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Ed hasn't called him, and that's fine.
Stede reminds himself it’s fine as he brushes his teeth in the morning- and in the evening, for that matter. He reminds himself it’s fine on the drive to the boutique, and then again at the boutique, when he’s faced with Lucius and Pete smooching behind the counter and gazing at each other like they hung the stars in the sky. It’s fine. It’s fucking fine.
“I said I’m fucking fine, alright?”
“Christ, Stede, keep your knickers on.” Stede had winced as soon as the words left his mouth, and Lucius must have noticed, because he’s considerably less sharp with his response than Stede's outburst deserves. “I’m just saying, for someone who stresses the importance of talking things through, you’re actually very shit at it.”
Stede sighs, curling his hands around the steaming mug of coffee Pete just slammed in front of him, presumably a display of his own disdain for Stede's tone with his boyfriend. Stede grimaces at him apologetically, before turning his attention back to Lucius.
“I know,” he huffs. “It’s just... okay, don’t freak out.”
“I won't.”
“I met someone.”
“Holy shit, Stede-”
After receiving a sharp glare, Lucius mellows. “Okay, I’m sorry, but this is very important information, right? This is the kind of thing you need to talk through. With me. Immediately. Preferably over a glass of wine.”
“Well, that’s just it. There’s nothing to tell.” It’s slightly humiliating to admit, but Stede gathers if anyone will understand his situation, it’ll be Lucius. “We exchanged numbers, but he hasn’t called. Or texted.”
Lucius barely blinks. “And have you called or texted him?”
“Embarrassingly quickly,” Stede admits. “We met on Thursday night and I texted the second I got through the front door.”
“Oh, babe…”
Stede knows what Lucius is going to say. He knows it's not cool or suave to text someone immediately after meeting. He knows you're supposed to pretend like you're not bothered, play hard to get. It's just that he really thought Ed liked him, and surely they’re both too grown up to be playing silly games like that?
“I’m so proud of you.”
Stede blinks at him. Lucius smiles softly.
“You met a guy you liked and you went for it!” He says excitedly. “I know that’s not an easy thing for you to do.”
Stede is suddenly bashful. “Well, yeah, I suppose. I wouldn’t normally, it’s just- oh, he was so lovely, Lucius. I’m just… yeah. I suppose I’m moping a little.”
“Understandable,” Lucius nods. “Look, I'll tell you what. If he hasn't called you by the end of the week, Pete and I will take you out somewhere. Get your mind off things. Maybe even find you another man, yeah?”
Stede swears through a laugh, fixing Lucius with an incredulous look before he sighs, defeated. “I like him, though,” Stede says childishly.
“I know, babe,” Lucius says, with a patience Stede doubts he deserves. “But you know what they say: there’s plenty more dick in the sea.”
“That’s not-”
“Let me have the joke.”
*
It’s Friday, and Ed hasn’t called, and that’s fine, because Stede is going to Blackbeard’s.
He’s been trying to convince himself it’s more for Pete’s sake than anything else, but as the evening slowly rolls around, Stede finds himself steadily buzzing with excitement.
Stede has been wanting to go to Blackbeard's for a while, if truth be told, but he's never quite managed to pluck up the courage. Its reputation is impressive, intimidatingly so. Plus, he'd heard it was often too packed to get a table, and he didn’t doubt that the clientele were happy to fight for one if needed.
On another note, it was around the time that Blackbeard's starting gaining popularity that Stede stumbled upon the knowledge that he had a bit of a thing for leather. As pleasant as a night of being surrounded (and possibly serenaded) by tipsy leather-clad men sounded, Stede wasn't entirely sure his fragile ‘baby gay’ heart, as Lucius put it, would withstand it.
Now, though, with his friends in tow (Lucius had somehow got Oluwande and Jim onboard, much to Stede’s delight), Stede felt ready. He could convince himself he was, at least. If he did end up embarrassing himself, he need never go back. And who knew? Maybe Lucius was right. Maybe he could meet someone tonight. Maybe this could be the night that everything in Stede’s life changes.
“Fuck’s sake, penjedo,” Jim curses at Pete as the car swerves suddenly, flinging them all around in their seats. “You are the worst fucking driver I’ve ever seen. And I get rides from my Nana.”
Well, not quite everything.
When the threat of sudden death has diminished somewhat (and Jim is no longer threatening to leap from the back seat and push Pete out of his own moving vehicle), the conversation turns back to their evening plans. Apparently, and unbeknownst to Stede, one of the bartenders in particular is a bit of a legend.
