Black Velvet - (3) (Patreon)

I'm at a house party, and God knows why Nic dragged me here.

"You're my wingman, dude. The girls from your graduating class are way cuter than mine."

I snort at that, letting my head bounce back against the wall — wild, loose curls and a thin frame, an affinity for losing my train of thought and a tendency to stutter. Wow, quite a wingman catch. I let my gaze roam across the melding pot of squished together bodies and sexual frustration.

I can't say it's how I want to spend my Friday night.

"They are not cuter. They just don't have the honor of knowing the horror that is Nic Abernathy and his fruit flavored condoms."

Nic levels me with a glare, turning his torso towards me as he gulps down a half-glass of whiskey. I'm almost impressed at his ability to not cringe at the aftertaste — then deduce that that isn't something to be enamored with at all.

"Fine, I'm not looking for commitment, and they're flighty before college. Anyway, you're a shit wingman." He deadpans, and I nod in wholehearted agreement. "Should have brought Toby."

I think to tell him that I'm positive I'd seen Tobias by the fridge on the way in, but decide not to — in a well-deserved response to the insult. A few moments pass, and I keep finding myself more interested in the muted Law and Ordnance episode that's playing at the back end of the party than any of the people here.

"At least tell me who's into casual flings." My brother cuts in with a mournful sigh, taking in the sight of the surrounding women with a puppy-eyed adoration. "Since I'm hunk-free tonight, I might make it somewhere."

He has a point, seeing as how Toby is quite the catch and ridiculously handsome. Nic's reputation has gotten out a bit around town, and gossip has led to him being a less than favorable choice amongst girls and their parents.

"All my time studying quantum psychics and orbital patterns didn't give me any insight on your next sexual endeavor," I grumble, irritated with how poorly he went about treating his love life. "... And don't sleep with girls who have been drinking."

"Oh my God, I know that. That's gross. You're such a buzz-kill, Oli," he's rubbing my head affectionately with his knuckle, arm slung around my shoulders, "not to mention a huge nerd, have I ever told you that?"

"Nope, I'm completely surprised,” I mumble listlessly, pulling my phone from my back pocket, "pushed me right out of the nerd-closet."

He rolls his eyes, and mid-roll seems to catch sight of someone he knows. "Hey, Joseph's here. I'll catch up with you later. You still my DD?" I nod in an affirmative, not willing to strain my voice over the blaring stereo.

The smaller side of me wants to reach forward and grab onto his shirt-tails, utterly terrified at the thought of being alone in a large house party completely sober. I gather myself and pretend to busy texting, so I don't look so awkward.

A tiny part of me hopes that Toby doesn't happen to see me, looking as lame as I am in my ratty t-shirt- loitering out against the staccato like a piece of bad wallpaper. He hasn't yet, but someone does.

"Hey."

The voice that approaches is feminine and catches me off guard. It's not the first time.  House parties seem to bring about the unwanted reward of female to male mingling.

I snap my head up from my game of Tetris regardless, hiding the phone screen against my chest as I blink. The girl in front of me has a flush that has crawled up her face and stands like she's uncomfortable with how loud the surrounding party is. She drapes her hands over her arms cautiously as she stares forward at me, our heights similar.

Seems familiar, but I can't place her.

"Hi."

I try for a smile, confused as to why she's talking to me, but not wanting to come off particularly rude.

"Sorry, you just seem, uh — like you're not having fun either." She gives a sort of wry smile that leans towards unhappy. I can't think of a way to respond, and a moment passes awkwardly.  "Uh so...  I'm Charlie-Anne. I was in your Calculus class, in high school — that is, if you remember —"

She's suddenly uncomfortable, fiddling with the tips of her sleeves. 

"Oh — yeah," Charlie-Anne, I think, and then remember the dyed strawberry blonde hair and baseball-player boyfriend, "you're dating one of my brother's friends, I think."

"Oh, that's—" she's not too flattered, grimace showing before I backtrack, "— yes, I suppose."

"You beat me in the Science fair once,"  I tack on quickly,  "but... I thought saying that would be impolite."

Her fidgeting hands stop, shoulders softening. I smile, averting my eyes when they meet hers with discomfort.

