WHEN her phone chimes, alerting her that she got a new email, she figures that’s that. Business was done and she could go hunt Adam down for her free drink. But then he’s talking again and her heart lifts because maybe they’re not done just yet. Hope is a dangerous thing. She should count herself lucky that she’s gotten the snippets of his time she has.
After his whole spiel, she wasn’t expecting for him to actually hand his number over. She had accepted that her “joke” didn’t go as planned. Yet, here it was, ten numbers scrawled on a piece of receipt paper and she didn’t know what she was going to do with it. She definitely wasn’t going to leak it because she wasn’t an asshole. Would she call? How exactly would she go about asking him out?
‘Hey dude, if you’re in the area and not on stage or hanging out with ridiculously gorgeous models, do you maybe wanna hit up this greasy dive bar? If you’re lucky I might put on a shirt that hasn’t been lying on my floor for three days!’
Yeah. That would go over well. Again, she wasn’t an asshole, so she doubted she would hit him up out of the blue for tickets (though, how bitchin’ would that be?) For now, all she can do with the number is hold it in her hand and look at him like this bewildered animal he’s rescued from a forest fire.
While she was press and in the wrong hands, giving his number out would be a very bad idea, she had no desire to expose, slander or harass celebrities. In fact, she tried to do as little of that as possible. All she wanted to do was write think pieces for Pulse the “more adult” counterpart to her current employer, Pop Pulse. One good thing that came out of her out of control teenager rebellion phase was that she got really into the music scene. While investigative journalism was her dream she thought it would be a pretty good deal if she got to pick the brains on her favorite musicians for a living. Ask the their process, their influences, how their views on the world shaped the kind of music they wanted to make, talk about their love for the art. It didn’t work out that way. Instead, she got to ask bubblegum pop princesses what conditioner they used, what their favorite apps were and what emojis they used most.
❝Thanks, I’ll uh,❞ She waves the receipt between two fingers before going to shove it in her back pocket, ❝I’ll hit you up.❞
It would probably be better if she gave him her number first. That way he could call when it was convenient to him. Then, she wouldn’t risk bothering him. Before she can fish her phone out though, Adam is shouting her name across the bar.
❝MALIA! MALIA! MALI—OH MY GOD, MALIA!❞
Adam comes barreling toward them, red in the face, shirt wet with go knows what. Judging by the empty glasses in his hands, it’s probably whatever drinks were in there. He’s panting by the time he gets to them and has to bend over to catch his breath.
❝You’ll—you’ll never—I saw—❞
❝I wasn’t looking to take body shots, Adam,❞ Malia grumbles, taking a glass from him and tilting it. Dry as a bone.
Gulping down air, Adam tries to start his sentence again, ❝You’ll never believe who I saw at the bar. Lydia Martin!❞ Malia tries to quiet him down, but Adam only gets more riled up, ❝LYDIA FUCKING MARTIN. LIKE, THE HOTTEST GIRL I’VE EVER SEEN IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. IS HERE, JUST, SIPPING A BEER LIKE SHE’S NOT SEX ON LEGS. AND—❞
Adam’s eyes fall on Stiles and Malia is worried he’ll pop like a fucking balloon then and there.
❝ Oh my god.❞ He breathes, staring at Stiles like he’s a god among mortals.
❝Adam,❞ Malia hisses through her teeth, ❝Be cool.❞
❝ Oh my god.❞ Adam’s voice rises as if he’s about to cry (or a tween girl about to fangirl), ❝ Oh my god, it’s you. ❞
Malia looks at Stiles with an apologetic look on her face. Just as she starts to try to fix the situation, Adam is running his mouth again.
❝ Dude, I fucking love you. Holy—oh my god, I’m—I’m not that drunk am I? Oh my god, I’m gonna faint—❞
❝ You’re— ❞ Adam lets out an incredulous laugh, ❝ You’re fucking— ❞
Adam turns to Malia, jerking a thumb in Stiles’ direction, ❝ Malia, do you know who this is? ❞
Well, I was trying to get to know him before you showed up.
