💝 Bob please and 11. "their contact name being formatted differently than everyone else" from the are we friends, or more? prompt list
this trope is my kryptonite, hope u enjoy anon x | [wc - 0.7k] | join my prompt party!
“Why do we even bother? He’s obviously not coming,” said Hangman indifferently, leaning down to line up his pool shot.
“Give him a minute,” Phoenix snapped from her place at your shoulder, her phone held to her ear and currently ringing for Bob. “He said he’d be here. It’s weird for him to just…not show up.”
“Maybe he got tired of losing at pool,” said Hangman with a shit-eating grin, straightening up satisfactorily as he pocketed two balls.
“He beat me last time,” Fanboy pointed out.
“That’s not a competition,” Hangman retorted.
“He’ll be here,” interjected Rooster, taking a sip of his beer. “When’s the last time he didn’t show up to one of these? Calm down.”
“But when’s the last time Bob’s been late?” Phoenix shot back before groaning and pulling her phone away from her ear. She turned to look at you with a pleading expression. “Back me up here. This is weird, right?”
You suddenly realized everyone was staring at you expectantly. The buzzed, warm atmosphere of the Hard Deck suddenly felt a bit stifling. Usually you loved the teasing jibes and snarky retorts traded between the aviators over a few games of pool and a few more beers, but something about tonight felt…off.
Probably for the exact reason everyone was discussing at the moment.
“It is weird for him to flake,” you ceded reluctantly. “He usually at least gives us a text if he knows he’s not gonna make it.”
“Okay, so call him, then,” said Hangman, sounding exasperated. “Make sure he’s not dead.” He nudged Coyote. “It’s your shot. Would you go?”
“We have been calling him, dickhead,” snapped Phoenix. “He’s not picking up.”
“No, make the other one call him,” said Hangman, pointing at you with his cue as if you weren’t right there. “His favorite.”
Your cheeks burned with the knowledge that everyone else had picked up on you and Bob’s close bond. “I am not—”
“Please,” said Hangman arrogantly. “We are not in middle school. Just own it. We’ve all seen the little glances and inside jokes.”
Your mouth flapped open and shut uselessly. The pool game had been forgotten. Everyone was watching you with amused expressions. You stuttered out, “I do that with Phoenix, too!”
Hangman squinted at you disbelievingly before turning back to the game, like you weren’t even worth the effort of arguing with. That more than anything else rubbed you the wrong way.
“Okay, fine,” you said. “I will call him. And he won’t pick up, just like he didn’t pick up when Phoenix and Fanboy called, and we can put this to bed.”
You expected everyone to laugh at you, or shake their heads and go back to their other activities. What you didn’t expect was for everyone—Hangman included—to cluster around you and stare at your screen as you pulled out your phone.
You scrolled through your contacts quickly, wanting to just get it over with, but as you hovered your finger over Bob’s contact to call, Payback said, “Hang on—”
Right on cue, Hangman swiped your phone out of your hand and held it above your head.
“Give it back!” you cried, embarrassment flooding your body. “Seriously? You’re the one who just said we aren’t in middle school!”
“‘B. Bradshaw,’” Hangman read aloud, holding you at bay with his free hand. He was beaming. “‘J. Machado—J. Seresin—N. Trace—M. Garcia—R. Fitch.’ But would you look at this?” He scrolled back up. “‘Bobby.’ With two—count ‘em, two—emojis.”
“Stop it!” you yelped, more than mortified.
“Which emojis?” called Fanboy, who was craning to try and see.
“The nerd with glasses face and a white heart,” said Payback. “Remind me, what does the white heart mean?”
“Marriage, definitely,” said Rooster with a teasing smirk.
“You guys are children,” you yelled, hoping desperately that you looked more confident than you felt. You shot Rooster a frustrated look. “Could you help me, please?”
It was Coyote who swiped your phone out of Hangman’s hand, taking a moment to examine the proof for himself before handing it back to you. You snatched it quickly, sure that everyone could see just how flustered you were. They all watched you with amused, knowing expressions, waiting for you to defend yourself.
But then your phone buzzed in your hand, and everyone looked down.
Incoming call from: Bobby 🤓🤍
Someone snickered. You fought to maintain your dignity and straightened your posture, saying, “Excuse me, I have a call. I’m going to take this outside.”
