neon lights. summer heat.
and the worst possible realization—
when did you get hot?
Man’s Best Friend Masterlist
You don’t believe it at first.
That’s the thing—you refuse to believe it.
Because there are some truths in life that feel permanent. Fixed. Unchangeable.
Steve Harrington being a douchebag was one of them.
It was just… fact.
High school proved it.
You remember it too clearly—him leaning against lockers like he owned the place, laughing too loud, walking through the halls like everyone else existed in the background of his life. Always surrounded by people. Always untouchable.
And you?
You existed just far enough away to see it clearly.
You weren’t impressed.
You weren’t charmed.
If anything, you were annoyed.
You remember telling your friends once, “He’s just a walking ego with good hair.”
And you meant it.
You meant it so much that it stuck.
So yeah—some things are supposed to stay the same.
Steve Harrington is supposed to stay the same.
That’s why this—
This makes absolutely no sense.
—
The bell above the door of Family Video jingles as you step inside, the late afternoon heat following you in like a second skin.
Fluorescent lights hum overhead. Rows of VHS tapes stretch in every direction, colorful spines lined up like they’re trying too hard to get your attention.
It’s quiet.
Calm.
Normal.
You head toward the counter, digging in your bag for your wallet, already half-distracted—
“—No, I’m serious, you cannot just skip to the end, that’s not how movies work.”
You stop.
Your hand freezes mid-motion.
That voice.
No.
No, that’s—
You slowly lift your head.
And there he is.
Behind the counter.
Steve Harrington.
Except—
Not.
Your brain stalls.
Because yeah, it’s him. Same face. Same hair. Same stupid, familiar everything.
But also…
Not.
He’s leaning forward slightly, elbows on the counter, talking to a kid—maybe thirteen, curly hair, baseball cap turned backwards. The kid is arguing with him like it’s a life-or-death situation.
Steve doesn’t snap.
Doesn’t roll his eyes.
He listens.
Actually listens.
“You’ll ruin it,” Steve says, softer now, like he’s trying to reason instead of win. “You gotta let it build. That’s the whole point.”
The kid groans dramatically.
“You’re so annoying.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve mutters, grabbing a tape and scanning it. “I’m still right.”
There’s a smile there.
Not cocky.
Not performative.
Just… real.
And something in your chest does a weird, uncomfortable flip.
You stare.
You can’t help it.
You stare like your brain is trying to piece together two completely different people and failing.
Because the Steve you knew?
Would not be here.
Would not be patient.
Would not care.
Your eyes drag over him before you can stop yourself.
His sleeves are rolled up—why are his sleeves rolled up?—and his arms—
You look away so fast it’s almost violent.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
We are not doing this.
This is Steve Harrington.
You know better.
…Right?
“Hey.”
Your head snaps back up.
He’s looking at you.
Of course he is.
Of course the exact moment you spiral internally is the moment he notices.
“Uh,” you say, incredibly eloquent. “Hi.”
He squints slightly, recognition flickering in.
“…Wait.”
Oh no.
“Yeah,” you say, already bracing yourself.
“You’re—” He points at you vaguely. “You went to Hawkins High, right?”
You huff a small laugh. “Wow. That’s all I get?”
He grins, a little sheepish. “Hey, it’s been a while.”
“Yeah,” you mutter. “Clearly.”
There’s a beat.
And then his gaze sharpens slightly.
“You okay?”
You blink.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that today?”
“Because,” he says, crossing his arms, “you’ve been staring at me for like, a full minute.”
Your stomach drops.
“I have not.”
“You have.”
“I haven’t.”
He tilts his head, amused in a way that feels entirely too observant.
You shrug, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—your voice, your hands, the way he’s looking at you like your answer matters.
“I don’t know,” you say. “You just… do.”
“Wow,” he says dryly. “Super helpful.”
You roll your eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, Steve.”
He huffs a quiet laugh at that.
And then—
“You used to hate me.”
Your breath catches.
Oh.
We’re doing this now.
“I did not hate you.”
“You called me—” he gestures vaguely, searching his memory “—‘a walking ego with good hair.’”
You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “You were not supposed to remember that.”
“Hard to forget,” he says, but there’s no bite to it.
If anything, he sounds… amused.
Which somehow makes it worse.
“I wasn’t wrong,” you mutter.
“Wasn’t,” he repeats.
That word again.
You hesitate.
Because yeah.
That’s the problem.
You look at him—really look this time.
At the way he’s standing there, relaxed but grounded. At the way his attention keeps drifting back to the kid lingering by the candy rack like he’s making sure he doesn’t knock anything over.
At the way he’s not trying to impress you.
Not trying at all.
And somehow—that’s exactly what’s doing it.
Your stomach flips again.
You exhale slowly.