❝ Dude, I—you’re—here, Mal, hold these.❞ Despite Malia’s protests, Adam shoves the glasses in her hands like she’s some kind of shelf and continues to talk to Stiles without nothing but stars in his eyes, ❝ You’re a fucking legend dude. Like, your shit? God me through some tough shit dude, you don’t even fucking know. I fucking idolize you oh my—let me buy you a drink? I mean, not in a gay way—not that there’s anything wrong with gay people! Love them! Go gays! I mean, there’s some hot guys out there, you know? I just, oh my god I’m freaking the fuck out right now I can’t believe I’m looking at you and not a 2D poster on my wall, holy fuck.❞
She’d hit him up. That was. . . something. Good, great, exciting — all were options of how he’d define the somewhat turn of events. But, there was this feeling in his gut. It felt like it was a lie, like they’d maybe share a drink and they’d part ways and that would be that. They’d go back to their lives, him in some city that wasn’t home and her probably talking to some asshole A-lister that would treat her like shit even though she didn’t deserve it. Why did that bother him as much as it did ?
There were other girls out there. So why the hell was he so hung up on one that he barely knew ? If he asked Scott, the guy would probably tell him something deep and emotional and Stiles would immediately have the urge to shove that down as far as he possibly could. Maybe it was just the sting of possible rejection. It wasn’t something he was used to anymore, which when he really thought about it, was kinda weird.
As a kid back in Beacon Hills, he never thought that he would be anything more than just a kid who sat in the back of the class, watching the clock, counting down the seconds until him and his best friend could hang out in his garage and make noise until the neighbors complained. Now, here he was, years into making sense of fuzzy memories that he detailed on his skin with ink. He never thought he’d have those either. That part was all Scott’s fault.
He didn’t deserve it. The fame and the adoring fans and the hefty check that came in the mail every month. At least, not any more than the next person. Stiles wasn’t special, never had been. His friends ? His bandmates ? He wasn’t like them. They were amazing in ways that he never thought he could be and when he looked at the girl in front of him, he saw she had that spark too. She deserved better than shitty dive bars and terrible bosses.
“ awesome, yeah. ” Awkward chuckle falls out, shifting his weight from heel to toe as he scrambles for something to say, “ if you call and i don’t answer just shoot a text, sometimes i assume it’s my manager calling so i let it ring to fuck with him. ”
Brows raise when he hears a voice shouting out her name and his eyes shift, falling on a guy that Malia could definitely do better than. He hoped she knew that she was totally out his league. Adam, Stiles learns, is weird wet dude’s name. Of course it was. He looked like an Adam. Adams were always creeps that had these freaky eyes that made you think they were undressing everyone they saw. One glance at him told Stiles that he fit the bill.
Biting down on his lip, he looks across the bar, making eye contact with the “sex on legs” in question. Her eyes are wide, tugging on Allison’s shirt and whispering something in her ear. Whatever she says makes Allison stiffen and the two sneak out back. It’s not surprising. At this point they pretty much had a system for getting out of uncomfortable crowds without making a scene. Usually someone took one for the team and dealt with the problem. Most often, it was Scott. This time apparently it was going to be him. Great.
A tight-lipped smile fills his features and he shrugs off Malia’s apologetic glance, he was lucky this hadn’t already happened tonight. He pushes out a small laugh, “ yeah ! it’s me, in the flesh. ” Finger points between the two of them, “ are you guys . . . ? ” God please don’t tell him they were dating, “ you two know each other ? ” As if that wasn’t totally obvious, way to keep the great first impression going, Stiles.
“ i’m glad ! it always means a lot to hear that, you know, what you put out there actually really helps some people. it reminds me why we go into the studio every day and it’s pretty awesome that me banging on drums can make an impact. ” In a way, it’s rehearsed. Something he’s said to more people than he can count, but even if Adam was seriously interrupting his conversation and creating a scene, it wasn’t untrue. He just wished not all eyes were on them.
“ if you want a photo or something, dude, i’d love to take one. then maybe the THREE of us can have a drink or two together ? malia was just telling me about her demon boss from hell, do uh do you guys work together ? ”