Everyone whooped and laughed as you pushed in between Fanboy and Phoenix and started to walk towards the back deck. With shaking fingers, you accepted the call.
do you know that I would be so honest to god grateful if you did the comparing hand size prompt w roosty? i just am already jaw dropped thinking about it
this blurb is brought to u by this lovely req + me watching fant4stic way too late at night bc i was in a miles mood. enjoy anon<33 | [wc - 1k]
Bradley’s arm around your shoulders was heavy and comforting, and it was all you could do to keep your eyes open and focused on the television screen. You could hear the others chatting in the kitchen, and you were pretty sure that someone had turned on the grill outside. Was that bacon sizzling you smelled?
All in all, it was a pretty normal kickback at Hangman’s.
The movie you were watching wasn’t even particularly good; it was yet another low-budget Fantastic Four remake. Fanboy had turned it on, promising everyone would be amused if not at least entertained, and fifteen minutes in he and everyone else had promptly gotten up and stopped watching. The only ones left were you and Bradley, curled up together on the couch—and you’d only stayed because to get up would be to abandon extreme comfort.
“Hey, that guy kinda looks like you,” you mumbled, squinting at the screen.
Bradley snorted, and the sound reverberated through you from the place where your back was pressed to his chest. “I don’t see it.”
“Who’s hungry?” called Payback, coming in from the back porch with Fanboy following behind. They both carried big plates that confirmed that, yes, it had been bacon you’d been smelling.
Everyone immediately swarmed the two, oohing and aahing.
“Nothing excites drunk people more than bacon,” you mumbled.
“Why is that guy made of rocks?” Bradley said.
“Get me some bacon,” you said, swatting at his arm.
“Like, why wouldn’t he just get the ability to grow rocks? Or harden his skin? Why does he have to be made of rocks?”
“Bradley!” you said, laughing and jostling him. “Bradley, bacon!”
“Okay, okay. Move.”
You shifted upright long enough for him to disentangle himself from you and stand up. Then you flopped back down onto the cushions, appreciating the leftover warmth his body had left. You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, burrowing your nose into the soft fabric and breathing in deeply. It smelled mostly like Hangman and the aftershave he swore by, but there, buried in the fibers—Bradley’s cologne.
God, you loved that smell. It smelled like home.
“What is the deal with you two?” said Fanboy, sitting down at the end of the couch so suddenly that you yelped in alarm.
“Mickey!” you gasped, pulling your feet out from under him. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Bacon!” he replied, like that was a normal place to go during a party. “How’s the movie? Hilarious, right?”
“It’s definitely something.”
“Are you gonna answer my question?”
Your cheeks burned, and you pulled the blanket up to your nose, hoping Fanboy wouldn’t be able to pick up on your nerves. “What are you talking about?”
“You know,” he said, gesturing with a stray piece of bacon, “the deal. The carpooling, the cuddling, the sleepovers. I’ve never seen Bradley so… happy,” he said finally. He took a bite of bacon, chewing thoughtfully. “None of us have.”
You really didn’t know what to say to that. You’d never considered that there might be more to your relationship with Bradley. He was your best friend, and that was as far as you’d gotten. You’d met him fresh off a new heartbreak, and you hadn’t been eager to throw yourself towards another one. You knew him well enough to know that heartbreak was the most realistic outcome if you did get yourself involved, so you stayed away from any feelings like that, and you stayed friends.
And you were fine with that. You were happy with that.
So why the hell did Fanboy have to go and say something lovely like that and throw you off?
“Okay, budge up,” said Bradley, stepping back around the coffee table and waiting for you to sit up so that he could position himself behind you again. Once you’d settled back into his lap, he handed you a napkin delicately folded over three warm slices of bacon.
You weren’t really hungry anymore, but you didn’t want Bradley to think Fanboy had been saying anything weird, so you picked one up and took a dainty nibble.
“What the hell happened?” Bradley said, staring at the screen. “I was gone five seconds, how are they on a different planet?”
“Isn’t that the greatest part?” said Fanboy. “I was here for the last few minutes, and I don’t even know!”
“You’re not eating your bacon,” Bradley told you.
Embarrassed warmth flooded you. “I am!” you said defensively, taking a bite to prove it. “Thank you very much for getting it for me.”
“This movie completely wastes Michael B. Jordan,” said Fanboy to nobody in particular.
“You’re still not eating it,” said Bradley. “I thought you liked the crispier pieces.”
“I do!” you protested, but it was no use. Bradley was already pulling your napkin out of your hand and giving you his instead, with his juicier, fattier slices of bacon.