“Gosh, he's amazing,” Pete gushes as he drives. “Tonight’s their karaoke night. People come from all over just in the hope of catching a glimpse of him. If we're really lucky, he might sing something himself!”
“You haven’t even been there before, Pete,” Oluwande points out. “The whole reason we’re going is because you wanted to. We all know how much of a fanboy you are.”
“Well,” Stede says before Pete can retort. He nudges Oluwande with his elbow, as best he can with his arms pinned in between Oluwande and Jim’s bodies. “Let’s hope this Blackbeard fellow is here tonight. I’d love to see him in action.”
“Plus, he's like... really fucking hot,” Lucius adds. “Like, really hot. Whatever you’re imagining, he’s hotter. Seriously. You'll see.” He turns in the passenger’s seat, presumably to really stress the point to the three squashed in the back, but he seems to lose his words when eyes fall on Stede. Lucius grimaces. “Actually, I’m not sure bringing Stede was a wise decision.”
“I beg your pardon?” Stede laughs. “Why would I not be suitable company?”
“Because you will pass away.”
Oluwande groans loudly, tipping his head back against the seat, and Lucius laughs through the rest of his sentence. “I mean it! You think Stede isn’t gonna take one look at Blackbeard in all his leather and cream his pants immediately? Sexual repression is that man’s middle name.”
“It’s actually Augustus.”
“That’s not better, babe.”
“I am a grown man,” Stede says indignantly, “and I can conduct myself like one. And if I do so happen to find myself attracted to the man, I certainly won’t be making a fuss about it and embarrassing myself in such a fine establishment.”
“‘Fine establishment’?” Oluwande frowns. “Mate, do you know where we’re going?”
Lucius jumps in before Stede can ask. “Right, yeah. Listen, Stede, you might need to lower your expectations. Blackbeard’s is kind of a shithole,” he lifts a finger to silence Stede’s attempt to cut in, “but, like, in a cute way. Like, yeah, your table might be sticky and there's knives in the walls, but you're guaranteed a good time.”
Oluwande laughs, leaning across Stede to catch Jim’s eye. “Sounds like they’ve got the same decor as us, babe.” Jim glares at him, trying their absolute hardest to bite back the smirk that’s tugging at the corner of their mouth.
It’s only a short while later that they’re pulling into the car park. It’s far emptier than Stede expected it to be, and it’s easy to find a space to park, but he finds he doesn't mind a bit; at least they stand a chance of getting a table.
The building itself looks clean and fresh, with crisp new paint on the signs and exposed red brickwork. It’s clear they’ve had recent renovations- maybe that explains the smaller crowd, Stede thinks. Maybe they’re just about reopening.
A row of motorbikes are parked outside the bar, arranged in a neat row in front of one of the front windows, and a couple of guys are perched on their respective bikes as they smoke. A Pride flag hangs from the wooden sign above them.
As they approach the door, they stop to take notice of the multiple posters plastered to the glass. A few of them provide details of local events, one has a list of nearby motels for any driver who needs a place to stay, and one features yet another Pride flag, alongside an aggressively supportive message that says in no uncertain terms that any of the knives featured on Blackbeard’s display wall can and will be used on anyone who gives their LGBTQ+ patrons a problem. Jim nods approvingly.
Despite arriving thirty minutes before the karaoke was supposed to begin, it seems the evening is well underway. It’s clear some of the singers are plenty of drinks in already, slurring the lyrics and shouting the words with lips loosened by alcohol. They find a free table in the centre of the room, take their seats, and Oluwande makes a beeline for the bar.
After they’ve emptied their first glasses and Pete is at the counter ordering their second, Stede takes a moment to really take in the place. Lucius was right; it is a shithole, but in a rather charismatic, charming way. The table they're sitting at is clearly new, but most of them are falling apart, rickety and chipped. The chairs creak dramatically under their weight, and all seem to be at different heights. However, the drinks are cheap and the food is good and there isn’t an unsmiling face in the crowd. Stede fucking loves it.
As for the karaoke, it’s everything Stede hoped it would be. He’s never been brave enough to give it a go himself, and frankly he'd never had the inclination, but getting to share the joy of people unapologetically having fun and being silly was exactly what he needed after the past week. No-one there is a particularly great singer, but no-one seems to care. They all applaud the same, whether someone hits every note or sounds like a dying cat. It’s during one of the cat deaths that Stede is informed it’s his turn to buy the next round.
He has to fight a little to get through the crowd loitering by the bar, weaving his way in between drunk bodies (and sometimes right through the middle of some conversations), but the bar itself is empty when he gets there.
