Black Velvet (34) (Patreon)

Here’s a short and sweet chapter just because Monday sucks butt.  I love you all and appreciate your support!

—

I've never been in Tobias' car.  Ever — actually.  It's interior is so well-kept that it appears nearly new, and I subconsciously check the bottom of my shoes before I pull my legs inside.  Then — as an afterthought, I move a couple of his paperbacks to the center console to keep myself from crushing them.

Oops.

I make a note of their titles,

'The Things They Carried'

Tobias is holding the door open for me, and just past him — I can see Nic watching him do it.

'Hiroshima'

I avert my eyes back to Tobias', and it almost feels defiant.  The gesture of him holding open the car door feels awkward or weighted in my brother's field of vision.  I can't tell which.  It's as simple as Tobias waiting for me to buckle my seatbelt and then him shutting the door, but for a minute, it feels like a betrayal.

My heart is working on overtime, jittery with whatever butterflies that've nestled in my stomach.  I tell myself it's not fair to Nic to feel this way, but I notice myself watch Tobias round the car, regardless.

Incoming text (Nic):

This is going to end badly, and you know it

I push my phone inside of my pocket.

"Thanks,"  I say, when Tobias leans to buckle his seatbelt.  His shoulder brushes mine, and I notice it more than I would've noticed another.

The car smells of spices, of mint, and vaguely of espresso.  I feel the tips of my ears heat as the sound of his seatbelt clicks into place.

"Ah.  Sorry about my mom — she's really excited about Halloween."

Tobias pauses as his hand slides back up the strap of cloth over his chest.  He adjusts it without needing to like he just needs a place for his fretting hands.

"Is there a reason...?"

"She overheard a kid saying that she and Aubrey had the best decorations, and now she's out to win their hearts."  I shrug at that.  "Aubrey is excelling; at the moment.  Mom is threatened."

"Not that, Oliver,"  I can't tell if Tobias is looking at me because my eyes are on the road ahead, though we're still parked, I'm too nervous to turn towards him.  He starts the car, and before he can turn his music down, a soft, sixty's melody carries through,  "I meant, is there a reason you came?"

"Yes."  I can't tell if it was the threat of an angry mother or an underlying hope, but I leave it with one word — yes because I don't know which reason outweighs the other.  I shyly meet Tobias' stern gaze.  He leans back against his seat, his eyes narrowing,

"Did you understand what I meant,"  He says, but it's so low that it's nearly quiet — even this close.   "Last night?  Do I need to reiterate?"

"Yes,"  my cheeks are warm.  My chest is warm.  I manage something worse than a jumble of words, but my point is made,  "I think.  Wait.  No.  I understood.  I understood you."

It's quiet for a minute, and Tobias looks down at the stick shift.  His fingers hesitate to reach for it.  I think I should say something, anything, to keep him from changing his mind.

"Um, so — anyway...  You like,"  I gesture towards the paperbacks, moving them back into my lap to keep them from falling.  "You like history literature?  Are they non-fiction?"

"Anti-war,"  he corrects, but his tone isn't as harsh as it typically is.  He reaches for the books, depositing them into the empty backseat, and his shoulder brushes mine again.  There's a flowery bag in the floorboard, one that looks like it sits and waits for use — his mom's.  "But yeah.  History too.  I guess it goes hand in hand.  All of it is relevant to the other."

I realize I'm not much of a history buff and frown, bothered that I'm unable to keep the conversation going.

"... Are you done with them?"  I ask, finally.  I want to know more about what he likes.  I want to be able to talk to him — differently than my brother does.  He glances at me, the wind swaying the trees ahead of us.

"Yeah,"  he pauses.  I absently note that the car is moving.  "Why?"

"I don't know much about history, so — uh."  I run my thumbs across the cover, "Can I borrow these? We can talk about them after I read them.  I'm a super-fast reader."

Oh god, shut up.

"Borrow—?"  Tobias' eyes shift to me with a barely-there hint of surprise, again, then back to the road.  He turns his head as much as he's able, and I watch the corners of his lips turn upwards in a shy smile.  "Well — yeah.  Sure."

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