Then his hands stilled over yours and he said, “Have your hands always been this small and I just never noticed?”
You smiled in spite of yourself. “They are not small.”
“They’re tiny,” he insisted, setting both napkins of bacon down on the coffee table.
“They’re not!” you argued, holding them up to the light. “They are normal, proportional, human-sized hands!”
Bradley’s arm around your shoulders rose up, and one hand traced the inside of your wrist briefly. Goosebumps erupted down your arms, and you were thankful you’d decided to wear long sleeves. Then he pressed his palm flat to yours, turning it this way and that in the light, seemingly assessing whether your hands were as pitifully minuscule as he seemed to suspect.
“See,” you said, your voice sounding far away even to yourself. “Normal sized hands.”
“Hmm,” said Bradley. Then he shifted his palm by the slightest margin and pushed his fingers forward, lacing your hands together.
Electricity jolted through you, and you were sure he could feel your heart pounding. At the other end of the couch, Fanboy was staring at the tv so hard that he couldn’t have actually been paying attention.
“Yep,” Bradley said decisively. “The perfect size, I’d say.”
“You doofus,” you said, pleased warmth flooding your body. But you tucked his hand against your chest and curled against him, and you felt pretty happy to be watching a terrible movie on the couch of a party with this lovely man.
happy valentines day vinny !! 💝💝 may i request #88 kisses in which ‘i’ll kiss you right now to prove i don’t feel anything for you’ but the kiss proves the opposite from this list with hangman
loving you && i hope this week is treating you well so far! 🫶
beeeee!!! i love this request SO much omg. reading it back idk if it really captured the Vibe of the prompt buttt i hope you'll like it anyway<33 | [wc - 1.6k]
“Come on, then.” Hangman’s smile is confident and beautiful and infuriating. “Your chariot awaits.”
And he gestures at his bare shoulders.
You groan and roll your eyes, forcing yourself to look away from his glistening, naked torso protruding from the shallow end of the pool. It was a little frustrating to learn that he’d earned the right to feel so confident taking his shirt off in a crowd of people. The guy was an Adonis; his physique was almost unfair. Where did he even find time to do all that working out?
From your place on the side of the hotel pool, you pull your legs out of the water, not trusting Rooster not to pull you in against your will. “I’m good,” you say pointedly, scooting backwards on the tile.
The other pilots boo and make a general uproar, which draws a laugh out of you in spite of yourself.
“You were the one that suggested we play chicken in the first place!” protests Fanboy, sending a gentle splash of water in your direction.
“Bob’s been doing a good job,” you say quickly, nodding your head towards the goggles-clad man leaning against the lip of the pool. “He and Hangman can team up against you guys.”
Hangman and Bob pull almost identical displeased expressions, which just makes you laugh again. Bob adjusts his goggles—which somehow make him look even dorkier than his usual clear frames—and says, “I’ve lost three times. I think everyone is tired of seeing me get knocked over.”
Hangman starts to wade through the shallow water, striding towards you. “Come on,” he says. “I promise not to let you fall. Just get in.” As he approaches, he shoots you a cocky wink. “I know you just don’t trust yourself to behave with your thighs wrapped around my head.”
“Oh my god!” you shout, your face burning as everyone laughs uproariously.
This is the usual when you hang out with the group. Everyone except for you is convinced that you’ve got it bad for Jake Seresin. You don’t, for the record. He’s frustrating and cocky and entirely too chiseled, and not your type, and you don’t have feelings for him! End of story!
But no one believes you. Least of all Hangman.
And you running around the pool, giggling stupidly while he chases you, certainly isn’t helping your cause.
So you get in the pool. And you climb up on his shoulders. And you play chicken against Rooster and Phoenix. And you don’t think about his hands splayed across your bare thighs and the muscles in his shoulders flexing under you and the way the sun glinting off the water in his hair turns him golden—
Phoenix shoves you hard and you topple backwards, landing in the water with a loud splash.
When you come up, everyone’s laughing and cheering. Hangman has his hand on your back, saying, “Sorry—are you okay?”
“Fine,” you splutter, wiping water from your eyes. “You said you wouldn’t let me fall.”
“My bad,” he chuckles, brushing some hair out of your face. “How can I get you to forgive me for letting you down?”
“We have to win at least one time,” you say, straightening up and knocking Hangman’s hand away from your face. “Turn around. Rooster! Phoenix! We’re going again!”