“I didn’t think I’d ever say this,” you admit, quieter now, “but… I might’ve been wrong about you.”
The air shifts.
It’s subtle.
But it’s there.
Steve blinks, caught off guard.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
A beat passes.
And then—because apparently your brain has completely abandoned you—you add:
“…Also, when did you get hot?”
Silence.
Actual silence.
Somewhere behind you, a tape case clatters as the kid drops it.
Steve just stares at you.
Like you’ve just short-circuited his entire system.
“What?” he says finally.
“You heard me.”
“I—no, I did, I just—” He runs a hand through his hair, visibly thrown. “Where did that come from?”
“I don’t know!” you snap, half-laughing, half-horrified. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out!”
He lets out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and disbelief.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes!”
“This isn’t, like, a joke?”
“Do I look like I’m joking right now?”
He looks at you.
Really looks.
And something in his expression softens.
“…No,” he admits.
Your heart does something stupid.
You cross your arms, trying to regain control of literally anything.
“It’s just—” You gesture vaguely. “Last time I saw you, you were—ugh—and now you’re—” You stop yourself before you say something embarrassing. “This.”
“This,” he echoes.
“You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, oh my god.”
He laughs then.
And it’s easy.
Warm.
God, when did his laugh get like that?
“You’re unbelievable,” he says.
“I’m right.”
He opens his mouth to argue.
Stops.
Considers it.
“…Maybe,” he admits.
Your breath catches again.
And now it’s worse.
Because now he’s agreeing.
“Look,” he says, a little quieter now, “I’ve just… been trying to be better, I guess.”
Better.
The word lands heavy.
Not flashy.
Not impressive.
Just honest.
You nod slowly.
“It shows.”
Something shifts between you.
The space feels smaller now. Charged.
Like every movement matters a little more.
“You’re still kind of annoying,” you say, softer.
He grins. “Good. Wouldn’t want to lose my charm.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind it.
There’s something else there now.
Something new.
“So,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “you gonna keep staring at me, or—?”
“Oh my god,” you groan. “Shut up.”
He laughs again.
And you hate—hate—how much you like it.
You turn away, pretending to look at the shelves, but your focus is completely gone.
Your thoughts are loud.
Messy.
Uncooperative.
Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.
He wasn’t supposed to change.
You weren’t supposed to notice.
And now—
Now you can’t unsee it.
You glance back.
He’s watching you.
Of course he is.
And when your eyes meet—
He smiles.
Not smug.
Not cocky.
Just… soft.
And yeah.
That’s when it really hits you.
This isn’t just a glow-up.
It’s not just better hair or broader shoulders or whatever the hell else your brain is trying to blame this on.
It’s him.
It’s the way he looks at people now.
The way he cares.
The way he tries.
And somehow—
That’s what makes him dangerous.
Because now?
Now you get it.
Now you see what everyone else probably missed the first time around.
And that—
That’s a problem.
A big one.
Because you’re not just noticing him.
You’re looking.
And worse?
You don’t want to stop.
You step up to the counter, placing your tape down like you didn’t just have a full identity crisis in aisle three.
Steve picks it up, glancing at the cover.
“Good choice,” he says.
“Thanks.”
Your fingers brush when he hands it back.
It’s quick.
Accidental.
But it lingers.
Just enough.
You both pause.
Just for a second.
And then—
“You coming back?” he asks, casual, like it doesn’t matter.
Like he didn’t just ask something that feels a little too close to something else.
You meet his eyes.
Try to act normal.
“Maybe,” you say.
He nods.
Like that’s enough.
Like he’ll take it.
And as you turn to leave, the bell jingling above you again, one thought follows you out into the warm evening air—
Clear.
Loud.
Unavoidable.
When did you get hot…
—and why does it suddenly feel like you’re in trouble?
Summary: Joel brings his daughter Sarah to the local roller skating rink for a birthday party, and he can't take his eyes off you. When Sarah falls and you help her up, it starts something neither of you expected. Joel hasn't been on skates since the 90s and definitely didn't plan on getting back on them now, but one lesson later, he discovers that falling might not be such a bad thing when you're there to catch him.
Warnings: pure sweet fluff ~ meet-cute ~ kissing ~ steamy little make-out ~ joel on rollerskates ~ single dad joel ~ reader & joel are in their early 30s ~
Word Count: 5.8k
Author Notes: This one is deeply personal & means a whole lot to me. It was purely & selfishly for me. Sooooo, there is a slight description of the reader, as I couldn’t help but to describe my own hair color. Rollerblading is a huge part of my life, I skate a couple times a week at my local rink & one week while there, I was thinking about Joel -per the usual- and got the idea of a young Joel bringing in Sarah for one of her friends b-day parties. While writing it I thought of a young game Joel, but as always feel free to picture whatever Joel you love best. <3
Also, it's my dream to open my own rink & I would in fact name it Razzmatazz, like I did in the story.
