Black Velvet (38) (Patreon)

(A/N:  who’s gonna tell her?

Jk I love u Charlie-Anne

GUYS! ❤️ I will be updating other stories soon. I’m working on them as diligently as I can. I’m so sorry that I’m a turtle!)

The only difference between this party and the last is the number of people and the fact that I'm plastered up against a stuffed zombie.

"Ashley has made threatening eye-contact with me, like, seven times." Charlie-Anne huddles closer to me.  At least, as close as she can possibly get with the way I'm holding a hula hoop around my waist like a weapon. "Do you think she's going to tell us to leave?"

"Can guests do that to other guests at house-parties?" I'm slightly appalled at the idea of it, but I can't really put it past an annoyed Jameson belle, and Ashley Nunez is the epitome of a Jameson belle.

"Guests? John and Nic are guests.  We're basically human wall decorations." She snorts, "I don't think we're exactly the sort of company that they had in mind — I mean, Ashley is what they had in mind."

"She's just a small-town beauty queen," I shrug, "what's she going to do?"

"Um, wasn't she on the convertible in the parade last year?" Charlie-Anne misses her straw and stabs her nose instead.  She winced. The past thirty minutes have consisted of her trying to sober up and failing, "That's basically celebrity status — she's a Jameson celebrity."

"Ew.  That honestly sounds like an insult."

"Well, it isn't."

"We're in costume. That's better than half the people here," Charlie-Anne fidgets anxiously despite my words, so I decide to change the subject, "Anyway.  I'm glad you showed up, at least," I take a sip from the straw of her water that she offers, "you seemed — ah?"  I realize I've placed myself in dangerous territory a moment too late.

"Annoyed?" She offers, smirking, "Mad?"

"One of those, yeah."

"Relax.  I wasn't mad... I just," she shrugs, craning her neck to talk loud enough for me to hear her, "I just felt like you were blowing me off. Now I can see that you're not. Who'd blow me off for this?"

"I thought we were surrounded by celebrities?" I taunt, lifting my chin in Ashley's direction.  My friend laughs at that, shouldering me. "I'd never blow you off — on purpose," I add, furrowing my brows at the thought, "at least, if my brother's drunken safety wasn't a factor. Speaking of drunken safety, do you need a ride home too?"

"I'll sober up by the end of the night," she nods along to her own words, making them hard to believe, "but my friend Anna is picking me up. Either way, I'm taken care of.  Don't worry about it."

"Well, if that changes, you have my number," I frown, "I'll keep it off silent."

"... What if John drives me home?" There's a shift in her tone that I can't place, but I chalk it up to drunkenness. "I mean... He said he wanted to.  I could let him."

I huff.

"If you let John drive you home, send me a picture of his license plate. I don't know if it's you or the alcohol talking, but you've known him for like... A week?"

Charlie-Anne rolls her eyes, obviously dissatisfied with my answer. Still, she smells of strawberries drenched in the acrid scent of alcohol, enough so that I don't mind protesting her poor decision-making.

"You're such a mom. What are you supposed to be again?" She asks, hand hiding a small laugh when I bristle. Her date, the aforementioned John, disappears into yet another beer pong match. "... A cock-block to yourself?"

"Vile.  I'm Saturn," I snort, arms outstretched around the red hoop, "Keeps the drunks away. Except you, of course, although you can stop inhabiting your alter-ego and roasting me at any time."

I feel proud of my costume.  My hula-hoop has been mostly effective the entire night — keeping away the occasional personal space invader and a very drunk and stumbling Tommy Westfield.

"Hm, that's actually a smart idea," Charlie-Anne sighs, adjusting the suspenders on her Where's Wahldo outfit, "... We should've both been Saturn. I can't count how many times someone has nearly launched me into a wall."

"If you were Saturn, too, it would've been awkward.  Besides.  You have to make sacrifices for cool costumes," I give her a thumbs-up of appreciation for her wit, sinking back as a burlier man shoves past us, "I didn't even know I was coming until like, six hours ago and I had a hula hoop — so, voila."