“Your funeral,” says Phoenix with a teasing shrug. She always gets this way during competitions. When you're on the same team, it's awesome. When you aren’t, it's was infuriating.
Without waiting for Hangman to drop down in the water, you place your hands on the smooth planes of his back and climb him like a tree, clambering your way onto his shoulders as he stumbles and laughs, reaching up to help where he can.
“Easy, now,” he says, his voice thick with amusement. “Let’s save that for when we’re alone, alright?”
“God, shut up,” you grumble, your heart pounding. You thread your fingers through his hair, holding tight as he and Rooster step towards each other, squaring off.
Across from you, Phoenix says, “It’s not too late to back down.”
“Your head’s almost as big as his, Trace,” you laugh, patting the top of Hangman’s hair.
“You take that back,” she retorts, falsely serious.
“Go!” shouts Fanboy.
Both sides surge forward. Your hands meet Phoenix’s, both of you laughing and straining against one another. Hangman’s grip on your thighs is grounding and forceful. This time, you know he won’t let you fall.
Phoenix’s eyes go wide, and you know you’ve got her. She yelps, and Rooster makes a strangled squawking sound very representative of his namesake, and they both tip over backwards, falling apart as soon as they hit the water.
“Yes!” Hangman yells, reaching up and lacing his fingers through yours in celebration. The spectators ooh and aah and whoop appreciatively, and you easily slide off of Hangman’s shoulders, landing with a small splash next to him.
Before you can speak, he bends and wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you partially out of the water in an embrace. Your stomach flip-flops, and it’s all you can do to hang on before he puts you down again—but doesn’t take his arms away.
“Oh, my god,” Phoenix calls, standing near Bob at the edge of the pool, wiping the water out of her face. She’s smiling, and she’s pitched her voice up a few levels to let you know she’s teasing. “Just kiss already!”
Hangman laughs. You don’t.
Then, to your horror, Coyote—who up till now had been minding his business on one of the loungers by the pool—puts his lips together and makes a loud, obnoxious smooching noise.
You disentangle yourself from Hangman’s arms and begin to wade back towards the steps, your face burning as everyone laughs, no one seeming to pick up on your genuine frustration. “You’re all children,” you call, not caring who hears you.
“Oh, come on—” Hangman’s voice starts out loud, but then gets quieter as you hear him splash ungracefully through the water after you. His fingers gently brush your wrist, but you shake him off and don’t look back.
“You cannot seriously be following me right now,” you grumble, grabbing up a towel and making straight for the pool house, Hangman’s footsteps following you the whole way.
“I’m sorry, okay?”
That stops you short. You turn, adjusting the towel, and stare at him with an arched eyebrow.
“I should have said something,” he says, brushing his wet hair out of his eyes. He didn’t bother to grab a towel like you, so his chest is still bare and dripping and stupidly distracting. “I don’t know why I let them tease you like that. I should have told them to stop. I’m sorry. Can you just…come back out? Please?”
“I don’t have feelings for you,” you say stubbornly.
“I know.” He doesn’t sound like he does.
“I don’t,” you say again.
“Okay,” he says, holding his hands up defensively.
“I mean it, Hangman.”
“I’m not arguing!” he says, a laugh bubbling out of him.
You’re not sure what takes over you, but suddenly you’re striding across the floor of the pool house, the towel falling out of your hands and pooling on the floor, and grabbing Hangman’s face in your hands, pulling him down to meet your mouth in an angry kiss.
Well, now you’re here, you think. Now what?
Hangman answers that question for you. His hands meet your waist, sending shivers through you, and he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. His skin is cool and damp and intoxicating, and the droplets on his cheeks—
You pull away abruptly, blinking stupidly.
Fuck.
“What was that?” Hangman asks after a moment, eyeing you cautiously.
“I was proving a point,” your mouth says without permission.
“Okay.” He glances sideways before looking back at you. “What point?”
“That I don’t have feelings for you.”
He blinks. “Okay?”
An awkward silence settles over the pool house. Outside, you can hear splashing and laughter. No one is gathered at the door, clamoring for proof. No one has their ear pressed to the door, straining to hear you and Hangman’s juicy conversations. And you realize that you just kissed Jake Seresin for no real reason except… except….
Oh, god.
Except you wanted to.
You have feelings for Hangman.
“Oh, my god,” you groan, driving the heels of your palms into your eyes. “Oh, my god.”