Masterlist ~ AO3
“Dad! Come on! We were gonna be late!” Sarah’s voice thundered up the stairs from the entryway.
Joel was still in his bedroom, one boot on, the other dangling from his hand. Downstairs, he could hear her shoes squeaking against the hardwood, the faint ruffle of the gift bag she kept swinging by its handles.
“I’m comin’, hold your horses,” he called back, yanking the boot on with a grunt.
“They're already saddled!” she shouted back, giggling.
By the time he got outside, she was already in the passenger seat, buckled in, cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Got the present?”
“Right here,” she said, holding up the bag triumphantly. Tissue paper puffing out like a firework mid-explosion.
He nodded, pulling out of the drive. Halfway to their destination, he stole a glance at her, then focused back on the road. Lately, time seemed to rush past him; now in his early 30s, Sarah had just turned 8 and she was really growing into her own unique personality. Knowing these were the times he’d miss one day, he tried to be present & enjoy every second.
The parking lot was already bustling when they arrived. Joel maneuvered his truck between two minivans -one plastered with bumper stickers- and turned off the engine.
Sarah was already halfway out of her seatbelt, jittering with the kind of energy that only a Saturday and a birthday party could bring.
Inside, the smell of the waxed wood floor was what he noticed first. Joel hadn’t set foot inside a skating rink since the 90’s, and it was like walking into a time capsule. The bright carpet with the neon squiggles that glowed under blacklight. The disco ball hanging from the ceiling, scattering fractured light across the rink.
Sarah spotted her friends by the skate rental counter & waved as they made their way over to them. She grabbed her skates & hurried to a bench to start putting them on. Joel stood there watching her lace up the skates. She laughed at something one of her friends said, and for a second he could see all the years ahead of him — school dances, learning to drive, the mornings when she’d sleep in & he’d be the one calling for her to hurry up.
She asked for help, lacing them up all the way, wanting to make sure they were tight. He barely got the last knot tied when she took off, stumbling after the group. “Daddy, come on!” She called over her shoulder.
Joel weaved through the other patrons and party goers, making his way to the carpeted area at the side of the rink where kids played arcade games and parents sat on benches. Joel took a seat, tracking Sarah as she made her first attempts at skating.
He watched her for a few minutes; she was doing well, possessing that enviable knack for picking up new skills with ease. Eventually, his attention drifted to the chaos of the rest of the rink, observing wobbly kids toppling like dominos and overconfident teens zipping in and out of the crowd.
And then he saw you.
You looked up walking towards the entrance to your home away from home, Razzmatazz Roller Rink.
The marquee jutted out from the building, the name RAZZMATAZZ swirled across the front in glowing neon script. The awning over the sidewalk was covered in bulbs that burned warm amber, all blinking rapidly and randomly, making the ceiling appear to shimmer. The glass doors reflected a carnival of color, exuding a vintage mid-century modern Vegas vibe.
You were still bewildered that this place was yours, that you had the moxie to make this all come to life 3 years ago, just after your 30th birthday.
Today was your day off, but true to form it was hard to keep you away from this place, deciding to come in to skate the afternoon session and check to make sure everything was on the up and up before the place opened.
Later, when you were on the rink, you caught a glimpse of the birthday party tucked into the corner –streamers, pizza and presents– you were elated that kids wanted to have their birthday parties here. You hoped this place would hold fond memories for youngsters and grown-ups for years to come. You let that thought come and go, then just started skating and enjoying the session.
Joel was captivated, simple as that. What drew his attention to you was the way you moved. Skating backward, you effortlessly weaved through the crowd, exuding a graceful and athletic confidence in every push of your legs. You glided through the swirl of motion, as your arms rose and fell. You didn’t just skate. You danced.
Then he noticed the color. A shock of icy lavender hair pulled into a half up messy bun, with short, jagged bangs framing one side of your face like a slash of frost.
Everybody else kinda blended together in the rink light, same handful of looks repeated over and over. Faces half-lit and forgettable the second they rolled past. A lot of people moving, just bodies circling, but the way you moved made everyone else appear clumsy.
He found himself noticing small things. The long line of your neck when you turned your head. The rise and fall of your chest, and the genuine smiles that lit up your face at moments only you seemed to notice. You possessed a unique, intriguing beauty that was hard to look away from.
And then he saw Sarah catch the toe stop on her left skate, her knees buckled and her arms shot out, hitting the floor with a sudden thud, just as you were gliding by.
The second you saw her go down, you stopped on a dime and dropped to one knee beside her.
“Hey, you okay?”
The little girl winced and looked up at you, rubbing her hip. "Yeah… I think so. I think I just need to go sit down for a bit. Will you help me get over to my dad?"
