45: Please, Finish Your Threat

This cannot be happening. Comedy.

It's finally Valentine's day. That fake holiday Hallmark created so they could make more money. So people could have an excuse to eat chocolate and sweets. And for high schoolers to really show their love through glorious PDA. God, this holiday is a joke.

The jazz choir is in our chemistry class singing to the man of the hour, the significant other of a still unknown lover. It's one of the Valentine's gifts the school was offering to the students. Yeah, this is definitely the best Valentine's day yet.

Oliver is sitting on a stool surrounded by the jazz choir that's singing him a love song. His face is stone cold as always, he's probably thinking who had the balls to do this to him. I did not, but whoever did deserves an award. The jazz choir looks afraid of the death flares their receiving from Oliver. The small slits that are his eyes oozing annoyance at their cheesy show. Oliver's eyes wander around the classroom, glaring at every student. When his eyes land on me, he mouths the name of the perpetrator, Grayson, before he goes back to glaring at the choir.

When they end, Oliver just gets up and walks out of the classroom. The bell rings right after, giving us freedom. I grab Oliver's bag that he left here when he stormed out of the classroom and head for his car. My phone vibrates in my pocket on my way to Oliver's car. I pull it out to find a text from an unknown number.

'Did Oliver's face make your day or what?'

'Grayson?'

'Yes. Did you get pictures?'

I send Grayson the one picture I got of Oliver's pissed off expression. If he'd caught me I'd probably already be six feet under. I laugh at the picture of Oliver's face with the happy jazz choir around him.

'This is beautiful. Here's this picture in return.'

I look at picture Grayson sent and almost drop my phone at the sight. It was me and Oliver kissing on New Year's. It's zoomed in so you can see our closed eyes, my hand in Oliver's hair, and obviously, our lips connected. I didn't know there was a picture of this moment.

'Why am I just now getting this?'

'Because Oliver's a bitch that had to be tortured into giving me this number.'

I laugh at Grayson's text. So that's what that was. The jazz choir singing their little love song to Oliver. No wonder Oliver knew who'd sent them to sing, he knows his friend. His crazy friend that thinks jazz choir is torture. What's worse, it actually is for Oliver Grey.

"What's so interesting on there?" Oliver asks.

I look up to find him at his car holding the door open for me. He still looks a little annoyed from the events that's transpired not so long ago. His unruly hair tells me someone's been messing with it in the short while we haven't seen each other.

"Did Grayson do that?" I point to the mop on his head.

His eyes try to look to his hair, but it's not exactly the easiest task. His eyes fall back down to meet mine. Oliver rests his arm on the top of the door so that his torso is hidden by the heavily tinted windows.

"How'd you know?"

I shrug and lift up my phone to make my point, "He finally got my number," I raise an eyebrow to Oliver.

"You can't blame me, Haze," He sighs and looks away.

Oliver's eyes stop focusing on me, they scan the students chilling at the front of the school instead. He seems to be searching for somebody. His eyes find their target, squint a little, and then return back to me.

Oliver then moves over so that I can get into the car. He takes our backpacks as I walk past him, his hands brushing my neck and shoulders as he does so. His hands arm warm against the harsh wind of winter. The temperature change shocks me. He waits for me to be settled in the passenger seat before closing the door. Oliver puts our backpack in the trunk and makes his way to the drivers side. He slides in and turns the car on, but makes no other move to actually start driving. Oliver looks to me, facing his body to me as much as possible. I copy him and turn my body to his.

"He might steal you away, he is the better, more popular, one."

"And yet, here I am, after bringing you your backpack and willingly getting in your car."

He finally breaks a smile. His eyes crinkle a little at the corners. It fills me with warmth to know that I have the power to make Oliver Grey smile. His smile causes me to turn my lips up and I lean for ward slightly. Oliver noticed and opens his eyes from their crinkled position.

"You make me sound like a kidnapper."

"I think they call it Stockholm syndrome."

Oliver glares at me and leans closer. His eyes are narrow again, but this time it's not from a smile. I keep my smile plastered on my face, acting as innocent as I can. Oliver keeps leaning forward until we're inches, no, centimeters, apart. Our breaths intermingle in that small space we've left between us.

"So it's working then," Oliver breathes out.

"What is?"

"This."

My eyebrows are furrowed, but not for long. Oliver closes the distance between us, letting our lips meet. He tries to pull me closer but there's a gear shift and some cup holders that make it uncomfortable for me to lean forward. So, he come up with a plan B.

Oliver reaches over and grabs my thigh, pulling me up. I get the message and crawl over the middle of the car to straddle him. I let my hands grab onto his shoulders for support and keep them there once I'm sitting on top of him. He holds me close, but his hands remain over my clothes.

He pushes into me, causing me to lean back. And then, a loud deafening honk ruins the moment. We both jump back in shock at the loud sound that came from the car. I look behind me to the steering wheel my back hit. Oliver's urgency got a little too much, I guess.

"Honk if you're horny," Oliver says.

I roll my eyes and slide off him, sitting back into the passenger seat. I buckle up and wait in silence for Oliver to start driving towards the elementary school. He backs out and starts driving. His hand falls from the steering wheel for a quick second to switch from reverse to drive. I follow his hand and catch it in mine when he's done shifting gears.

"Can you drive with one hand?" I timidly ask him.

"Never tried, but Oliver Grey is good at everything."

"If you ever talk in third person again," I try to threaten him.

"Please, finish your threat," Oliver urges.

I glare at Oliver, his amusement clearly apparent. I don't know why I can't think of some clever threat. Usually I'm on my game with these things. I'm losing my moves, as Oliver likes to call them.

"I'll strangle you until you can't even talk."

"So you're kinky too, Haze?"

My jaw drops, but I manage to roll my eyes at him first. I drop his hand that I'd been holding. His eyes are still sparkling with humor and I can tell he's enjoying this conversation way more than he should.

"Too?" I ask him.

"I said what I said."

I shrug my shoulders, "At least we're on the same page."

Oliver starts coughing, choking on his own spit. He clears his throat, bringing a hand to his chest as of it would help to ease the pain inside of him. It's quite the sight. Oliver looks to me, eyes wide.

"Told you I could be spontaneous."

He shakes his slightly, eyes on the road and both hands back on the wheel.

"Predictable or spontaneous, you're still Haze."

I try to think of all the things he could mean by that. Does he mean that I'm still a prude. Still the nobody that gets it on with nobody. But Oliver fought Tyler for calling me that. And he's never called me that himself. It's one of the few things that makes me trust him.

Then I think to the nickname. He's the only one to ever call me Haze. Nobody even dares try to call me Haze, no one has tried. Haze only exists through Oliver's eyes.

A smile takes over my features, "You're the only one to call me Haze."

"I like it that way."

"Tell me why?"

"Ain't nothing but a heart ache."

Well, I guess we're doing this again. Impromptu concert 2.0 car edition, the reprise. Our a cappella doesn't sound so good without our spoon microphones.

We make it to the elementary school. We're about to get out to go find the twins, but I stop Oliver. I grab his arm and turn him to me lightly. His brows furrowed at the sudden contact.

"I said I hated that nickname, why'd you keep calling me it."

"Part of the smooth moves," He winks, "You still hate it?"

"I never did."