“I’m so confused,” says Hangman, and it comes out like a disbelieving laugh. “Do you seriously think this is all on you? You think they all tease you because of what you’re doing?”
“Oh, my god, stop talking,” you blurt, covering your face. “This cannot be happening.”
But Hangman steps closer. “It’s ‘cause I have feelings for you. And they all know it! That’s why they tease us.” He sighs. “And I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel the same.”
“Jake,” you snap, interrupting whatever self-righteous spiel he was clearly gearing up to give, and the usage of his name instead of his call-sign brings him up short. “Jake,” you say again. “I’m stupid.”
“I’m so confused,” he says again, and this time it sounds like he really means it.
But then you smile at him, and understanding finally, finally dawns in his eyes. You take half a step forward, closing the gap between you two, and you say softly, “I was too. But kissing helped a lot.”
He smiles crookedly, and this time, it isn’t infuriating. It’s endearing. And when he says in a low voice, “Guess I’ll just have to kiss you again, then,” it isn’t cocky and self-assured. It’s just Jake, knowing what he wants and finally getting it.
“permission to lean in?” “permission granted.” w rooster cos that sounds just dorky enuf for him 💘
ruby i really leaned into the dorky here i hope it shows<33 i hope u like this even tho u don't go here hehe | [wc - 1.2k] | join my prompt party!
“And so I was like, oh, shit, they are definitely into me. This is your moment, Bradshaw! Don’t fuck it up!” Rooster said, dropping his vocal register to represent his inner monologue as he recounted the story of his most recent failed date. “So I looked them in the eyes—gave ‘em the look, you know—and I asked if I could kiss them, and they said—get this—they said, Well, I wanted you to until you asked.”
You couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh that burst out of you. “Are you kidding?”
“I wish!” he exploded, gesticulating wildly.
“So what did you do then?” you asked.
“I didn’t know what to do!” he said. “I think I said something super intelligent like, Oh, okay, and then we stood there awkwardly for a second and they were like, Okay, I’m gonna go in now, and I said, Okay, and then they just…left.”
You pressed your hand to your lips to stifle your giggles. “Is it safe to assume that they haven’t called you back?”
“Yes, y/n,” said Rooster flatly, turning and fixing you with a dull stare. “They obviously haven’t called me back.”
“I’m so sorry,” you said, your stifled giggles descending into embarrassing snorts. You stopped on the sidewalk, one hand covering your mouth and one clutching your knee as you bent at the waist, trying to recover from your fit of the giggles.
“Okay, okay,” said Rooster. You could tell by his tone that he was also fighting back a laugh. “Get it all out now.”
Your friendship with Rooster was a delightfully unexpected bonus of moving into your new apartment. He rented the room across the hall, and you’d met him on your very first day, when he graciously offered to help you carry some boxes up the stairs since the elevator was broken. After you’d moved in, he’d offered to take you for a walk down by the waterfront and show you around your new area. Pretty soon after that, nightly walks by the reservoir had become your new normal.
Conversation came easily with you and Rooster, in no small part because of his endless catalog of dating fiasco stories. It seemed like every single week he had a new story about how some date of his had ended with a crying waiter, red wine on a white dress, or a decidedly unsexy scraped knee. You’d never met someone with such a talent for being bad at dating.
This new story really took the cake, though.
“I’m sorry,” you said, finally catching your breath and leaning against the fence looking over the water below. “I shouldn’t have laughed.”
“I would have been offended if you hadn’t,” said Rooster, which just made you laugh again. He stood next to you, just close enough that your shoulders would occasionally brush, and loosely laced his fingers together, draping his forearms across the railing. He sighed. “Is it me? Am I losing it? I used to be good at this.”
“It’s not you,” you said sincerely. “Honestly, if someone thinks asking for consent ‘ruins the mood’ or whatever…that’s a red flag.”
“That’s what I thought!” he blurted. “I think it’s kind of hot if someone asks before they kiss you.”
“Me too,” you agreed, determinedly not looking at him when you said it. The day Rooster realized that you were silently wishing that you’d be the one he asked out on a disastrous date was the day you’d probably move to a different state.
It was quiet for a moment, and you began to feel nervous, worrying that you’d said the wrong thing. But then Rooster asked, “How do you usually do it?”
“Wh-what?” you asked, turning to look at him in alarm.