“Of course,” you replied, holding out your hand. “Where is he?”
She scanned the crowd and pointed.
And that’s when you saw him. Standing at the edge of the rink, eyes locked on his daughter. A tall broad man in a worn henley and jeans, with worry etched across his face.
You took her hand, little fingers sticky from frosting, guiding her towards her dad. She was more chatty now, already bouncing back. “You’re really good at skating,” she told you. “You do the fun spinny stuff.”
You chuckled, “Thank you. I’ve been skating since I was about your age.”
She looked up at you stunned. “Whoa.”
Her dad met you at a nearby bench just as you helped her sit down on it. He crouched in front of her, checking her over. “You okay, baby girl?”
“Yeah, I'm fine,she helped me,” the little girl piped up, pointing at you.
Joel looked up, his eyes looking into yours.
“Thanks,” he said, now looking over to his daughter. “For helpin’ her.”
You nodded, smiling. “Of course. She’s a tough one.”
His eyes drifted back to you and over your face, then down to your skates and back up again.
“You skate like…” he paused, shaking his head with a small, helpless smile. “Like you belong out there.”
You were surprised by the softness in his voice and the honesty of his words. “I do,” you admitted, without thinking. “It’s where I feel most myself.” You smiled, introducing yourself and learned the man's name was Joel and the little girl was his daughter Sarah.
“Well Sarah, I want you to have fun the rest of the time you’re here, okay?"
“Ok, I'll try!” Sarah responded.
Joel exhaled a quiet laugh, looking down at Sarah, grateful she was smiling, then turned back to you.
“Seriously,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Thank you. I saw her go down and my heart damn near…” He cut himself off, shaking his head, eyes narrowing. “Anyway. ‘Preciate you stoppin’ for her.”
You gave him a small nod, softening it with a smile. “Anytime. It’s kind of impossible not to stop when a kid eats it right in front of you.”
You pushed off from the carpet, rolling backward a few inches, wheels clicking on the metal as you eased over the threshold and onto the wood. “Have fun, Sarah,” you called, lifting two fingers in a little salute. “Show that floor who’s boss.”
“I will!” Sarah shouted back, cheesin’.
An hour and a half later, the music faded, the lights came up, and you slid down onto one of the benches, unstrapping your blades and untying your laces. Sarah plopped down beside you, huffing with exhaustion.
“That was fun! But my feet felt like raisins,” she exclaimed, yanking at the laces.
You laughed. “Need any help?”
She shook her head, determined. “Nope,” she replied, but after a moment of struggling, she sighed, “Okay, maybe just a little.”
You knelt to help her, undoing the double knots. “You did great out there,” you encouraged her genuinely.
“I fell like 5 times,” Sarah admitted.
“But you got back up 5 times and kept trying. That’s what matters.”
Just as you slid off her second skate, you felt a presence behind you. Sarah’s eager voice confirmed your suspicion. “Dad! Can we come back soon? Riley said she’s going to take lessons, maybe I could too?”
You glanced up at her oh so handsome father, hoping he told her yes so you could see him again. “I actually teach a few beginner classes here. We'd love to have her.”
Joel rubbed the beard at his chin, pretending to consider it, but the corner of his mouth gave him away while he looked at Sarah. “Alright,” he said finally. “We’ll look at the schedule.” And Sarah let out a victorious squeal.
Joel had signed Sarah up for lessons that Saturday before they left, and for the 3 days since, she hadn’t stopped talking about how excited she was for it. Her eyes were bright with anticipation as they walked into the skate rink and Joel guessed his probably looked the same way, but for an entirely different reason. She was there for lessons. He was there for you.
He scanned the floor before Sarah even finished tugging off her jacket and there you were, setting out cones near the center, sleeves pushed up, hair tied back.
Sarah ran ahead, waving, already calling your name.
Joel followed at a slower pace, taking in the scene. The way you waved back and greeted his daughter, genuinely excited to see her, it made him feel good. He could picture coming here every Tuesday, Sarah improving, wobbling less each week. Picturing himself sitting along the side, getting to see you doing something you clearly loved.
Now, he watched you wrangle a half-dozen hyped kids in a circle on the rink, gently encouraging them to trust their balance. You crouched beside Sarah, showing her how to bend her knees slightly and push off with one of her skates, gliding forward to demonstrate. She copied you and you cheered.
You didn’t talk down to her. You treated Sarah as someone worth your time, as someone capable, not just a child, and he could see how much Sarah thrived under your encouragement.
He watched her circle around the cones you set up, wobbling but so determined. Then when she rounded the last cone and saw you clapping for her, she lit up like she just won gold. And God, the way you smiled back at her. He liked seeing you with his daughter more than he ever expected to. He liked that Sarah was relaxed around you, laughing easily, trying harder. He couldn’t help thinking how good you were with all the kids, but more specifically, with her. He liked how you were with her. And that scared the shit out of him.
