SO AMERICAN JOBE BELLINGHAM FEM! BLACK READER
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT, SO AMERICAN, FLUFF OLIVIA RODRIGO
warning- hookup culture, cursing, american reader, long i’m sorry, proofread but errors still may occur
BASS ROLLED THROUGH the floor in steady waves, making the glasses on the bar tremble every few seconds while people laughed too loudly, shouted into each other’s ears, and danced like nobody had work on Monday.
Jobe almost never came to places like this because he expected something meaningful. He came because it was easier.
That was the whole point.
Twenty years of life had taught him that wanting someone was easy. Keeping them wasn’t.
He wanted affection. He wanted somebody to ask how his day had been. He wanted lazy Sundays and someone stealing food off his plate.
But commitment? Commitment felt like standing on the edge of a roof.
One wrong step and everything collapsed. So he kept things simple. He flirted. He fucked. He disappeared before anyone expected too much.
His friends called him emotionally unavailable. He called it efficient. It wasn’t that he enjoyed hurting people. He just knew how quickly people could become expectations.
And expectations scared the hell out of him.
Tonight wasn’t supposed to be different. He was only there because his brother practically dragged him out of the house.
Now he leaned against the bar nursing a drink he barely wanted, half listening to whoever was talking beside him.
The room blurred into lights and movement until.. someone laughed. He looked without thinking. She wasn’t standing under a spotlight. Nobody else seemed particularly interested in her.
She was just talking to her friend, one hand wrapped around a glass, throwing her head back for exactly one second before looking down with that slightly embarrassed smile people wear after laughing harder than they meant to.
Something about it made the rest of the room quieter.
She wasn’t trying. That was probably what caught him first. Her smile wasn’t symmetrical. One side lifted just a little higher.
Her curls framed her face without looking overly styled, and her brown skin caught the warm amber lights hanging over the bar until she almost seemed to glow against everything else.
His first thought was simple.
She’s beautiful.
His second thought was considerably less noble.
I’d like to talk to her.
Normally that would’ve been the end of it. Walk over. Make her laugh. Read the room. See what happened. Confidence had never been something he lacked. He’d never struggled starting conversations. Worst case? Someone wasn’t interested. Life moved on.
But when she looked up…
Everything he’d rehearsed over years of being effortlessly confident vanished.
“…Mate?” Jude nudged him. “You listening? “No.” not even turning his gaze. “I can tell.” Jobe was already walking away. “Where you—” “I’ll be back.”
She noticed him before he reached her. That surprised him. Most people pretended they hadn’t. She just looked directly at him with quiet curiosity.
“Evening.” His Brummie accent wrapped naturally around the words. She smiled politely “Hi.” Then she spoke again. and he blinked.
“…You’re American.”
She laughed. “I am.” He pointed gently toward her. “I knew it.” “You knew it?” “The second you said ‘hi.’” She crossed her arms with a playful smile. “I’ve been here all of thirty seconds.”“You’ve been American all thirty.” She laughed again. It came easier this time. He liked that.
“You making fun of my accent?” she asked. “A little.” “Oh wow.” “I’m only saying…” he smiled, “…I wouldn’t mind an American girl.” She looked at him for exactly half a second longer than politeness required. “…That was smooth.” he smiled to himself, “I know.” “You’ve used that before.” He put a hand against his chest. “You’ve wounded me.” “I don’t believe you.” she laughed.
There it was again.
That smile.
Slightly uneven.
Completely genuine.
“What’s your name?” he asked. She told him. He repeated it quietly. Testing how it sounded. “…Pretty.” “My name or me?” He grinned. “I’ll let you decide.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re one of those.” “One of what?” “The charming guys.” he shrugged, smirking “I’ve been accused.”
She looked at him with obvious skepticism.
“You absolutely rehearsed that.” “I absolutely didn’t.” “You did.” “I swear.” “You hesitated.” He covered his mouth, trying to hide his smile, “I was choosing my words.” “You were remembering your script.” He stared at her for a beat.
