➵ Snowbaz Oneshots

The Car - Part 1

Simon
—

Sitting back in the car seat, careful not to squash my wings, I stare out of the window, watching the trees whirl past.

Baz and I are on our way to get dinner. He said that he was craving pasta, so we decided to get Olive Garden.

"I'll have to spell you Neat And Tidy again before we go in," Baz says from the driver's seat.

"Yeah, I know. We won't forget," I say, looking over at him. His face is trained on the road before him, grey eyes darting this way and that. His cheekbones look unusually sharp today. I like it. "Pasta-lover."

"Oh, shush. You know that you want pasta too," he says, punching me lightly in the leg.

I love when he touches me. His fingers send what feels electromagnetic waves through my body, putting every nerve in my skin on edge. When we first kissed, that night in the fire-lit forest, it was amazing, and I knew from that point on that it wouldn't be the last kiss.

Now, he always knows how to drive me crazy. Like when he kisses me right underneath my jaw, or when his hands touch my lower back and pull my hips against his body...

I blink. We're pulling into the parking lot of Olive Garden now. Baz parks quietly. "What if there's a long wait?" I ask.

"Then we will wait."

I groan. Waiting for food is probably my least favorite thing. I just want it when I want it. "Baaaaaz."

"Baby, a little bit of waiting won't kill you. And there probably isn't a wait anyway," he says. "Plus, don't you love their unlimited bread?"

I do love their unlimited bread. "Yeah, I guess their bread is worth the wait."

We walk into the restaurant hand in hand. Baz asks for a table of two, and since there is no wait (lucky for us) the hostess smiles politely and takes us directly to a small table next to a painting of a dark haired man riding a horse. She gives us our menus before walking away to serve other customers.

"See that man, in the painting?" I ask Baz. "It kind of looks like you."

Baz squints at the picture. Then he makes a dismissive sound. "Not at all. I look much more sexy than that old oaf."

"I mean, you're not wrong there," I say. Baz winks seductively at me.

His eyes are to die for. Some might say they're cold, stoney, or even emotionless at times, but I know Baz better than most. I see the warmth and thoughtfulness hidden under the multiple shades of grey. They move smoothly, like he always knows where he's going to look and how long he's going to look at said area.

I follow his eyes now. They look at my eyes for a few seconds, then my lips for a few more seconds. Then down to my chest, like he's undressing me with his eyes.

The waitress comes back with waters and holds out a little paper pad to take our orders. Baz orders what he usually does: Feteccini Alfredo. I order spagetti.

"She didn't give us any bread," I say with a disappointed sigh. "I was really looking forward that."

"Yeah," Baz agrees. "They didn't give us the salad either."

"Nobody cares about the salad."

"I care about the salad."

"Disgusting," I say, jokingly.

Baz rolls his eyes. Beautiful. I watch them, trying to count the dark strips of near-black grey that stand against the lighter grey. He frowns and smirks, watching me just as closely as I am watching him. "What are you staring at?" he asks.