The lesson concluded, and Sarah was grinning ear to ear. You followed her off the rink, skating up to Joel.
“What about you, Joel?” you said, giving him a playful nudge. “Didn’t wanna join the lesson?”
“Didn’t really wanna embarrass myself in front of a room full of kids.” He admitted.
"Well," you said, leaning against the locker bank, "I could give you a private lesson if that’s what you were worried about.”
Joel raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“Mmhmm,” you smiled. “After hours. No witnesses. Just you and me.”
Before he could respond, Sarah tugged at his arm. “Dad, can I get a treat from the snack bar?”
He dug out his wallet and handed her some cash. “One snack, not five.”
She dashed off, leaving you and Joel alone.
“Thank you for teaching her,” he said. “She seemed to really enjoy it. It was all she talked about the past several days.”
“Awe, I’m glad. She’s a sweetheart. A natural, too.”
Joel started gathering all Sarah’s things from the bench, putting them in her bag. “So, guess we will see you next week then?”
Before you could answer one of your employees came over the speakers calling you up to the office.
You looked up to the front and rolled your eyes at the interruption, then looked back at him. “Sure thing, I’ll be here.” You told him with a smile, your hand lightly grazing his shoulder blades as you skated behind him towards the front.
He watched you skate away, already counting the days.
Joel climbed into the truck, started the engine, and looked over to find Sarah just staring at him.
"What?" he asked, putting the truck in reverse.
"Are you gonna do it?"
"Do what, baby girl?"
"The lesson! She said she'd give you a private one. Are you gonna do it?”
"I don't know, Sarah. I am a little bit of an old dog to be learning new tricks."
"Oh, come on, Dad!" she groaned, throwing her head back. "It’d be so fun if you could skate with me! Please?"
He looked at her eager face and sighed. "I'll think about it."
2 days later, you were checking your schedule clipboard in the office.
6:30 PM – Private Lesson – No Name Listed
You headed up toward the front counter to the rental window, where Alina was halfway through untangling a pair of skate laces. She looked up as you leaned over.
“Hey, did you book the private lesson for 6:30 tonight, there was no name down?”
“No. I wasn’t here yesterday, remember? I had my cousin’s grad party.”
“Oh yeah, my bad. Well, if it’s a man named Joel, don’t charge him for it. I’m gonna get a quick song in.”
“You got it boss.”
You checked the time and realized there were only about 15 minutes till the private lesson started. You needed to get out of your head for a few minutes, the stress of the week was weighing down on you, and the best way to do that was to skate and lose yourself in a song.
Coasting to the DJ booth, you dimmed the overhead lights, switched on the sound system, and cued up one of your favorite songs to skate to Echoes of Silence by The Weeknd.
The haunting, slow beat filled the empty rink. You stepped onto the wood, letting the music take over. Then you lost yourself in the shadows and the sound.
6:13 PM
Joel was early. He sat for a moment with the engine off, looking at the outside of the building. He could wait out here to kill the time, but his legs carried him towards the doors. He was nervous but hoped that showing up early might mean a little more time with you.
Inside, the place was empty, except for a girl at the front counter. She looked up as he approached.
“Hey,” she said, straightening on her stool. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah.” Joel stepped closer, digging his wallet out, thumbing his card free while he talked. “I’m here for a private lesson at 6:30.”
“Are you Joel?”
“Yeah?” he answered, pausing with his card half-extended, trying to place her. Trying to remember if he’d ever met her before or if he’d somehow screwed up the booking.
“I was told not to charge you for the lesson.” Offering a smile, she gestured towards the rink with a tilt of her head. “Go on in, she’ll be with you shortly.”
He nodded, putting his card and wallet away and pushed through the door that opened to the rink.
The music washed over him first. A dark haunted sound, with a sultry voice curling around piano keys. The rink lights were low, and you were out there alone.
He stood back in the shadows, where he could see you but you’d have had to really look to find him.
You looked like you were in another world.
Alone on the rink, you were mesmerizing. You moved with a fluidity that seemed to transcend the physical realm. Flowing across the floor like it was ice, your body moved like the song was inside you. Free in a way he’d never seen.
It was different from the first time he saw you dodging children — this was deeper, more intimate.
It was one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen.
As the song eventually began to fade, Joel watched you glide into a stop with perfect controlled deceleration, posture tall, head falling back as the music dropped to a chilling silence.
Joel couldn't help himself. He started clapping.
Your head snapped toward him, your eyes wide, startled at the sound, your gaze skimmed the shadows until it caught him, and something shifted in your face. You looked down. Embarrassed? Shy? It was a far cry from the confident person he just watched skate with so much passion.
