Black Velvet (18) (Patreon)

 (a/n: warning - some nsfw-ish flirting.)

At seven o'clock, I'm equipped with six bags of groceries and a full back seat, wholly convinced that Charlie-Anne should guest star on Extreme Couponing.

My thoughts stray from her easily, a preoccupied mess of Tobias, Richard, and Mrs. Amadeus.  I think of their poorly lit home and creaky porch, the well-kept grass, drawn curtains,

the way I've never really considered the ghost-like absence of Tobias' mother in Jameson.

The way she's never been Abigail — or introduced herself as anything other than,

Mrs. Amadeus

Mrs. Amadeus

Mrs. Amadeus

A dead name.  An old love — what could only be a failed marriage.  But...

Tobias Amadeus.

To others, the prospect of Tobias bruised and bloody at a police station would probably sound absurd, like some sort of an anomaly — and it would surely stir the nastiest bit of gossip to life in Jameson if the wrong person were to know of it.

The town golden boy.

I think of all the times that I've watched Mrs. Amadeus' son dutifully do his yard work, play ball alone, jog alone — drunkenly curl into himself on his porch swing alone — and wonder why I hadn't noticed his quiet sort of sadness sooner.

When has Tobias ever been anything but tired, dark eyes — like the dark bits of rust that cover any worn and weathered thing in Jameson?

... When has he ever been golden?

The past two weeks have proven me wrong about his character, what he might be hiding — like a simple secret or a personality trait that he may have stifled down for the approval of Jameson,

but I'm wronger than wrong — I was so off.

And nothing is simple.

When I park in the narrow strip of the driveway outside my house, I sit like the little mess that I am and stare at the car's roof. I pull the lever on my seat until it falls back completely, turning on my side to watch the stars that litter the navy blue of sundown.

My phone vibrates from the middle console, and I unlatch it with one hand, digging blindly.

(Incoming Message) Nic:

as much as I hate them

u haven't sent me space articles since friday

(Incoming Message) Nic:

something is wrong

(Incoming Message) Nic:

tell me what's wrong or i'm sending mom aka top investigator after your ass

I snort to myself at the quick succession of texts. I tell myself that nothing is wrong, though something most definitely is.

My brother is probably the last person I should tell about the impromptu trip to the police station — and the last, aside from Tobias, that should know about the weird desire to bump into him at any given moment.

I wonder if he knows about Richard. I think of his panic in the kitchen the day that I mentioned Abigail's bruises and decide — he must.

I prop myself up and push my keys into my pocket, frowning down at my phone.  I slip out of the car and into the light of the street lamps, rounding into the grass to pull the grocery bags from the back.

(Outgoing Message:)

Nothing exciting in space world. Mom and Dad have made me their personal slave in your absence.

I laugh to myself, the sound of the car door opening echoing off of the silent street.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?"  The voice comes from my left, and my insides twist in fright.

"Holy fuck —" I jump to the side, phone shooting from my palms and into the grass as I hip-check my door closed.  I look up as Tobias bends down to retrieve the cellular device, his eyebrow raised in silent judgment. "You scared me."  I breathe, palm on my chest as my other hand extends to pull back my phone.

He chuckles, "I would have never guessed."  The dark-haired man is bent at the line of the rose hedge, trimmers in his other hand.  He drops them to the soil and pulls himself upright, dark gaze pinning me like it always has. 

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Unlike you, I'm not nocturnal, so no."  His tone is dry and curt like it's a bore to explain.  "Go to bed."

My brain catches up in slow succession.

I didn't sleep today, and I have work in five hours.

Dammit.

I groan out loud, and Tobias' eyebrows shoot upwards in silent amusement.  "I forgot to sleep."

Tobias nods with a raised brow, turning back towards the rose hedge.

"Well, now is a good time to remember."  He says dismissively, back still turned towards me like he's regretting striking up a conversation at all.

Rude.

"Well, not like,"  I sigh, exasperated,  "forgot to sleep. My brain is fried — literally, heat fried."  I take another breath to explain myself, hands moving rapidly,  "I left and wanted a coffee, and then they were doing road work on the bridge."

"And you got stuck in the traffic."  Tobias finishes for me, his voice straining as he heaves up his toolbox and places it on the back of his lawnmower.  "Very exciting; I'll talk to you later."