"Let me guess," Charlie-Anne scans the crowd, wrapping her finger around a loose strand of hair.  It's strange to see it without flowers looped inside of her ringlets, "you, prized designated driver, ended up deserted again?"

"They have friends here." I shrug, eyes catching Tobias' form near the dining room entrance, engaged in small talk with an old teammate. My line of sight lingers, enough to make Charlie-Anne turn her head as well, "I prefer not to socialize," I mumble, brain taking a moment from its derail, "except with you — and family."

My hand felt nice in his.  His rings felt cool against my fingers — and his own rough palm felt strong.

"I'm always proud to be your exception." Charlie-Anne grins.

"Glad to hear it."

A moment passes that becomes weighted with disuse. It's one of those strange scenarios where I can't place just why that it suddenly feels so tense. Her fingers wrap tightly over her water, thin and long.

"Oliver — you know, if we had gone to the festival...” Charlie-Anne pauses for a moment, cheeks red with the effects of alcohol, "we'd have had fun — and it's what we wanted to do. I wouldn't have left you up against the wall by yourself somewhere."

"I know that," I don't know whether or not to smile because there's something insinuated in her words that I don't want to read into, "They didn't leave me; they just know I'm better here."

"By yourself?"  The water bottle crinkles,  "at a party when you don't like parties?"

"... Yeah." Our eyes meet, but I avert mine quickly, suddenly hyper-aware of it, "Where's John at, anyway?"

"Oh.  Um. Your brother is really drunk, so John's still playing beer pong," she juts a finger in the direction of the kitchen, "... I think that's where the people that own this house eat, but it's so big that I can't tell."  Her joke feels forced, but I grab onto it.

"Beer pong in the rich-people dining area..." My nose wrinkles, "What does my brother have to do with it?"

"Well, Nic lost all semblance of hand to eye coordination three hours ago," Charlie-Anne sighs, "major winning streak for John." She waves towards our current state in self-explanation, "Me, here. Again."

"What? Has it really been three hours?" I groan, letting my head thunk back against the wall behind me. The plush zombie leans closer, "no wonder my arms are so sore. Nic is going to complain about losing all day tomorrow."

"And John seems like the type who is going to brag about winning all day tomorrow," she rolls her eyes, "which is so not worth three hours against the wall at a Halloween party."

"I can't believe he's left you alone for three hours."

"I can,"  Charlie-Anne frowns. She tries to lean closer to me, but her faulty footing and my hula-hoop thwart her. She sighs, "anyway. I'm not alone; I have you."

"Well. I'm good company. I have candy." I pop another smarty open with my free hand, and she laughs, "but actually, that's still kind of shitty of him, no offense.  You're really gonna let him drive you home?"  I slip another candy into my mouth, offering her one,

"Maybe.  I'm used to it."

"Shouldn't be."

"Yeah."  She nods, hair bouncing, "I'm aware of this," her eyes meet mine, fogged and unfocused; she grimaces, "fate is a bitch."

"Well, there's always Christmas parties to look forward to. We could wear matching sweaters to those." I smile softly, trying to take off the edge. She nods, caught up in her own thoughts, "— Call in advance and see what their wallpaper is so we can make sure to blend in better? John can play beer pong as much as he wants."

She adjusts her suspenders,

"Well, if there's anymore dates through the winter, I'll take you up on it.  I think I need a break."

"Is dating that bad?" I wrinkle my nose, but the red-head looks unperturbed by the thought of being unendingly single, "I'm guessing beer pong must not be the only downfall."

I hand her a pack of smarties. Charlie-Anne squints her eyes in thanks, letting her head roll against the wall as she gives me a wry smile. She drops them in her mouth,

"Usually. You're different, though." She hums to herself, watching me closely for a moment — before her gaze shifts over to the room that her date and my brother occupy. Mine slips to Tobias; his glass tipped back — taking a long swig. He frowns when he wipes the back of his sleeve against his lips, stares me down with a hard look. "You see — if you and I dated, it'd be the type... Well, there wouldn't be alcohol breath and stilted football conversations, to start."

"... Because I hate football and alcohol... and you don't believe in monogamy." I laugh, and Charlie-Anne's cheeks heat. "That's why."