You skated towards him, where he was now standing at the edge of the rink, trying to catch your breath. "How much of that did you see?"
"Enough for you to earn the nickname Hot Wheels,” he said with a smirk.
A laugh popped out of you and you covered your mouth, shaking your head. "Hot Wheels? Really?”
“Really,” he replied, his smirk softening into sincerity. “That was beautiful.”
"Oh," you breathed, the single syllable coming out genuinely surprised. You gave a small, coy shrug. "Thank you. That’s... that’s actually really sweet of you to say."
His softer expression lingered, a small, genuine smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Well, I guess I'll have to be sweet more often if it gets that look out of you." Joel didn't look away as the pink creep of a blush started to color your cheeks. "You can shrug it off all you want, but you were incredible. Seriously."
"Thank you, Joel," you said softly, leaning against the railing. “So it’s you that's here for the private lesson, huh?”
"Yeah," he said, looking down at his boots. "Sarah said it'd be fun if I could skate with her. Didn't want to let her down."
"Awe... you’re such a good dad." You gestured to the rental counter. "C’mon let’s get you some skates and get started."
10 minutes later, you took both of Joel’s hands and were leading him out onto the rink. He was already taller than you without skates on, but with them, it was ridiculous.
You craned your neck to look up at him. “I can see why you’d be a little wary and scared to fall, you’ve got a long way down from up there.” You teased.
Joel looked down at you, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Yeah, you look pretty small down there.”
You chuckled, skating backward, pulling him slowly. "Just look at me. Don't look at your feet. If you look at your feet, chances go up that you’ll go down."
"I'm tryin'," he grunted, his legs stiff as boards.
“Bend your knees… like this” you demonstrated, while also trying not to laugh at how cute he was giving it his all.
He mimicked you, his grip taking a strong hold on your hands.
“Good. Now just relax and let me pull you, so you can get used to rolling.” You continued backward slowly, still holding him. He wobbled, chuckled, then muttered something about having giraffe legs.
You grinned at his little joke. “You’re doing fine. You wanna try and coast by yourself?”
Without answering, he let go of your hands, seemingly confident, but he didn’t get far before his arms began windmilling, trying to regain balance.
"Whoa—!" He reached for you instinctively, and his arm hooked around your waist.
"Joel, wait—" You tried to steady him, planting one of your blades sideways to keep him up right but his weight and momentum were too much. He went down, taking you right along with him. Both landing in a heap, you pinned between his chest and the floor.
“Oh shit—sorry! I’m so sorry,” he said, with concern flooding his voice. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"
You looked up at him, giggling. “No, I’m okay, are you?”
“I think so,” he panted. “Don’t think my pride’s gonna make it, though.”
You laughed again. “Guess I’m not the best teacher.”
Joel groaned, resting his forehead against your shoulder for a second before looking back up. “Nah. It’s me. I skate like a newborn deer on ice.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got a whole hour to fix that.”
He pushed up and leaned back like he was going to get off you and stopped, hovering over your body, looking down at you. His eyes dropped to your mouth before quickly meeting your eyes again.
You chuckled, trying to neutralize the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "Okay, Bambi," you teased, reaching up to pat his shoulder. "Let’s get you back on your hooves."
Joel smiled, shifting his weight off you. "Easier said than done. I feel like I’ve got bricks tied to my feet.”
You stood up, looking down at him. He was still on his hands and knees.
"Put one foot flat," you instructed, skating around to stand behind him. "Hands on your knee. Push up... slowly, don’t rush it.”
Joel looked like he was performing a high-stakes balancing act and as soon as his legs started to straighten, his wheels rolled out in front of him.
"I gotcha, I gotcha," you said, quickly wrapping your arms around his waist to secure him.
He steadied instantly, his back pressed against your chest. He was so solid, such a big hunk of a man. For a second, the silence of the empty rink felt a lot louder. You could feel his heart hammering pressed up against him through the back of his shirt.
Your arms were wrapped around him like a safety belt. He felt like a damn fool, knowing he could have hurt you, taking you down like that cause he couldn’t keep his balance, but you didn’t seem to mind.
Joel looked down at your small hands that were wrapped around the front of him, fighting a smile that was widening across his face.
Once stable on both feet, he slowly turned around in your grip, keeping his feet braced in a 'V' shape like you’d taught Sarah, he might have been looking at you most of the time during her lesson but he was paying attention to what you were teaching her.
Now he was looking down at you, and the playful smirk on your face told him you knew exactly how much of a mess he was.
"You aren't gonna let me go now, were you?" he asked, his hands finding your upper arms just to be sure.
"Not until I'm sure you won't take us both down again," you laughed, your eyes reflecting neon from the lights above. "You were doing great, Joel. Especially, for a first-timer who is built like a linebacker, you are actually pretty light on your feet.”