Stede presses the bell for service, and a strained, muffled voice comes from under the counter immediately.
“With you in a minute, mate!”
“Right-o!” Stede replies.
Immediately, there’s a scrambling sound behind the counter, a loud thud and an “ow, fuck!” as the person behind the bar rushes to stand up. Stede’s heart skips.
Despite evidently being in work-suitable attire, Ed has still managed to look effortlessly stylish; his long hair has been pulled back, gathered into a high, messy ponytail, and some loose strands frame his face beautifully. Layers of silver necklaces sit on his collarbones, some with thick links and some with pendants on the end of dainty chains. One of them holds a shark tooth.
The bird on Ed's chest is peeking out slightly from under the low neckline of his t-shirt: purple, providing a gorgeous contrast to his tattooed arms (Stede tries not to linger too long on his biceps), and, as Stede is delighted to find, cropped. An apron has been sloppily tied around his waist, and a sliver of the side of his tummy is visible beneath the straps. Stede could really do with that drink.
“Ed!” Stede exclaims, a smile spreading across his face without his permission. Ed looks equally as shell shocked and no less delighted.
“Fuck, Stede!”
They stand grinning at each other for a moment.
“Fuck,” Ed repeats, more like he’s exhaling the word than speaking it. “What are you doing here? You here to see me?”
Despite how annoyed Stede had been that Ed had ghosted him, Stede instantly finds himself feeling guilty for not being here for Ed. “Regretfully, no,” he admits. Ed's face falls immediately. “No, I didn't mean it like that! It's an absolute pleasure, I promise, and I'm far from disappointed. It's just- I didn't know you worked here.” Stede watches as the cogs turn in Ed’s brain for a moment. “And even if I did, I wouldn't have shown up at your place of work like this, especially since you're not interested. What sort of person would that make me?”
It comes out far more bitter than Stede had intended it to, but judging by the look on Ed’s face, he’s more confused than wounded.
“Why do you think- oh, shit, yeah, listen-”
“It’s fine if you have-”
“Listen-”
“It’s just that I texted you,” Stede says abruptly. “Like you asked me to. I texted you as soon as I got home and you never replied.”
Ed's quickly nodding along with the story, clearly waiting for a chance to butt in.
“Yeah, I know,” Ed rushes. “I saw your message. I was a tit and tried to reply to it as soon as I got home, while I was getting out of the car, and I went and dropped the fucker down the drain. Look-”
Stede blinks at him while Ed rummages frantically through his pockets, producing a small, basic Nokia phone that definitely was not the same one Stede had typed his number into a week ago.
“I kept trying to see if I could remember bits of your number, but I couldn't,” Ed continues, “then I was gonna go to your class again yesterday but we were so short of staff I had to pick up an extra shift, then I thought maybe you'd think I was a dick for not answering you and not want to see me, and I just…” he gestures vaguely, then scrubs at his beard with his hand. “I'll make it up to you, I promise. Would you still let me take you out?”
Logically, Stede knows Ed has no real reason to lie to him. Sure, he might be trying to save Stede's pride or something, but they don't even know each other, and Ed doesn't strike him as the kind of person to lie to make someone feel better. Additionally, Stede also knows he's attractive in a way some other men his age aren’t; he puts care into his outfits, he's got strong features and fucking majestic hair, and he knows how to wear a pair of jeans. It's not beyond the realm of possibility that someone would be interested in him.
But Ed?
Stede had dared to hope back in the gym that Ed might also be feeling whatever weird and wonderful tension they had, and while he now had an explanation for Ed's silence, the assumed rejection still hurt. It opened up a cut that had been long-healed, wounded that naive little schoolboy who people feigned interest in one too many times. Ed wouldn't be so cruel as to do that, Stede knows that much with complete certainty, but the mere notion that Ed might decide Stede wasn't quite as fun and quick-witted as he'd first thought, that Stede might have to learn what disappointment looks like on the most beautiful face he's ever seen, is enough to make him falter.
“I'll think about it,” Stede says, hoping it comes off as coy and teasing rather than slightly terrified.
Ed frowns immediately. “Why?”
“What?”
“Why think?” Ed pauses, suddenly looking concerned. “Are you still interested in me?”
“Yes,” Stede answers. It's probably written all over his face anyway. As humiliating as this has the potential to be, he needn't lie about it.
