Bad Boys Do Cry

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.