"You're a terrible liar," he muttered, but he couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "But lets keep going and try again."
"Okay, I’m glad to hear you aren't ready to give up after that fall." You said, stepping back just an inch, your hands going from his waist to his forearms. "Let’s try it again. No more falling. Just look at me, Joel. Just me."
Easy enough. He thought he could stare at you all day, no problem.
You started to skate backward, drawing him with you. He was hesitant at first, his eyes darting to the floor, but then they locked onto you. He took a stride, then another, his confidence building slowly. The clatter of his rental skates found a flow, moving together across the rink.
"See?" You told him, a soft smile growing on your face. "You're a natural, just like Sarah."
"Nah, I think we just have a really good teacher."
After a while, he became more sure-footed. Pushing himself along a few times with you right there, his long legs getting down the proper movement. He actually let out a short, triumphant huff of a laugh. "Look at that. I'm doin' it."
“Yeah! You are!” you cheered.
As you were getting closer to the far back wall of the rink, where the neon shadows were deepest, Joel stopped pushing, his skates almost coming to a stop. You still were in front of him skating backwards, hands barely lifted towards him, ready to help at a moment's notice if needed.
But Joel wanted to hold your hands again, so he faked a little wobble and shot his hands out towards yours. Instincts kicked in and you lunged forward, grabbing his hands with rapid swiftness. "I got you!" you gasped, braced for the impact of his weight. But the heaviness of his weight never came. Instead, Joel found his balance with suspicious ease and you knew then he did that on purpose. But you didn’t call him out.
Once he had your hands he pushed off gently with his skate, propelling you both slowly towards the carpeted wall. You didn’t realize how close you were until your back wheels kissed the baseboard with a soft tick. Your body stopped, his didn’t, gliding right up into your space, the large frame of him boxing you in. He didn't step back. He planted his skates on either side of yours, his hands holding yours, he gently pinned you against the wall.
“Thank you,” he said, sincerely. “For… ya know the lesson, and for puttin’ up with me.”
“Anytime, Miller.” Your eyes searched his as you licked your lips, drawing his attention fully.
In one smooth motion, his hands slid from yours, one coming up to cup the side of our neck, this thumb tracing the line of your jaw, tilting your face up towards his. The rough pad of his thumb that dragged across your skin was a stark contrast to the softness of the moment.
Joel closed the bit of space between you that remained and kissed you. Just a slow press of his lips to yours. When his lips pulled away, a sweet little sound escaped your mouth and he kissed you again.
His tongue licked up the outside of your lips before he sucked gently at your bottom lip, the soft tug, flooded your body with want. You exhaled against his mouth and felt him respond to it immediately, his grip that now held your waist tightened, while your fingers knotted into the shirt on his chest.
His lips felt familiar in a way that made no sense for a first kiss, your mouths moving like they already knew each other.
Joel’s hand slid from your waist, to wrap his big arm around your back, pulling you in, pressing you against him. His other hand still cradled your neck and jaw as his mouth moved against yours in long, slow pulls – tasting you.
When he finally drew back, he did it in increments. His lips brushing yours once more, then again, lighter, softer, the kisses becoming smaller and smaller until there was hardly any contact, easing you both back into the world gradually.
His forehead came to rest against yours, both of you breathing unevenly.
You laughed softly, your head spinning more than it ever had from spinning on your rollerblades. “I didn't remember that being in the lesson plan.”
"Consider it my extra credit," he replied, his thumb tracing your lower lip before he straightened up, though he didn't let go of your waist. "Now, you think we could make it back to the benches without me ending up on my backside again?” Joel asked.
"I think we can manage that," you said, stepping out from the wall. You took his hand and he let you lead him slowly toward the rink's edge, his stride still cautious but more fluid than when the hour started.
Once off the rink, you both sank onto one of the benches. Joel stretched his long legs out in front of him, rental skates clunking awkwardly against the carpet. He glanced sideways at you with a boyish grin.
“I can't believe I let my 8 year old talk me into this... I mean I'm really glad she did,” he said, shaking his head. “But I'm gonna be sore tomorrow.”
You laughed, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Hey, you did better than most grown men after not having been on skates for years… and you only took me down once. I’d say that was a win-win!”
“Once was enough,” he muttered, eyes meeting yours. “But I didn't mind the landing.”
Heat flushed your cheeks, remembering the moment. “Yeah, I'd say you stuck the landing.”
You busied yourself, unlacing your own skates to hide the smile you couldn’t quite suppress.
Joel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching you. “So… how long have you worked here?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Since the day it opened, actually. I own the place.”
Joel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You own this place?”
You shrugged lightly, playing down your feeling of pride. “Mmhm. It was a risk, but I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.”