“Then what's there to think about?” Ed's grin is back, and it’s blinding. He leans forward over the bar and beckons Stede in close, drops his voice to a hushed murmur, as if he's going to tell Stede a secret. “Let me make it up to you, yeah?” Stede huffs a laugh, and Ed's smile widens as he talks. “Whatever you want, I'll do it. Well- within reason, I don't fancy jail. Anything legal, I'll do it. I swear, Stede, I'll make it up to you so good-”
“Edward!”
Ed’s shoulders fall the second the call comes, and he shoots Stede an apologetic look before shouting back to the other end of the counter. “What, Iz?”
Iz, whoever he is, is barking back across the length of the bar immediately. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Edward, but we do have customers who need serving. I’m not being unreasonable by asking you to do your fucking job.”
Stede pulls a face, catching Ed’s eye as he goes to move away. “He sounds like a bit of an arse,” he says, dropping his voice low. Ed’s reply is a breathy noise that can’t quite be considered a laugh.
“Yeah, he is. Mate, look-” Ed loses his words, but his eyes look almost pained, his expression frustrated and irritated. “He’s right, I need to go. Can we talk later, though? Please?”
“Of course,” Stede says. Ed flashes him a grateful smile, then turns to make his way to the next customer. Stede barely tears his eyes away from the tight leather clinging to Ed’s thighs before he calls him back. “Ed, wait!”
Ed turns, an eyebrow raised.
“I haven’t ordered my drinks yet.”
*
It’s another five minutes before Stede returns to the table, partly due to the sheer volume of drinks they requested and partly because Ed spent a lot of drink-fetching time chatting with Stede, and Lucius is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.
“Having fun?” Lucius asks as Stede slips back into his seat.
“What?”
“He means you flirting with Blackbeard,” Jim clarifies.
Stede chokes on his margarita. “Excuse me?”
“Stede, that's Blackbeard,” Lucius says. “The bartender you were batting your eyelashes at.”
Stede laughs. “Come off it! I wasn’t flirting, I was just catching up with Ed.”
“Ed.” Lucius repeats. “We’ve been in here an hour and you're on first name terms with Blackbeard, is that what you’re telling me?”
“Well, I suppose so, yeah. That’s- Lucius, that's Ed.”
Pete’s eyes suddenly go very wide. It seems everyone else realises the implication a second before Lucius does.
“Oh my god, you don't mean-”
“Wait, Lucius, are you saying-”
“The man you made a move on last week, that’s him?” Lucius may as well be shouting, he’s so incredulous. “The fucking leather daddy literally everyone in the room wants, your best friend included? You got Blackbeard’s number?”
“Why is that so hard to believe?” Stede huffs. “For the record, I didn’t know he was Blackbeard when he asked me out- yes, I’ll remind you that he asked me, thank you very much. He just came to one of my aerobics classes. And don’t,” he continues, pointing at Oluwande playfully, “say a word about ethics, Mr. ‘I Married My Client’.”
“That’s fair,” Oluwande nods solemnly, just as Jim argues, “I did ask to have Olu as my trainer for a reason, you know.”
Lucius is still staring at Stede, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “So,” he gestures encouragingly. “Spill. What did he say? Are you going out again? Did he apologise? You were there a while.”
Stede sighs. “We didn’t get to arrange anything, if that’s what you mean.” He fiddles with the spare coaster on the table. “I’m still half-thinking he’s changed his mind and was just being polite because he’s at work.”
“Sure,” Jim scoffs, “politeness. Is that why he keeps looking over?”
Before Stede can retort, or even check Jim’s claim for himself, they notice that the crowd around them are growing restless.
“Where's our Blackbeard, then?”
“Yeah, come on, Ed! Give us a song.”
“Someone get him!”
From across the room, Stede catches sight of Ed as he tosses a cloth onto his shoulder, laughing good-naturedly at the attention. “Nah,” he waves them off. “Not tonight, guys. Not in the mood.”
“Come on, do it for us!” Lucius shouts suddenly, barely audible over the crowd's protests. Pete is practically bouncing on the seat beside him.
Ed hears it, shouts back to Lucius without looking up from the drink he’s pouring. “And what makes you so special, boy? Why should I?”
“Because our friend came especially to see you.”
Stede is too busy contemplating all the ways he could kill Lucius without making too much mess on the newly refurbished floor to notice how Ed reacts to that.
“Oh yeah?” Ed glances around the room, trying to locate the voice. Lucius waves. “Who's your friend?”
Lucius points to Stede.
They somehow manage to make eye contact above the bodies bustling in the space, and fuck. Stede is almost certainly bright red, he can feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment, and yet Ed’s grinning at him like he’s won a prize.