"It's better than being remembered for my boyfriend," she chuckles, "your brother is Nic, right?" She asks with a smile, and I smile back, "— Oh, wow, your like — really pretty." My eyes widen, and she backtracks quickly, mortification showing on her face, "uh— I meant, like, he's all athletic — baseball boy — shit—"  she sighs,  "pretty probably isn't a compliment for a guy, is it?"

The blonde examines my face, looking a bit past mortified, now, and a tad tipsy.

"Depends on the guy.  I can't say I've ever been called pretty," I laugh, nose wrinkling.  I think back to the compliments I've received from anyone but my Mom and think, can't say I've ever been called anything. Charlie-Anne seems to be calmed by what I've said, though, resting back against the wall near me.

"My boyfriend is playing beer pong, but everyone is so close together here that I feel like I'm going to get grabbed and sucked into the horn-dog fest."  She lets out a loud sigh and a chuckle, and I follow in earnest, desperate to somehow change the awkward air.

"I'm the designated driver of the night," I add leisurely enough, trying to keep the conversation from sparking out. "Which is good, because the last time Nic had a DD, the guy stayed the night and wouldn't leave in the morning.  Ate his apples really creepy too, lots of saliva —" I make motions like slobber hanging from his chin, "and if anyone ever goes missing in this town, I'm blaming him."

The girl next to me snorts loudly, peering ahead. "Hmm.  You think creepy apple eater is here tonight?" She says curiously.  I look forward as well, eyes following a stray ping-ping ball. Everyone is drunk, ridiculously so. There's a loud, cartoony cheering emanating from a second tv-set, and it draws my attention slowly.

There's a beanbag perched in front of it, people passing to and fro and generally blocking my line of sight.   Bright colors emanate from the screen, and I finally conclude that someone is playing MarioBumpers — quite badly. I laugh to myself, thinking drunken gaming must be quite the endeavor.

"Isn't that Toby?"  Charlie-Anne questions, her voice perplexed as she cranes her head towards the beanbag. I startle, forgetting how well-known he is. I strain my neck in the same position as her, knowing we probably look like a couple of turkeys out for a good corn-fed meal.

"Yeah," I breathe — or try to, but it's caught in my throat. Toby is splayed out on the beanbag, arm wrapped around a boy who is dangerously close to sitting in his lap. "that's Toby."

My eyes widen in slow increments, watching as the dark-haired man tilts his head into the boy's space- suggestively. Charlie-Anne seems to be just as shocked, but none of the drunken faces in the crowd are paying much attention.

"Who is that?"  I wonder aloud. Charlie-Anne shrugs, just as interested as I. The boy is off-balance, drunkenly chattering. I can't pinpoint who the kid is, wracking my brain for a name to the face, which seems to be a common problem of mine. 

I can't, but can — however, pinpoint the false smile etched along Tobias' features.

The scene doesn't last for long — Seth Halabay of all people— approaching quickly, and angrily slapping away Tobias' wandering hands.

"Huh, whoever that kid is, he's friends with Seth Halabay.  Bad news. Tobias should stay out of that crowd." Charlie-Anne raises her brows, and I do too — surprised that the delinquent has shown his face at a party.

"Doesn't Seth usually stay away from things like this?"  I frown, knowing that in the past few parties that my brother has forced me to attend, the resident 'bad boy' had never shown his face.

"Yeah, only ever see him at church," she chews her lip, glancing towards me like she's unsure of what she's about to say next,  "anyway... That was — interesting. Toby that is— uh, really drunk." She looks to me in the intent of sharing what had to be a top ten shocking moments in Jameson, "Is he gay?"

I suppose it's a question that should have crossed my mind, but I can't really stomach her voice at the moment — and miss the opportunity to respond to what she's said, staring straight ahead at Tobias.

He's flicking off the game station and standing, long body stretching out the kink of sitting for too long. He has that barely concealed look of anger that he sometimes has when he works in his front lawn — and hands over his controller to some random guy in the crowd.

After, he straightens out, and the crowd parts just so —

If there were one time that I sorely wish Tobias Amadeus hadn't caught me staring, it would have been this night.   He can probably see it on my face, written clear as day, that I'd watched the whole scene play out.

Charlie-Anne turns abruptly, muttering a shit under her breath.

"Guess we've made a secret tonight." She hisses under her breath. "My number is on the science board on the school website.  Call me sometime!"

