggiesvarsityjacket

It was late at night. You were alone in your big house, your empty bed, thinking about Reggie Mantle like you did every night. Stupid, you felt. Reggie was a player and you knew it, yet you wanted him and wanted him like he was the last drop of water in a desert that hadn't seen rain for fifty years. You sat up thinking of his dark black hair that sat so perfectly, the golden touch to his skin, and the incredible shine to his perfect, white smile. You thought about the way his lips moved when he said your name, the tone of his voice when he called you his own little nickname for you, 'Angel.' Most of all, you thought of the sound of his heartbeat when he circled his arms around you and held you close. His muscular, gentle arms that felt like a blanket to your frame.

"Stop it. Get it together," You whispered to yourself as you tossed and turned within your sheets. You felt so frustrated, degraded even. Yet the only person judging your thoughst was you, and you knew that. You tried to shut your eyes and shove down your thoughts when suddenly, your phone buzzed on the pillow beside you. Your eyes flashed open and you reached out to grab it in your hands, staring at the bright screen only to be met with a familiar name.

Reggie Mantle: Hey, still up?

You let out a grumble so loudly that you were afraid it woke up your neighbors. A booty call, you figured. You sat up thinking about him in the darkest of night and he hit you with nothing but 'still up?' Did it make you angry? Of course it did. Angry enough to stop you from replying? Of course not.

You: No Reg, I'm sleeping of course.

You were hoping your sarcasm was enough to push him away for some odd reason, but you knew he was a persistent guy. When Reggie wants something, he wants it. You just weren't sure what exactly he'd wanted tonight. A friend to talk to? A playmate to play mattress tag with? The more you thought about it, the more upset you became. It was a weird kind of upset though. You couldn't tell if you were angry or something else of the nature.

Reggie Mantle: Wanna go for a ride?

You: Are you asking me to ride you?

Reggie Mantle: I meant a ride around town, in my car.

Reggie Mantle: If you wanna ride me too, I don't object.

You: Don't you think it's a little late for that?

Reggie Mantle: Cars run at all hours. So does my sex drive.

You: I don't want to ride you.

Reggie Mantle: Is that a no to the car ride?

You: No.

Reggie Mantle: No as in no or no as in yes?

You: Oh my god. Pull up, Reg. But we're just going for a drive. THAT'S. IT.

Reggie drove up to your house around seven minutes after your last text was sent. You ran down the staircase, the only sounds heard in the vacant house, and opened the front door. You were hoping that your parents flight hadn't landed yet, and that they wouldn't make it home from the airport before you made it home with Reggie.

The car ride was fantastic, amazing. The two of you rolled down the windows and blasted music so loudly that neighbors got angry. But you didn't care and neither did Reggie. You simply loved the rush you got from the wind blowing in through the windows, tousling your hair up. You loved the sound of Reggie's laugh, melodic and memorizing and hypnotic in so many ways. You loved the feeling of his right hand in yours as he pressed on the gas as hard as he could, speeding and spinning through empty roads. He was crazy, and you loved it. It was the perfect night, one you knew you would remember if you made it out alive. Sometimes, Reggie's driving skills made you question if you would actually make it.