“You always this cheeky?” he asked genuinely curious. “Only when people deserve it.” “I deserve it?” “You walked over here confident.” “I was.” “Were?” “…Past tense.”She tilted her head. “Why?” He opened his mouth. Nothing came out immediately. Because somehow, somewhere in the last five minutes, this conversation had stopped feeling like flirting. He wasn’t waiting for his turn to speak anymore.
He was listening.
Really listening.
She talked with her hands when she got excited. She scrunched her nose and turned her lip whenever she disagreed with something. She interrupted herself because she’d think of something funnier halfway through a sentence.
At one point he made some sweeping comment about Americans all loving New York. She raised an eyebrow.
He realized he’d stopped looking around the room. Stopped checking his phone. Stopped noticing anyone else. His drink had gone warm. He hadn’t taken another sip. When she spoke, he wanted to hear the end of every sentence. When she laughed, he found himself smiling before he understood the joke.
It unsettled him.
Because he knew himself. Or at least he thought he did. He didn’t get invested this quickly. He definitely didn’t imagine what someone might look like on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon.
Yet somehow, he caught himself wondering whether she always smiled like that. Whether she liked mornings. Whether she’d still argue with him over stupid facts six months from now.
The thought arrived so suddenly it nearly frightened him.
Six months? His own brain immediately protested. Relax. You met her twelve minutes ago. He silently scolded himself. Get a grip.
She was saying something. He realized he’d missed it. “You disappeared for a second.” she giggled. “Hm?” “You were thinking.” “I was.”“Dangerous.” “You’ve no idea.” She smiled. “I probably don’t.”
Someone called her name from across the room. Her friend was grabbing her coat. She looked over before turning back to him. “I should go.”
Something tightened unexpectedly in his chest.
Normally, this was the moment. The easy question.
Come back to mine?
He’d asked it before without a second thought. Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Either way, life continued.
But looking at her…
The words felt wrong. Too small. Too temporary. Like trying to fold something important into a moment that couldn’t hold it. He actually became nervous. Properly nervous. His heart beat harder than it should have. His hands suddenly felt awkward. He rubbed the back of his neck.
She noticed.
“You okay?” “…Yeah.” “You sure?” He laughed quietly. “This is embarrassing.” “What is?” “I don’t actually know what to say.” “You’ve been talking all night.” “I know.” “Did you run out?” “I think you made me.” She smiled softly.
“That’s a first?” “…Honestly?” “Yeah.” “Yeah.”There was another small pause. Then, almost shyly, which was so unlike him it would’ve made every one of his friends laugh—
he asked,
“…Could I have your number?”
Her smile changed. Smaller. Warmer. Less playful. “I was wondering when you were gonna ask.” “You were?” “I thought maybe you weren’t interested.” He laughed in disbelief. “I’ve been trying very hard not to look too interested.”“Why?” He looked at her for a long second before answering. “…Because I had a feeling that if I wasn’t careful…” He smiled to himself. “…I’d scare you off.” She studied him quietly. Then held out her phone.
He took it with hands that were steadier now than they had been thirty seconds earlier. As she walked away a few minutes later, she looked back once and waved. He waved back.
His brother appeared beside him almost immediately. “So?” Jobe kept staring toward the door she’d disappeared through. “I think,” he said quietly, almost to himself, “my life’s about to get a lot more complicated.” Jude laughed. “You just met her.” “I know, that’s the worrying part.”
Jobe didn’t remember much of the drive home. Not because he’d had too much to drink, he hadn’t. Just enough to leave a warm buzz behind his eyes and loosen the edges of the night.
What he did remember was her laugh.
It kept interrupting his thoughts. He unlocked his front door, kicked off his shoes near the entrance, dropped his keys into the bowl on the hallway table, and immediately regretted the silence.
He loosened the collar of his shirt and wandered into the living room. Normally after a night out he’d throw on a film or play music. Tonight he just collapsed onto the sofa.
His phone landed beside him. He looked at it. Looked away. Looked back. He rubbed both hands down his face.
It wasn’t that deep. He’d met a woman. They’d talked. She’d given him her number. That was it.