The girl gives me a tiny wave, prancing off in the direction of the beer-pong table where her boyfriend is currently chugging back a solo cup of Blue Tassle.

"Well, crap,"  I mutter under my breath, running a hand through my curls and then over my neck.  I scratch at it awkwardly— risking a look back at where the taller boy had been standing.

Sure enough, he's gracefully making his way past the swarm of bodies and towards my lithe form. His dark eyes are as unreadable as always but laced with some sort of determination, some kind of intent.

I grimace, a mantra of fuck fuck fuck fluttering about my stomach and head. I do the only thing my socially inept self knows to do in the case of unwanted confrontation, and fling myself towards the bathroom. 

Nothing says leave me alone, quite like a bathroom.

"Excuse me," I say with a slight push through a clique of blonde-haired girls, "oh — um, pardon me," I bump into my old math mentor and lift a brow, shaking my head, "existential life crisis happening, please let me through!" I tell the group of giggling teenagers that try to pull me into some game, palms sweating nervously as I make my way through the mirage of bodies.

I finally make it up the stairs and into the bathroom, shutting it behind me with a relieved sigh.  

Hopefully, Toby hasn't followed, surely he hadn't assumed that you thought he was just trying to get with a guy — which you are totally 100 percent thinking. Oh God, people get killed over smaller assumptions.

As fate would have it— and moments later, there are audible footsteps from outside the bathroom door.

"I didn't even drink; I don't deserve awkwardness or fists in my face, oh my god." I groan, letting my back hit the sink, hands gripping the marble as my head drops.

Of course, just as my luck would allow, the footsteps stop. I pull my lip between my teeth, biting down on the skin until I feel a dull pang—the door swings open to reveal none other than Tobias.

Surprise, surprise.

He's got his head cocked to the side as he examines me, leaning his hip against the doorway casually. Somehow, the stance is still terrifying to someone like me.  He's broad and lean — but with an athleticism from years of sports that screams, I am not to be fucked with.

"You drunk?" He asks. The directness of the question surprises me. Words bubble up in my throat but fail to turn into anything coherent. His movements are wary as he pushes the door shut behind him, hands coming down on either side of my own on the marble counter-top. He licks his lips, knee bouncing for a moment. "Oliver."

"Uh," I tap my fingers anxiously, eyes darting around the room quickly. "drunk off fun?" I try, cringing instead of smiling airily like I mean to. His eyebrows twist in a way that said he still hasn't grasped my poor affinity for making jokes.

"You saw me downstairs, yeah?" His finger lifts and splays out under my chin — brushing against it to bump it upwards — helping to create eye contact and bring focus to my frantic mind. My throat freezes mid-swallow because it feels entirely different than when my family touches me in the same way.

I'm the worst liar of all liars.

"Yeah, you're like — uh, really good at MarioBumpers." I lift my hand subconsciously to push his away, hoping he'll take the initiative to back out of my bubble.   He doesn't, dark eyes flickering from my strained position to the false polite smile.   "Dude, uh, personal space is actually a thing," I grumble out, uncomfortable with the way he seems to have zeroed in on me as an annoying prey.

I take in a quick lungful of my own, Tobias free air as he finally draws back and crosses his arms.

"Sober at a house party...?" His voice has a tone like I'd personally offended him, and I'm sure the confusion is apparent on my face.

There's a ring around his eyes that seems like he hasn't slept well, or is currently fighting to stay awake.  I want to ask him what might be wrong, but I don't.

"I'm underage — and there's like million other things I'd like to do in life than get a beer gut and a MIC," I say with a roll of my eyes, waving my hand broadly in front of me like it would accurately display all of my life goals, "plus, I'm DD for Nic."

"Alright." Tobias laughs, posture straight as he grabs the door handle. I think that the man has accepted, or maybe overlooked that I'd seen him in a compromising position. I let out a sigh of relief, but it's too easy.  He pauses before he exits, his back to me.  He shoves a fist into his pocket, turning his head the slightest bit to direct his next statement.

"I know you watch me —" His voice carries louder the lower it is. It's a strange thing that chills over the forming goosebumps at the base of my neck, "you've gotten taller, but your rose hedge hasn't."

The door clicks shut.

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