*
In all honesty, Ed really wasn't planning on singing tonight.
He hasn't done it for a while, what with the renovations putting a stop to the karaoke nights, and his knee is playing up a bit, but he'll be fucking damned if he's gonna miss yet another chance to flirt with Stede fucking Bonnet and watch that pretty flush on his face darken. Ed’s been thinking about him all week, and now he’s practically fallen into his lap. He can’t pass this up.
If Ed thought Stede looked good in his lycra (which he did- he really fucking did), it's nothing compared to how he looks now. His hair, which Ed has only ever seen mussed up and sweaty from exercise, is perfectly coiffed and styled, and he's wearing a suit (who wears a fucking suit to a biker bar?) that looks like it cost him more than most people’s monthly wage. It’s a teal number, fitted and smooth, and does absolutely nothing to help how desperately Ed itches to touch him. When Ed glances back over after shucking off his apron. Stede has removed his blazer, revealing the crisp, white shirt underneath. He's opened the top two buttons, exposing the dip of his throat, and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. It’s downright obscene.
Ed wants to eat him alive.
“Oh, is that so?” he teases, one eyebrow raised, a smirk playing on his face. Whoever Stede’s friend is, he’s looking very smug. “Well, in that case...”
Ed tugs out the hair tie holding up his ponytail, letting his hair cascade around his face. Someone wolf-whistles, and he can’t help but splutter a laugh as he pours himself a shot of tequila. He holds Stede's gaze as he knocks it back, and shoots him a wink.
“Let's give him a show, shall we?”
He just about catches Stede’s eyes growing wide before Ed turns to nods sharply in Fang’s direction. “Cheers, mate. You know the one I want,” Ed tells him. Fang grins, and hands him the microphone.
Ed takes a deep breath, and can’t help but smirk when the opening drums play.
“I know you wanna leave me, but I refuse to let you go.”
The next lyrics are drowned out by the crowd’s whooping, but Ed can’t complain. He knows he can carry a tune and do it well, but it’s not really his voice people come to witness. He’s a performer to the bone. It feels effortless, honestly, like a life on a stage was always what destiny had in store for Edward Teach.
“Ain’t too proud to beg, and you know it, please don’t leave me, girl-”
Ed climbs onto the bar for the chorus, as he used to back in his twenties, when he was already the life and soul of bars he was barely legal to be in, and he can hear Stede’s laugh as Ed’s colleagues wordlessly clear a path for him to walk. His eyes stay on Stede’s as Ed hops down from the bar, and he makes a beeline for their table, making sure to put an extra little swing into his hips as he walks.
“If I have to sleep on your doorstep all night and day, just to keep you from walkin' away…”
The intensity of Stede’s gaze rips the breath from his lungs.
Ed doesn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like this.
Ed knows he’s hot. He knows that’s why most people want to watch him perform, watch him move. He enjoys it, a lot. But Stede? Stede looks… genuinely appreciative. Like he’s thrilled to have this opportunity and he can’t quite believe he’s here.
“Let your friends laugh, even this I can stand, ‘cause I wanna keep you, any way I can…”
And he knows before he does it that his knee is definitely going to scream at him tomorrow for the way he slides across the floor to land on his knees at Stede’s feet, but Ed finds he really doesn’t give a fuck.
Because Stede is looking at him like he hung the fucking moon.
Eventually, Ed tears his eyes away from Stede’s and they fall instead onto his friend, the one who called to Ed in the first place. The guy is fixing him with a look far too knowing and smug to be innocent, and Ed suddenly remembers there are other patrons in the room he should probably be paying attention to.
The song ends, because all things have to at some point, and Ed does his usual skit of exaggerated bowing, blowing kisses to the crowd, pretending to catch roses. His customers whoop and cheer for him, and within seconds he’s mingling with the regulars, getting clapped on the back and offered drinks.
And then suddenly, he’s lost Stede.
Ed can’t quite remember what table his group were at, but the one he thought he was at is empty. He tries not to feel too gutted about it. At least Ed gave Stede a good show. That’s what he said he’d do, and after all the mess with the failed dinner date, Ed can’t expect anything more from him. Honestly, if Stede doesn’t want him after that performance, he’s the insane one.
Ed slugs back to the bar, weaving through the crowds of people making their way to the door, and starts finishing all the jobs he was supposed to be doing instead of showing off for a hot stranger.