So why did it feel like his entire nervous system had collectively decided to embarrass him? He reached for his phone. Opened their messages.
Her contact sat there with nothing underneath it except a thumbs up from earlier to make sure the number was right. Just her name. Empty.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. Hope you got home alright.
Too eager. Delete.
Had a good time tonight. Delete.
You owe me a picture of your cat now. fuck no, terrible double meaning. Delete.
He dropped the phone onto the cushion beside him. “What are you doing?” He laughed at himself. Out loud. “This is ridiculous.” Normally he didn’t overthink texts. Normally he didn’t think much at all. If somebody liked him, brilliant. If they didn’t, life carried on.
So why did this feel like one wrong message could somehow change everything?
He leaned back against the sofa. “No.” He shook his head. “You’re getting attached. Already. He’d known her… what? Three hours?Four? He wasn’t doing this.
Not build a future around one good conversation.
He nodded to himself. “That’s sensible.” Silence.
then—
His phone buzzed. His heart betrayed him instantly. He grabbed it so quickly he nearly dropped it. One message. From her.
So… are you always this rude or were you waiting for me to text first?
He stared. Read it again. Then laughed. A proper laugh. His entire speech to himself collapsed in under two seconds.
He opened the message immediately. His thumbs hovered. He typed. Deleted. Typed again.
I was literally trying not to seem annoying.
Three dots appeared almost instantly. She was typing. His stomach flipped in the most irritating way imaginable.
Annoying?
You asked for my number.
Then disappeared.
He frowned.
I figured I’d let you get home first.
Another reply.
…And?
Then you text.
He blinked.
Why does it have to be me?
Her response took longer this time. He imagined her thinking. Maybe smiling. Maybe rolling her eyes.
Because.
He laughed.
That’s not an explanation.
Three dots. Stopped. Started again.
Okay. Real explanation.
You came over to me.
You asked for my number.
So naturally I’m sitting there wondering if you actually wanted it or if you were just being polite.
He stared at the screen. She continued.
If I text first… now I’m wondering if I’m bothering you.
If you text first… I know you actually wanted to keep talking.
He leaned back against the sofa. “…Huh.”
His fingers moved.
That’s… actually fair.
Her reply came almost immediately.
I know.
I’m very wise.
He smiled.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Too late.
I’ve already decided I’m right.
He laughed again. The room suddenly didn’t feel so empty.
You argue exactly the way I imagined you would.
Excuse me?
You’ve known me for one evening.
Exactly.
And you’ve corrected me approximately nine times already.
Eight.
He paused.
You counted?
No.
…Maybe.
He grinned to himself.
See?
You were paying attention.
There was a pause. Long enough that he wondered if he’d pushed too far.
Maybe I was.
He couldn’t help smiling. He shook his head at the screen.
Another message arrived before he’d answered.
Also…
Your accent got stronger every time you laughed.
His eyebrows lifted.
Did it?
Absolutely.
Thought i’d need subtitles.
He burst into laughter. “Subtitles?”
He typed back.
Now you’re taking the piss.
Her reply came instantly.
I had to google one of the words you said after I got home.
He nearly dropped his phone laughing.
Which word?
“Knackered.”
I genuinely thought you made it up.
He smiled so hard his face started hurting.
And yet you still gave me your number.
A longer pause this time. When her reply appeared, it was simpler than everything else.
Yeah.
Glad I did, too.
His heart did something deeply inconvenient. He stared at those five words. Read them twice. Three times. The smile on his face softened into something quieter.
His thumbs rested on the keyboard for a long moment before he answered.
Me too.
He hit send before he could overthink it. For the first time that night, he stopped trying to manage how interested he seemed. Maybe that wasn’t something you could control anyway. His phone buzzed one last time.
Good.
Now text me first tomorrow.
He laughed under his breath. He set the phone down on his chest and looked up at the ceiling, smiling despite himself. Just an hour ago he’d been giving himself a lecture about not getting attached. Now he was looking forward to tomorrow.
He sighed, amused at how completely he’d folded.