Page 77 of Felix

He nods once, swiftly, and backs down the drive.

“Did something happen?” I say carefully. I’ve never seen Emil angry before.

He doesn’t answer me for a good block. “I yelled at my parents.”

My eyes widen. “You yelled? Damn, Specs. I would’ve paid to see that.”

He huffs a laugh, which makes me feel marginally better. His eyes meet mine before he refocuses on the road. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

My gut pinches, but I shrug it off. “He passed before I was born.”

“Still,” Emil says, reaching over like he wants to comfort me. It’s a little clumsy, his hand hovering in the air for a moment, but finally, his palm lands on my thigh, and he squeezes once. “Sorry about your mom, too.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, taking his hand in my own, positive I’m supposed to be the one reassuring him right now, not the other way around.

“I’m sorry she wasn’t what you deserved,” he answers.

My breath punches out of my lungs. How can such a simple statement mean so much?

“Pretty sure tonight isn’t about me,” I say gently.

He huffs. “Deflecting.”

“Thank you, Mr. Psych Major,” I tease. “How about when you start accepting compliments, I’ll accept conversations about my familial baggage?”

“Touché,” he mutters, lips twitching as he takes a turn.

I eye his profile, gaze running over the planes of his face in the dim interior of the car. I want to ask about his parents, but maybe it’s not the best time with Emil driving. So, instead, I point out something else on my mind. “You,” I say seriously, “have the most gorgeous eyebrows.”

“What?” he asks in surprise, head whipping my way for a second.

“They’re perfect,” I say, tracing the one nearest me with my finger. “They give away your mood sometimes. Like when you’re thinking serious versus when you’re being studious serious. Or when you’re embarrassed happy versus excited happy.”

He glances at me again, a befuddled expression on his face.

“There,” I say. “Embarrassed happy.”

“I…don’t even know what to say.”

“You could say, ‘thank you, I’m so glad you like my eye awnings.’”

Emil barks a laugh, looking at me again. “Thank you, Christian, for being the weirdest, most wonderful boyfriend.”

“Nuh-uh,” I say, tugging his hand up to my mouth and nipping the tip of his finger. “Now you’re deflecting. You wrote off my compliment by calling me weird.”

He puffs a breath through his nose. “I also called you wonderful.”

“Specs.”

“Fine,” he groans. “Thank you.”

I lean over and smack a kiss against his cheek. “You’re welcome.”

Emil has a little smile on his face for the rest of the drive home. But once we park in the lot behind his building, his tension returns.

“Okay?” I ask.

“Actually, could, uh… Could I come over to your place tonight?”

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