“Gotta say, I'm pretty impressed.”
“Thank you, what about you?” you asked, turning the focus back on him. “What does Joel do when he isn't knocking over skating instructors?”
He chuckled. “Construction, mostly. Remodeling old houses, trying to build things that last. Sarah keeps me busy the rest of the time.” His expression became vulnerable at the mention of his daughter. “She’s been through a lot. Her mom… well, it’s just been the two of us for a while now, and seeing her laugh, getting excited about something new like skating… there's nothing in the world like it.”
You reached over and gently squeezed his forearm. “She's lucky to have such a great dad, like you.”
A comfortable silence fell between you. Joel glanced out at the rink, then back at you.
“Listen,” he started, sounding a touch nervous, “I—I’d really like to see you again… and not just when I bring Sarah for her lessons. Maybe dinner? Or coffee? You know something that didn’t involve me flailing around and making a fool of myself.”
You bit your lip, trying and failing to hide your grin. “I think I’d like that. A lot.”
His shoulders relaxed, and that genuine, heart-melting smile returned. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you confirmed, shaking your head. “But fair warning, I might still make you skate with me sometimes.”
Joel laughed, the deep sound filling the quiet rink. “As long as you promise to catch me when I inevitably try to eat it again.”
“Deal,” you said, offering your pinky.
He hooked his much larger pinky around yours. “Deal.” he said, shaking on it.
When he finally released it, he stood, offering you a hand up.
In the weeks that followed, that first date turned into several more. You and Joel spent time getting to know each other away from the bright lights and rolling wheels of the rink. He took you to a little pho restaurant downtown where you slurped down dinner together. One morning you wandered through the local farmer’s market, sharing bites of fresh pastries, laughing and enjoying each other's company. Each date revealed new layers and the more time you spent together, the easier the conversations flowed and the stronger the pull between you grew.
Sarah kept coming to her lessons, getting more confident on her skates every Tuesday, and to your delight, Joel started joining her more often. He’d catch your eye across the rink as he skated with Sarah, offering small smiles that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter harder each time.
His skating improved slowly but surely, especially when you were the one guiding him.
Then one Saturday evening, after the regular session had ended and all the families had cleared out, Joel and Sarah stayed behind. The overhead lights had dimmed to their soft nighttime glow, and the music played low in the background.
You and Joel found yourselves in the middle of the empty rink, holding onto each other. His hands rested gently at your waist while yours rested on his broad shoulders. He’d gotten much better at balancing, but right then neither of you were focused on skating technique.
Joel leaned down, brushing his lips against yours in a slow, sweet kiss. You smiled into it, kissing him back, then again — soft, drawn out presses that made the world feel wonderfully exciting again.
Around you, Sarah skated, her laughter echoing lightly off the walls. She zipped past several times, then slowed beside you both with a dramatic sigh.
“Come on, Dad! Not on the rink!” she called out, rolling her eyes, trying to sound stern but failing to hide her giggle. “You are supposed to be practicing your skate moves, not practicing kissing!”
Joel broke the kiss with a low chuckle, forehead still resting against yours for a second. “Sorry, kiddo,” he said, though the grin on his face that showed he wasn’t sorry at all. “Couldn’t help it, your teacher made it really hard to concentrate on skating.”
You laughed softly, giving his lips another peck. Sarah shook her head dramatically and pushed off again. “You two are so embarrassing… but kinda cute too… I guess.”
Joel watched Sarah skate off, then looked down at you. “Well. We've officially been judged.”
You smiled up at him. “Seems like we got a pretty decent score.”
“Long as she’s smilin’.” He glanced toward Sarah. “ I'm good with whatever score she give us.”
Razzmatazz had always felt like home, but now with Joel’s hand in yours and Sarah’s wheels rolling around the hardwood, it felt more like home than ever before.
I hope you enjoyed it! I’d love to hear your thoughts on it, if you feel so inclined. It really keeps me going and writing! Please consider reblogging. Love you all! <3
Confirming that most inner-city residents have gone their entire lives without sufficient access to blacklight skating or Skate-’N’-Celebrate birthday parties, an alarming study published this week by Cornell University revealed that the majority of urban households in the U.S. are located in roller rink deserts. “When we overlaid the locations of the nation’s roller skating rinks onto maps of American metropolitan areas, we were shocked to find that families living in city centers are often forced to travel four or five times as far as their peers in suburban areas for access to adequate indoor skating facilities,” said the report’s lead author, Alexa Shafer, citing evidence that nearly two-thirds of children in urban zones live five miles or more from the nearest locations with weekday open skates or “Saturday At The ’70s” disco nights.
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As always I REFUSE to clean up a sketch or so any sort of line work I hate that bogus I just want to color :( +just Prowl bc I was sad about his other foot being covered up