“So,” comes a voice from behind him. Ed whips around to follow it and finds Stede standing at the bar, his blazer draped carefully over his arm, fixing Ed with a mischevous look. “That bar and grill you mentioned last week...”
Ed grins. “Yeah?”
“Anywhere I'd know?”
"Nah,” he teases, lazily wiping the counter down. “It's really lowkey. A super intimate kinda place. Real classy, too. You lot were lucky you were even let in.”
Stede smirks. “And even luckier to witness Blackbeard in all his glory, I'm told.”
Ed groans, but the smile splitting Stede's face tells him there's no heat behind the words. “Is that weird?” Ed asks. “Like, that I'm some kind of local celebrity because I don't mind making a tit out of myself sometimes?”
“No!” Stede answers. “Definitely not weird.” He pauses. “It was quite hot, actually.”
Ed’s heart races, threatening to break through his ribcage and fling itself across the bar at Stede. He’d really hoped Stede would think so.
“Quite?” Ed says in mock outrage. “I climbed up on the bar like something out of Coyote Ugly. I fuckin’ slid to you on my knees. I'm wearing leather. That's only ‘quite’ hot to you?”
Stede hums thoughtfully, biting back a smile. “Maybe I'll have to have a repeat performance, see if my mind can be changed.” He pauses, then, like he's finally catching up with Ed’s words. “Of course, your poor knee! Oh, Ed, why would you hurt yourself like that?”
Ed shrugs, trying his hardest to look casual. “Looks cool. Plus, I had to win you back somehow, didn't I?”
“You never lost me.” It’s fairly innocent, and Stede says it so matter-of-factly that Ed could almost mistake it for something that isn’t devastatingly romantic. “Seriously, Ed, are you going to be okay?”
“I will be if you tell me how great I am again.”
“Edward.” Stede’s voice becomes low and gravelly, and it sends something singing down Ed’s spine. “That performance… you were effortless. Hypnotic. Easily the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Ed clears his throat, flustered. “Yeah, that’s- yeah, that’ll do it.” Stede smirks. “Does that mean I can get your number again?” Ed asks.
“Oh, darling,” Stede starts, and damn his heart, Ed himself is a second away from launching over the bar at him. “You didn't think I'd be leaving without yours, did you?”
Ed shrugs. “Might not have given it to you.”
“I’m not too proud to beg either, you know.”
It’s a good thing Ed manages to catch the moan that rises up his throat, because that would be really fucking embarrassing. He settles for grinning like an idiot instead. “Shit, mate. Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, of course you can have my fuckin’ number. Christ.”
Ed pulls out his phone again, and Stede takes out his, and after a joke or two about déjà vu, they’re both saved into each other’s contacts once more.
“So,” Ed says, “where are you taking me?”
“I thought you were taking me somewhere?”
“That was before I royally fucked up my knee trying to seduce you via The Temptations.”
Stede smiles at that, easy as anything. “In that case, I haven’t decided yet.” He tucks his phone back into the pocket of his jacket. “I’ll text you.”
“You’d better,” Ed says.
“I will,” Stede promises. “You’d better reply this time.”
Ed chuckles. “I will.”
Stede gives him a shy little smile and a wave as he leaves, the rest of the bar empty by this point, and Ed raises his hand in return. He presses the same hand to his face afterwards and finds his cheeks are burning, and aching from smiling.
*
His phone buzzes a minute after Stede leaves.
Mr. Hot-Hair Blue-Suit: Thai or Italian?
Ed should’ve locked up ten minutes ago.
Me: Thai, easy
He’s barely put the phone back in his pocket before another message comes through.
Mr. Hot-Hair Blue-Suit: I hoped you’d say that.
Mr. Hot-Hair Blue-Suit: Are you free tomorrow?
Mr. Hot-Hair Blue-Suit: Or Sunday or next week, if tomorrow is too soon?
God, this guy is going to be the death of him.
Me: tomorrow is good
Me: defo not too soon
Me: why wait?
Mr. Hot-Hair Blue-Suit: Hmmm. You make an excellent point.
Mr. Hot-Hair Blue-Suit: Are you hungry now?
Me: famished
Ed does manage to complete the rest of the lock-up without getting distracted, and there are two messages waiting when he picks up his phone again. The first one he opens, the most recent text, reads-
Mr. Hot-Hair Blue-Suit: Takeout and a knee rub?
That alone would be promising enough, even if the preceding text wasn’t Stede’s address.
Ed waits until he’s properly in the car before trying to reply this time.
Me: you are full of great ideas, you know that?
Mr. Hot-Hair Blue-Suit: ;)
Me: on my way