love came calling, twice // olly murs

16.

"Wait," Amelia said, staring at the vehicle in front of her. "We're talking your truck?"

Olly paused, one hand on the handle of the passenger door, the other holding his keys. "Well, yeah, what'd you expect?"

Amelia surveyed the large, rusty white monster in front of her. She heard it pull up in the middle of every afternoon and was half-convinced that it was on it's last legs. It looked sturdy, that was obvious, but appearances could be horribly deceiving. She bit her lip.

"How about we take my car?" she asked, gesturing to her tiny silver automobile parked in front of his.

"Oh, no," he said, shaking his head. "We're going in my car, no question about it, especially if you really want to go through with this whole 'moving on, starting over thing'."

Amelia placed a hand on her hip. "Are you going to use that as an excuse everytime you want something that I don't agree with?"

Olly debated this for a moment. "Probably." He grinned cheekily. "Is it working?"

Rolling her eyes, she nodded. "A little bit."

He laughed. "Well then, wonderful," he opened the passenger door and waved his hand, gesturing for her to step inside the car. "Your chariot awaits."

She narrowed her eyes slowly and took the hand he was offering, helping her up into the drunk. She slid in and he closed the door behind her. She sighed. She was trapped.

Tom had driven an SUV and had been ridiculously anal about it. You were not allowed to eat in the SUV, that was his number one rule, but there had been a multitude of them. You weren't allowed to mess with the radio stations, the CDs. You weren't allowed to roll down the windows more than half-way, you weren't allowed to rest your purse on the floor of the car. Make sure your shoes were clear of snow, dirt, sand, water and other suspicious forms of matter before sitting down. He hated belt buckles, afraid they're scollywobble the interior. It was exhausting driving with Tom. He washed it every single Wednesday and he waxed it every other Thursday. Sometimes, when Amelia would speak to him in the car, he'd hush her and turn down the radio, thinking he heard something rattle. It used to drive her crazy.

Olly seemed to be a little bit more...lenient, when it came to his car. There were old coffee cups on the floor, a dog-eared book on the dashboard and a hula-girl bobble head beside it. It wasn't messy per say, but it had a certain sense of disarray with it, stacks of paper and equipment from photo-shoots and the like sitting in the backseat. An expensive looking CD player, radio and speaker system was installed, and she was willing to bet that he put more money into it than he had in purchasing the whole car itself. She smiled slightly as he slid in on the seat beside her, nestling his portfolio on the space in between them. She glanced at the leather book curiously.

"Mind if I take a look?" she asked, reaching forward and he blanched, before grabbing out of her hands and tossing it in the backseat. She frowned.

"Hey, I-"

"It's not my best work," he said hastily, sticking the key in the ignition and backing out of the drive slowly. Amelia furrowed her brows.

"Why would you have a portfolio of stuff that wasn't your best work?" she asked skeptically.

"Oh, you know," he said, "Going against the grain. Besides, I don't carry around my best shots, that would be absurd. I could lose them."

"Okay, you don't want me to see whatever is in there, I get it," she said stiffly, folding her arms. "You don't need to make up elaborate excuses."

He sighed. "I'm just...weird about showing people my work."

"Uh huh," she said, shifting slightly to face him. "And yet you showed me the photos of the flowers with no hesitation on Wednesday?"