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Derek gets to the restaurant twenty minutes late then loiters outside of it for another ten before working up the nerve to go in.
He swears again at Laura's insistence that he set up an online dating profile, and at the fact that he did, even if it was mostly to shut her up. And prove to her that these things didn't work, no more than going out there and meeting guys on his own had so far.
It was his own fault, though, that when he checked his inbox earlier that week and found a message from a guy interested in meeting him, that he didn't immediately hit delete. So what if the guy's face in the picture on his profile made Derek feel funny things in the vicinity of his cold black heart. Laura couldn't prove anything.
She'd approved of the suit, and of the restaurant choice, and of the guy in the picture when Derek'd shown it to her. She'd said something about never having pegged him for liking them goofy then all but shoved him out the door. Worst sister ever.
And here he is, half an hour late to a date he didn't even want in the first place, looking for a goofy guy whose face he's pretending hasn't been stamped onto his brain for days, in spite of his refusal to admit anything to himself let alone to Laura.
A quick scan of the room reveals only three unaccompanied individuals: an older man at the bar, talking to the bartender via a glass of gin, a woman on a cell phone near the restrooms, and a young man sitting solo at a table for two, elbows on the armrests, fingers linked on his chest, head tipped back as he stares at the intricately decorated ceiling.
There's a curious squeeze in the neighborhood of Derek's chest again. He grunts unhappily and makes his way over, coming to an awkward stop by the table.
His date looks back down and his face lights up in a startled but pleased smile.
"Finally! I was starting to think you'd stood me up. It was gonna be Gray's Papaya for dinner, not gonna lie."
"Sorry," Derek offers, surprising himself by meaning it. Then he surprises himself further by revealing even more of the truth. "I almost chickened out. My sister had to kick me out of the apartment. I had to talk her out of walking me here herself."
He pauses at the open-mouth look on the guy's face. Derek sits in the chair opposite him, defeated. "It's not too late for that hotdog," he says miserably because seriously, who waits for someone on the first date? Major dating foul, must be.
His date shakes off the look on his face. "No, sorry, I was just. You're really attractive in person, that's all. It's..." He flails a hand at Derek, then let's it flop to the table. "... really distracting."
And then he grins at Derek, offering him his hand.
"I'm Stiles."
Derek shakes it. "I know."
"You're Derek."
"I know."
Stiles leans closer across the table. "You sure? Did your sister have time to embroider it inside your clothes before you left?"
"Ouch," Derek comments at the dig, but he can't help smiling.
Stiles is smiling too, sitting back. "Just kidding. I'm allowed to give you a hard time after you nearly stood me up. It's in the dating handbook."
Derek feels disproportionately relieved that Stiles isn't mad at him for being late and already terrible at this dating thing.
"Where can I get a copy of this handbook? Because I already feel like I'm working at a disadvantage here."
"Wouldn't you like to know," Stiles quips back, mock mysterious as he picks up the wine list. "But it does also say that I'll forgive you if you buy me a drink."
"Oh does it now," Derek chuckles. What is happening? Who is he? What is this?
"It's called flirting," Stiles says, eyeing Derek with amusement over the top of the menu. "You seem rusty. You're lucky I'm as magnanimous as I am shameless and will totally let you practice on me."
Derek bites back a grin as he reaches for a menu himself. "Lucky indeed."
Goddammit, Laura.