A N G E L (Roger Daltrey)

Four

Janice's POV

Roger opened the passenger's side door of his very nice (I'm no good at cars, I have no idea what it was) car for me like a true gentleman.

I slid into the seat and he closed the door. I watched him walk around the front of the car, opening his own door and joining me.

"I'm surprised you drive yourself," I said, trying to make conversation, "I know Keith has a chauffeur."

"Not as of January he doesn't." Roger raised his eyebrows and shook his head, pulling out into the street.

"Uh oh, what'd he do this time?" I cocked my head.

"You really want to know?" He screwed up his face, baby blue eyes squinting out the windshield.

"Well, yeah."

"Promise you won't say anything to anyone else." His eyes searched me earnestly then, making me squirm in my seat.

"Definitely, I promise. What was it?"

Roger sighed. "He ran the 'ell over him."

My jaw dropped. "Holy moly, really?"

"Yeh, Keith and his wife Kim and all that lot were at a party in the pub and a couple'a skinheads was 'arassing them as they were leavin', shaking the car 'n all. So the chauffeur stepped out to 'andle it and Keith popped over into the driver's seat and flat mowed 'em down. Wasn't on purpose or nothing, he was actually trying to 'elp."

"Get out of here!" I swatted his shoulder. "Is Keith okay?"

"Truthfully, he's still in bits about it."

"I don't blame him. Sorry for bringing it up." I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to chase off the tension that had set up in it.

"'S'allright, you had no way of knowing," he reached over and patted my knee sympathetically. I shivered. "You cold? I can turn down the AC."

"No, I'm sweating, actually." I pushed his hand away from the controls on the dash and he laced our fingers together. "You just make me nervous."

"Why?" He asked, a trace of worry running through the lines on his face.

I gaped at him. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because you're the Roger Daltrey of my all-time favorite band The Who and now you're driving me in your car and you're holding my hand and I've wanted to jump your bones since I was, like, twelve?"

I yanked my hand out of his and smacked them both over my mouth. Way to go, Jan.

Next to me, Roger burst into laughter. It filled the car with such a lightweight giddiness I was sure we were going to start floating away.

"Janice, you are a trip," he proclaimed once he had gotten control of himself again.

"Really?" I marveled.

"Yeh, I think you're groovy." We giggled like kids. He took my hand again and we pulled into the hotel parking lot.

"Hey, that looks like Nancy's beetle bug," I said, pointing out the window. Oh my gosh, Nancy drove Keith Moon in her beetle bug.

"Ah, it's cute! I've been thinking 'bout getting one." Roger put the car in park and shut the engine off. I reached for the handle of the door to get out. "No, don't you touch that." I recoiled quickly like something had bitten me, afraid I had somehow marred Roger Daltrey's car with my greasy teenage fingers. "A pretty lady like you shouldn't open her own door."

He stepped out of the car and shut his door. As he walked around, I buried my face in my hands and squealed, tapping my feet excitedly.

He opened my door and offered me his hand.

"Are you all right?" He asked as he helped me out.

"Yeah, totally. Why?" I eyeballed Nancy's car, trying to ground myself in reality. This was crazy, I had to be dreaming.

"The squeal." Roger said smugly. I sighed, face reddening for the millionth time. "No, it's cute. You're cute."

"Thank you," I said quietly, looking at my shoes.

He led me into the hotel and up we went to the sixth floor. He stuck the key into the lock and turned it, pushing the door open before even removing the key.

Upon walking in, we were met with Pete in a hotel bathrobe, who yelped in surprise and tried to cover his already-covered self.

"Oh, Rog, 's just you." He breathed.

"Yeh, who'd you think it was? The queen?" Roger pulled his shoes off, motioning for me to do the same.

"Unfortunately, it's just the duchess." I piped up in a teasing tone.

Roger whirled around and glared at me, angelic baby blues turning cold and severe. He took a breath, trying not to lose his temper. "Don't call me that." He said flatly.

"Sorry, I—"

"'S'allright, you didn't know. Should've. But you didn't." He shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

I felt the overwhelming urge to cry.

"Oh, now look what you've did to the girl," Pete said accusingly. I must've looked shattered.

I stood there pathetically, barefoot on the hotel carpet, lipsticked lip trembling. My head was rushing and I felt hot and embarrassed. Why did I have to be so sensitive?

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I overreacted, you didn't know," Roger said softly, tilting his curly head like a puppy.

"No, I'm sorry for saying it. And for crying, I just—" I swatted away a tear that had quite embarrassingly leaked out "—I just really look up to you and admire you and I don't want you to be angry with me."

"Aww. It's all right. Really. I'd blame it on the post-show adrenaline, but the truth is I have no excuse for being so fussy." The now-cherubic rockstar took my hand and kissed it sweetly, making me smile.

"Keep the boy in check," Pete said to me with little eye roll, "I'm going out to the deck to have a smoke." And with that he slipped through the sliding glass door into the night.

"Hey, you know what my favorite thing to do after a show is?" Rog asked gently.

I shook my head and grinned, suddenly feeling extra shy.

"I like to have a nice warm shower." He smiled cheekily. "Would you like to join me?"