"No. I didn't mean that. I meant it would be different if —" She huffs. "but you keep staring at Tobias. Why?"

"No. No, I am not." I shake my head, curls sticking to an irregular edge in the wood. Her frown deepens. "I'm keeping tabs on my drunk passengers. And, uh. I like his costume — is all."

The girl side-eyes me from where she stands, arms crossing slowly, "Ah-huh," her nose wrinkles in the way that mine does, "Still a little interested in the Amadeus man and his bad-boy air, I see?"

"No."

"Oliver," Charlie-Anne leans in close to my ear, like she's ready to spill a secret, "he's not wearing a costume."  Right — fuck.  "C'mon," Charlie-Anne nudges me with her elbow. "What is going on with you and him...?"

Oh, nothing. He just told me that he wants to fuck me, and I'm still thinking about holding his hand.

"Don't say it like that."

My cheeks heat when Tobias throws back another swig of his drink. The Greek man then proceeds to send me a wary look from over his shoulder before his friend leads him closer to another crowd. I can't tell if he's bothered by the blatant staring or by his strange dislike of Charlie-Anne, but it could be both.

"Why shouldn't I?" Her mumble is hard to dissect in the disquiet of a party, but I hear each syllable pop and string the words together with glaring anxiety. "It's so obvious."

"Excuse me, Abernathy?"

My head snaps back to Charlie-Anne, face flushed, as a man shoves into my space. He strolls up behind her like he owns the place, shoulders drawn back.

"Yeah?" I'm confused; he can probably hear it in my tone — but Charlie-Anne looks absolutely mortified, glaring at how he's wrapping his arm around her, eyebrows furrowed. I think of her words from before and wonder if we're suddenly being uninvited from the party that we're already at. "Me?"

"Yeah, you. Are you harassing my girl?"

Oh.

"Ew," Charlie-Anne mumbles. "Hands off, John." I giggle before I can help it, nearly in unison with her heavy sigh.  How masculine. I hold my hula hoop out in protest, almost dropping it when I try to show him my hands,

"No," I shake my head, "No harassing here. We're totally just trying to blend in with the wallpaper — it's what we do."

"I'm harassing him," my strawberry-haired friend chides, her date's gaze turning from angry to confused, "his hula hoop is keeping all the creeps at bay. Uh, Oliver, this is John. And my name is now, My Girl, I mean — if you haven't heard."

John winces.

"Nice to meet you," I pull another packet of candy from my pocket, "you want one?"

"Oh," he nods slowly, eyes falling on the hoop around my waist, then my much smaller frame. His jealousy instantly fizzles out, "Oh. Sorry, there are lots of drunk weirdos here — and well," He reaches out a hand, "as she said, I'm John."

I shake it awkwardly, holding up my costume with my elbow. I then think that maybe he wanted the smarties and hand him those instead.

"I'm Oliver, but I guess you already knew full first and last name." I shrug, and John looks the slightest bit embarrassed.

"Yeah, everyone knows about..." He looks off to the side, uncomfortable, "you know, when we were little, and you shaved those cats."

Wonderful. The beauty of my existence.

"Right, that's super great," I mumble, eyes fluttering from him and back to Tobias. "Nice to meet you."

"Well, Charlie... Uh, this has been nice, but," he coughs and tugs his hand through his hair, "did you want to go to that festival thing, or whatever you were going on about?"

John looks out of place, uninterested in the thought of taking her but also uninterested in making more of an ass out of himself in front of me. I grimace from behind him, and she returns the sentiment.

"Sorry but," Charlie-Anne shakes her head, "... um, I don't think — I think I'll stay here."

John seems like he wants to say something but doesn't.  He instead escapes the weird misunderstanding-fueled tension, giving his wounded goodbye in the most awkward exchange I've ever witnessed.

Charlie wraps her arm around my extended one, ignoring that I'm grasping the hoop still.

"Okay.  Honestly, I'm so relieved."

"I can see why."

"Well, guess I'm your date now."  She says flippantly, but something about her arm wrapped around mine carries too much forced confidence. "Show me around."

It doesn't feel flippant at all.

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