My nose wrinkles in confusion,

"How'd you know that?"  I guffaw, crossing my arms across my stomach,  "Also, you're a dick.  Wait, you knew there was traffic, and you didn't tell —"

The dark-eyed man breaks through with a hoarse chuckle.  "Your parents didn't tell you," he clucks his tongue and leans back against his car, "guess they needed some alone time."

"What?  They would've told me. Oh," I push my phone into my pocket, distracted by the uneven length between the grass in his lawn and mine,  "Did you not ask my dad for the lawnmower?"

"I knocked on the door."

"What?"  I croon,  "You knocked, and they couldn't understand you through the mysterious glances and grunts?"

Tobias bellows out another short laugh, covering his face with his hand to hide his amusement.  It crawls over me like gravel, low and barren, and my heartbeat flutters at the authenticity of it.

"Well, this is going to come as quite the blow," he begins, situating a few misplaced tools.  I eye him with confusion, tilting my head as he cocks his sarcastically, "...Pretty sure they sent you off for a reason."  He adds coolly, accentuating his nonchalance with a shrug.

"Oh, and what reason would that be?"  I bristle as he continues to laugh into his hand,  "Why are you laughing?"

"They knew there was traffic, Oliver. Everyone knew there was going to be traffic." Tobias rolls his eyes and leans in a bit towards my direction,  "They were fucking."

"Awe, gross!" Tobias just watched my disgust unfold, wiping diligently at a lawnmower part. "That's so gross,"  I whisper dejectedly, and then send him a look of pity. "Ugh. You heard them, didn't you?"

"Yes.  Unsurprisingly vocal."

Tobias takes a few steps towards me as he talks, like we're merely conversing the weather — and he's not secretly a sociopath that likes to torture me with my parent's sexual conquests.

"Shut up, oh my god.  They're like sneaky teenagers, except they're not sneaky at all."  I groan, burying my face into my palms.  I stand in front of him, sheepishly for a few minutes.  He shrugs, a dirty towel in one hand, and a greasy mechanical piece in the other.

"Uh, well, we're at the point of no return — so uh, guess you know where Nic got his libido from."  I chortle dryly, still mildly horrified that Tobias Amadeus had to hear my mom's weird squeak-yells of passion.

Tobias' eyes flicker up to mine, and his hands pause impatiently.

"Yeah?"  He asks,  "And what about yours?"

His tone is relaxed but has a dark serrated edge to it that pierces my nerves — it's a line he's crossed without the hope of intimidating me. This is curiosity. I swallow and piece the words together slowly, cheeks flushing.

"I don't think I inherited it."  I inhale sharply at the crack in my voice and frown, recognizing that he's discerned the slight hint of mortification beyond the forced wit.

"You don't think so?"  He uses his lower body to sway upwards and away from where he'd perched against my car, striding towards me.  His closeness is inevitable, and I feel caged, shrugging my shoulders inwards, "... Thought maybe you'd be vocal as well."

"Well, you're probably,"  I lick my lips, fingers pressing together nervously, "you're probably wrong about that, so maybe thinking just isn't your style."  My sarcasm is pitiful. I fail at my attempt to laugh it off.

"Oh," Tobias' jaw quirks with the hint of a smirk, "did you say probably?"  His eyes light with something playful.

"Yeah,"  my own eyes dart upwards, catching on a beauty mark near his collarbone before the deep grey of his irises, "why?"

" 'Probably' sounds like you're inexperienced," Tobias shrugs, wrapping the oiled part in his towel and shoving it into his pocket as he stops in front of me, "like maybe you're a virgin."  The way he looks at me is tense enough to nail me to the ground I stand on as he continues,  "... It sounds like you don't know a thing about whether you have a sex drive or not."

I freeze, eyes widening with the information pulled out of the phrasing of my sentence.  I'm sure the flush at the tips of my ears and on my cheeks has turned bright red, and I wrap my hands around each other,

"I —" I swallow, averting my eyes from where the light catches on the expanse of the dark Henley that's pulled tight across his broad shoulders,  "I have — well. I'll talk to you about The Sweet Spot — um, the job thing later."  I blow the entire ramble of a sentence out in one breath before I'm turning and walking hurriedly towards the house, jumbling with the lock on the front door, and tripping inside.

I don't know why his observation sounded like an offer, and if I imagined it, I'm in deeper than I thought I was.

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