Oliver
Traffic on the motorway down to Devon is light, and we’re making good time, with a little over eighty miles left to our destination. Indie pop tunes play softly through the car’s speakers, Darius singing along as he drives. I watch out my window – farms, fields and small towns blurring as we speed past.
Nerves roll around inside me the closer we get, and I bunch my hands together on my lap, fingers digging into my palms. If Darius wasn’t driving, I’d slip my hand into his and I wouldn’t care how needy it would make me seem. He brings me a sense of peace I’ve never found before.
Turning so that my back is half against the passenger door, I look at him. He has a black headband on, keeping the strands of his blond hair off his forehead, and he’s wearing white shorts that reach his knees, a yellow linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a collection of beaded bracelets on his left arm.
“You’re doing it again.” Darius shoots me a smirk before focusing back on the road.
Heat blooms in my cheeks and down my neck. I can’t help staring at him. He’s magnetic. And gorgeous. And my favourite person in the world.
“You’re really beautiful,” I say, my honesty and his resulting smile doing nothing to fan the flames beneath my skin.
“And you’re a charmer, but thank you.”
“Anytime,” I say, grinning as I lean back in my seat. I’m staring out of the window, lost in thought, when I’m startled by a tap on my arm.
“Yellow car!” Darius shouts, a yellow Ford speeding past us.
“What was that for?” I ask, turning so my back is to the door and I can see him fully.
Both hands back on the wheel, Darius’s mouth twitches up at the side. “It’s a game. You punch the person next to you every time you see a yellow car. Have you never played it before?”
“No! That does not sound like a real game!”
“It is, and I’m great at it.” At that, Darius taps my leg, just as another yellow car zooms past us.
“Hmm… I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not.”
“I’m not! It’s a real game. With rules.”
“Like what?”
“Um… No re-using a car, meaning you cannot get me back for the same vehicle. And yellow vans and buses don’t count.”
“Why don’t they count?” I ask.
“That’s what the rules say. You wanna play?”
“Fine. But I have more questions.”
“Great. You can ask them after you hand me a chocolate from the snack bag.”
I lean through the gap between the seats, retrieve the bag, and pull it onto my lap.
We only ate an hour ago, but if I have learned one thing about Darius, it’s that he gets pouty if you stand between him and his food. It’s kind of adorable.
Digging inside, I shift through the options – crisps, chocolates, nuts, sliced fruit and bottles of water.
“How long did you expect us to be driving for? There’s enough here for at least a week.”
“We needed options. Car snacks are the most important part of any car journey. That’s a fact.”
“Oh sure, yeah, I’ve heard that. It’s a very well known fact,” I remark playfully.
“Are you doubting me, puppy?” Darius grins, his eyes flitting my way.
“Never.” My lips twitch into a matching grin as I hold up two bars of chocolate. “Crunchie or Dairy Milk?”
