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“Tell me, tell me, tell me,” Scott chanted, and Stiles rolled his eyes.
“No,” he hissed, scooting his chair closer. “And be quiet, people are looking at us.”
“Fine,” Scott sighed. “Then if you won’t tell me who it was, why was the date so bad?”
“He was rude,” Stiles said, which was not a lie. “He was late and just kind of a dick.”
Scott frowned at him. “Sorry, man, that sucks.”
“Yeah, story of my life, right?”
Scott nodded solemnly, full of the appropriate bro-sympathy. “So who was it?” he blurted out.
Stiles groaned and scrubbed a hand through his hair.
Honestly? He’d gone out with this guy that Scott knew, some super-hot water polo player from his econ class that Scott had done a project with. Scott had warned Stiles off of him, repeatedly, because he was apparently a big jerk who couldn’t even make his share of the PowerPoint slides. But Stiles didn’t listen, and he said yes when the guy had asked him out. Annnd he was just as terrible as Scott said. Stiles just wasn’t in the mood for Scott’s I-told-you-sos.
“No,” he emphasized. “I’m not telling you.”
“Why not?” he said, with a little pout.
Stiles screamed a little inside his head and took a glance around the coffee shop, trying to think of a diversion. “Because he’s here,” he hissed, and Scott’s eyes widened as he craned his neck.
“Wait, seriously? Who is it? C’mon, just tell me.”
“Uh…,” Stiles said, buying for time while he looked around as surreptitiously as possible. “That guy over there,” he whispered finally, jerking his chin toward the dark-haired guy three tables over, a guy so hot that Stiles’ only chance with him would most definitely be in an imaginary scenario.
Scott looked over his shoulder at the guy and got that determined glint in his eye that Stiles recognized, just about three seconds too late. Scott was gonna do something that he thought was heroic but was actually dumb.
“Scott!” he hissed, grabbing for his backpack and nearly knocking over their coffee cups in his haste to follow him. “Oh, holy shit.”
“Hey!” Scott said, tapping the guy’s shoulder and jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Stiles. “Why were you such a jerk to my friend on your date last night?”
The guy just stared up at him for a second, his strong bearded jaw clenched. He was really rocking those glasses, Stiles thought absently. The silence was fraught, and Stiles stood there, completely frozen. For once, he had no idea what to say.
The guy’s gaze swung between Scott and Stiles, and his jaw tightened even further, which Stiles didn’t think was possible. “Hey,” he said harshly, and wow, that was a nice voice, softer than Stiles was expecting. “How about you ask your friend here why he was such a jerk to me. He was half an hour late!”
Stiles gasped. It was in surprise, really, that this guy was playing along, but luckily, Scott would probably take it as outrage. “I was not!” he protested, more glad than ever before that he was the absolute master of bullshit. “We said 7:30!”
He snorted. “We said seven, and you know it.”
“Yeah, well, you were rude to the waitress!”
“She was flirting with you!”
Stiles scoffed. Even in imaginary worlds, waitresses didn’t flirt with him. “She was not.”
The guy crossed his arms over his chest, and Stiles tuned out for a minute to stare at the curve of his bicep under that tight gray t-shirt.
“...her breasts were practically in your face. And you were looking, don’t even deny it.”
“Well, it’s payback for me having to put up with everyone staring at you.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense!”
“You just don’t get me,” Stiles said dramatically.
“Damn straight I don’t get you, you threatened to throw your soup in my face!”
“You insulted Batman!” Stiles yelped, and the guy rolled his eyes.
“Here we go again.”
“And,” Stiles said, really getting into it now as he jabbed a finger in the guy’s face, “you suggested that we split the check! I mean, c’mon! I’m no old-fashioned maiden, but the general rule of thumb is whoever asks for the first date also pays for it. It’s called common courtesy!”
The guy groaned and rolled his eyes again, underneath those magnificent eyebrows. “You went on that whole 20-minute rant about equality and antiquated gender roles! I thought you would appreciate the gesture!”
Stiles had to duck his head and turn a little bit so that Scott wouldn’t see his grin. He’d never had so much fun fake arguing with someone.
“Okay, okay,” Scott said, making a placating gesture with his hands. “We’re leaving.”
Stiles was a little disappointed—he hadn’t even gotten to complain about the guy’s terrible kissing yet—but it was probably for the best.
“Leave my friend alone,” Scott said, poking the guy in the shoulder. It was pretty brave, considering that mystery guy had a couple inches and probably about 30 pounds on him.
“Gladly,” he said with a snort, and Scott grabbed Stiles’ elbow, yanking him toward the door. He tripped in his haste to follow Scott and managed to turn and look over his shoulder. Thank you, I’m sorry, he mouthed at the guy. He winked in response, with a little smirk, and Stiles felt his cheeks flush.
“You’re at my table.”
Stiles looked up at the sound of the familiar voice and grinned, gesturing to the open chair. He had no idea who the mystery guy was, and he figured his best guess at finding out was to show up at the same coffee shop at the same time as yesterday. It worked.
“Are you going to yell at me again?” the guy asked, sliding gingerly into the chair.
“I got you an apology muffin. The first of many, probably. I’m Stiles, by the way.”
“Derek.”
“It’s nice to meet you. Thank you, again, for saving my ass. And seriously, man, way to think on your feet. Kudos, good sir.”
“You’re welcome. So what really happened?” Derek asked, tearing off a small chunk of muffin and then pushing the plate back toward Stiles. “And why didn’t you want your friend to know about it?”
“I did have a shitty date,” he said with a sigh. “But it was with someone that Scott warned me about. I didn’t want to tell him because he does this whole righteous, holier-than-thou I told you so thing, but he’s so nice that you can’t really get mad at him, and…yeah, it’s just annoying as fuck, really.”
Derek laughed. He had dimples, good lord. “So you told him it was me instead?”
Stiles shrugged. “It was a convenient excuse as to why I didn’t want to talk about it right then. I had no idea he’d come over to you, that was definitely not part of the plan. He’s stupidly brave sometimes, though.”
“It was the most interesting part of my day, I can tell you that much,” he said softly, ducking his head, and Stiles had to bite his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. “Do you go here?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, nodding more than was probably necessary. “I’m a, uh, senior. Computer science. What about you?”
“History grad student.”
Stiles tilted his head and nodded. “Yeah, that fits. With the glasses and all,” he said, gesturing, and Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles was pretty sure he spotted a blush on those cheekbones, though. “So how many apology muffins are we looking at here?”
Derek hummed a little and sat back in his chair, crossing those damned arms over his chest again. “How about a date instead?”
Stiles blinked and surreptitiously pinched his arm under the table. Didn’t work—Derek was still across the table from him, looking at him expectantly. “Uh...what?”
“A date,” he repeated, with a small smirk. “I’ll pay—since I asked, I know you feel strongly about that—but only if you don’t flirt with the waitress.”
Stiles swallowed. “Promise not to insult Batman, and we have a deal.”
“I think I can live with that,” he said, his smirk morphing into a small, real smile. “When are you free?”
“Now?” he offered—he had to take advantage of this magical opportunity, lest it disappear—and Derek laughed, draining the rest of his coffee.
“Sure,” he said, pushing his chair back to stand. “Yeah, now’s good, let’s go. You like sushi?”
“Love it,” Stiles said absently. He definitely stared at Derek’s ass as he followed him out of the coffee shop. “But oh my god, what am I gonna tell Scott?”
“Just tell him the sex is so good that you put up with the arguing,” Derek said over his shoulder, and Stiles choked on his latte.