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Stiles ran the damp rag across the bar for what felt like the millionth time. Talk about your slow nights. The Crown was never really busy, as such, but as highs and lows went, this was pretty low. There was a regular, Tom, stooped so low over his umpteenth Jack and Coke that his nose was almost on the bar. A couple, probably in their fifties, were sitting at a small table with a bottle of house red between them. Stiles hadn’t heard a peep from them since they ordered the wine; they sat down, glued their eyes to the TV and hadn’t moved since except to top up their glasses. Down the back, sitting in one of the green vinyl booths, were a couple of guys who seemed to be on a date, which yeesh. If Stiles had to chose between the Crown and the alley behind the Crown for a date, well, lets just say the alley would get some serious consideration. But, hey, the guys had been back there for almost three hours, so Stiles figured it couldn’t be going too badly.
No sooner had he thought this than one of the guys – tall, dark hair - slid out of the booth. The blonde man, still seated, reached out to trace his fingers down Dark Hair’s hand. Buddy, you are getting some toniiiiight, Stiles thought to himself with a smile. Dark Hair smiled, gently pulling his hand away as he turned towards the bar. He was smiling genially, and it widened into a friendly grin as he approached Stiles, revealing two oversized font teeth that were adorably out of place on such a classically handsome face.
Stiles couldn’t help but grin back. ‘Hey man, what can I getcha?’
‘Help me,’ the man gritted out through his smile.
Stiles frowned, confused. ‘Uh, what?’ He noticed there was a slightly manic glint in the guy’s eyes.
He turned to face Stiles fully, totally blocking his date’s view of both Stile’s face and his own. The smile immediately morphed into a grim frown, his brow creased and his eyes sharpened. ‘Help. Me. I have been on this stupid freaking date for hours and this guy is a raging asshole and he just won’t shut up.’
‘Uh, okay,’ Stiles said slowly, struggling to catch up, ‘so maybe you should leave?’
‘No,’ Dark Hair said, with a tinge of desperation, ‘you don’t understand: he won’t let me. He just keeps talking and talking and I keep feeding him these cues about how it’s late and I have an early meeting and he steamrolls right over them.’ He made a sound that Stiles would almost call a growl. ‘Trust me, the only reason I’m still here is because he’s a friend of a friend and she’ll kill me in my sleep if I act like a caveman.’
Stiles got the impression the guy was quoting someone, but he didn’t dare ask who.
‘Okay, so, what do you want me to-‘
‘Here,’ the guy interrupted, reaching out to grab Stiles’ hand.
‘Whoa, hey, whatcha doin’ there?’ Stiles enquired nervously as the guy gripped him firmly.
‘This is my number,’ he said firmly, producing a pen from inside his jacket and proceeding to scrawl all over Stiles’ palm. ‘You call me in five minutes, got that? You’re going to be an“emergency”, and I am going to get the fuck out of here,’ he finished speaking as he traced the last digit onto Stiles’ skin.
‘Don’t you have, like, a friend that can do this for you?’ Stiles asked, frowning down at his hand.
The guy huffed out a humorless chuckle, ‘Who do you think set this up?’ He scowled as he looked up, holding Stiles’ gaze with his intense, pretty, slightly crazy eyes. ‘Five minutes. No more.’
‘Five minutes,’ Stiles repeated back, holding up his free hand in a three-fingered salute, ‘scout’s honour.’
Seemingly satisfied, the guy released Stiles’ hand. ‘Oh, and a screwdriver,’ he added after a moment.
‘Right,’ Stiles nodded, measuring out the vodka, ‘keep up the act.’ He gave an comically exaggerated wink as he handed over the glass. The guy rolled his eyes and dropped a bill on the counter.
‘Keep the change.’
Stiles glanced down at his watch as he popped open the till, slipping the note in and taking out his tip. Five minutes.
*
Mother of god, surely it’d been five minutes. Derek flicked his eyes over to the bar, where the bartender was languidly wiping down glasses. He slid his eyes around the room; at some point the other people had left. It was just Derek, Jackson and the bartender left in the low dingy light of the bar.
It felt like it had been twenty minutes. How was this guy still talking? How is there a topic he hasn’t covered yet? How hasn’t he passed out from lack of oxygen? Derek reached up and loosened his tie even further, trying to keep his eyes focused on the asshole across from him so he could at least feign interest. Could he look at his watch again, or would it seem like he was bored? God damn these stupid fucking business associates. Why Erica couldn’t have set this guy up with anyone else in the office he’d never know. Maybe she was punishing him. She was definitely punishing him. But for what? What had he done to deserve thi-
Derek’s phone rang loudly, buzzing across the table as the screen flashed. He almost sent it flying to the floor in his haste to pick it up. ‘Hello?’ he practically yelled. Remembering Jackson, he managed to muster a fake apologetic smile to send across the table. Jackson didn’t seem pleased, but he nodded.
Hey, came the amused voice on the end of the line, this is dial-a-ditch, how may we assist you in ditching your date this evening?
‘Laura?’ Derek let a little concern creep into his voice, ‘what is it, what’s wrong?’
My name’s Stiles, by the way. Not that you asked…
‘Well, where are you?’
You know, you’re pretty hot.
Derek almost choked.
You caught me a little off guard, but I’ve been keeping an eye on you these last five minutes and damn.
‘Laura, slow down, and tell me what’s wrong.’ If his voice was a little strangled, well, that just added realism.
I mean, I knew you had a great face when you were talking to me, but that was nothing compared to watching you walk away.
Derek risked a glance at the bar, and there he was – grinning as he leaned against the counter, his arms crossed and the phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder. Even from there Derek could see the way the tight black tee shirt clung to his toned arms and stretched across his chest.
Derek cleared his throat, letting his eyes flit back to Jackson. ‘Do you need me to come and get you?’
Hmm, do I need you to come? Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? His tone was low, teasing and suggestive. Derek struggled to keep his ‘concerned brother’ face going as he felt a heat stirring in his gut. How about you ditch Blondie McDouche over there, take a spin around the block while I lock up –
‘Well that sounds…awful, Laura,’
- and when you get back, you can bend me over the pool table and fuck me ‘til I can’t walk straight.
‘I’ll be right there.’ Derek breathed out, his heart racing as he jabbed the end-call button. He slid smoothly out of the booth, grabbing his wallet and dropping a few bills on the table. ‘Jackson, I’m really sorry about this,’ he lied shamelessly.
‘Your sister, huh?’ Jackson asked with the air of someone who couldn’t really care less.
‘Yeah, she, uh – car trouble – driving back from the, uh,’ He trailed off. ‘I need to go,’ and truer words were never spoken.
‘Sure,’ Jackson nodded, moving to stand up, ‘it’s late anyway. Do you need a ride, or-’
‘No. Thank you. My car’s right outside.’
They stood awkwardly for a moment, until Jackson began to speak. ‘So can I call-’
‘Alright, well, bye.’ Derek interrupted hastily, grabbing Jackson’s hand for a firm two-pump, totally platonic handshake before he turned his heel and headed for the door. He looked up as he passed by the bar and almost tripped over his own feet. Stiles was leaning forward over the bar, a straw between his pursed lips as he watched Derek. His eyes were dark with lust and mischief.
Derek stepped out onto the street, a soft drizzle falling as he climbed into his Camaro and fired up the engine. A ride around the block. Okay. He was just reversing out when a text notification dinged, his screen illuminating the dark interior of the car.
<unknown number>
Ten minutes. The backdoor’s open ;) – S
As his tires spun over the wet asphalt, Derek sent a silent blessing to Erica and whatever the fuck he’d done to piss her off.