A N G E L (Roger Daltrey)

Eighteen

Janice's POV

After our shower, we curled up in bed naked, facing each other, legs tangled up together.

We pulled the white sheets over us and let the warmth of our bodies fill the space.

"God, you're stunning." I mumbled, letting myself fall into his deep blue eyes.

He didn't respond, but placed his hand on my cheek and pulled me into a kiss, biting my lower lip gently. I pushed my hand into the space between us, finding his big, clunky cross necklace and holding on to it.

"Do you ever take this thing off?" I asked when we pulled away.

"Not really." He replied. "I think I'd feel naked without it at this rate."

I stared at him. "Roger. You're naked already."

He sputtered trying to hold back laughter at the realization, and upon doing this, sprayed spit directly into my face. Which made him laugh harder.

I jerked away in shock, but didn't let go of his necklace when I did.

"AH!" He cried as the chain dug into the back of his neck.

"AH!" I yelled, both due to the shock of him yelling and the fact that I hadn't had time to recover from my face being spit on yet.

I dropped the necklace and it fell against his bare chest. With the back of my hand, I wiped the saliva off my cheek and forehead.

"Whoops..." I said sheepishly.

"Janice," he laughed, "I love you, but you're a wreck sometimes."

I laughed too. "I know it, I just can't—you love me?"

Oh my sweet baby Jesus. Roger Daltrey loves me.

"Oh! I guess I—well. I didn't mean to say that, it just sort of came out."

My face fell. Never mind, baby Jesus. Roger Daltrey doesn't love me.

"I mean, I'm growing to love you. In some way." He stammered, trying to recover.

"No, it's cool. Everyone says things they don't mean sometimes." I smiled lightly at him, trying to swallow down my confusion. Did his subconscious love me already? Or did he just say that because he says it to everyone?

I got up out of the bed and walked over to my suitcase, digging out one of my mother's long silk nightgowns and yanking it over my head.

"I'm sorry, Jan." Roger said quietly.

I crossed back over to him and sat on the edge of the bed.

"It's okay. Really."

He grabbed my arm and pulled me down beside him.

"You're an angel, you know that?" I asked him. "No matter what you do I'll always think you are."

"Really?" He asked, searching my face for any sign of laughter or sarcasm.

"Really." I said earnestly. "To go completely out of your way and take such good care of a random girl like me? That's saintlike."

He wrapped his arms around me and sighed contentedly.

"You make it easy, doll."

We stayed like that, holding each other and making drowsy conversation until one of us (I don't remember who) eventually stopped responding, sleep having taken over.

I woke up the next morning drowning in my own sweat.

"Ugh, god." I groaned in disgust.

Throwing the sheet off of my sticky body, I crossed the room and cranked up the air conditioning. Roger lay in the bed. He was still sleeping soundly, lips parted, damp curls plastered to his face, some beginning to frizz.