He winced. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be weird. I’m trying to gather information. You know? You don’t have to answer, that’s awkward.”
“No, it’s okay,” you said quickly, choosing to focus on the starlight dancing on the water instead of the warmth of Rooster’s shoulder pressing against you. “I mean…it’s been a while, I won’t lie. But usually I wait for some kind of signal—like the look you mentioned. Then, if I’m feeling bold, I go for the ol’ lean-in. Kind of like asking without asking, you know?” Your cheeks grew warm. “This one time, I was feeling really confident, and I just said, I really want to kiss you.”
“Whoa,” said Rooster. “How’d that go?”
“It worked.”
“Yeah, I bet. That’s hot.”
“Um. Thanks.”
“Oh—shit, I didn’t mean to—sorry, that was weird. I shouldn’t have said that.” Rooster took half a step away from you, and you immediately missed his warmth.
“No, no, it’s okay,” you said, hoping he couldn’t hear how your heart was racing. “I don’t mind. Really.” You sucked in a deep breath, bracing yourself for what you were about to say. “The main line is, asking permission is cool. It’s hot. It is sexy. So you shouldn’t think it’s a problem on your side. Just…keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll find the right person.”
“Hm,” said Rooster, but that was it. He stepped back next to you, and when you glanced over, he was staring at your face with a furrowed brow, like he was thinking really hard. That scared you a little. Had you said the wrong thing? Had you given yourself away? Shit, you totally had. You’d totally just blown this whole thing.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?”
Oh, god. You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to look away from him. “O-of course.”
His mustache twitched as the corner of his mouth pulled into half a cheeky smile. “Would you count this as a date?”
All the breath left your lungs like you’d just been punched in the gut. “What?”
He blinked, his smile dropping. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I definitely shouldn’t have said that. That was so stupid of me. I—”
Before he could pull away again, you grabbed his sleeve, holding him in place. Your stare was frighteningly intense as you demanded, “Would you count this as a date, Rooster?”
“Maybe,” he squeaked out.
“Oh, my god,” you gasped, clapping your hands to your cheeks. “I’m an idiot. I’m a moron. This is totally a date, isn't it? Oh, my god.”
“I just ruined this, didn’t I?” he asked, sounding tired. His head sagged on his neck, his broad shoulders deflating.
You grabbed his sleeve again, your grip insistent. “Bradley,” you said sternly, “you didn’t ruin anything. I thought—I thought—I don’t know what I thought.” You paused and then asked softly, “You like me?”
He stared at you then, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Of course I like you,” he breathed.
"Oh," you whispered. "That's nice."
This time when his mouth stretched into a crooked smile, you weren’t as scared. He squared his shoulders, turning to face you fully. His voice was husky and thick with amusement when he asked, “Permission to lean in?”
The laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Your fingers loosened in his sleeve, resting gently on his bicep. “Permission granted,” you answered.
As the lights twinkled over the water and Bradley Bradshaw stooped to kiss you for the first time, you’d never felt stupider. But you also couldn’t think of a time when you’d felt happier.
anon this request grabbed me by the hair and threw me down the stairs and when i got up this blurb existed. i am merely a vessel here. i hope u enjoy!
10. sitting next to each other at their mutual friend’s wedding
word count: 2k
“You’re late,” hummed Mickey under his breath as you brushed past him, heading out towards the lawn.
“But they haven’t started playing music, so I’m not that late,” you shot back, pausing to catch your breath and scan the crowd sitting on the folded chairs spread across the greenery. “Which is Rooster’s side?”
“Left,” he said with a jerk of his chin, “but it’s not like you really have any other options. You’re on the end there.”
“Thanks,” you said, giving him a quick squeeze on the arm. “You’re the best usher ever. It’s good to see you.”
“Hurry up!” he chuckled, but you’d already started moving again. You tried not to focus on the fact that the one open seat was on the aisle towards the front, which meant everyone seated got to stare at you as you walked down the aisle. Instead you made eye contact with Rooster, standing under the white archway in his tux, and waved excitedly.
He very obviously stifled a laugh and shook his head in mock disapproval, mouthing, You’re late.
Sorry, you mouthed back, quickly taking your seat and nearly colliding with your seat neighbor. Jeez, these seats were tiny.
“Well, hello,” said your seat neighbor, immediately stopping whatever conversation he was having and turning to give you a very obvious once-over.
Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you turned and did the same to him—and immediately wished you hadn’t. Oh, shit. This guy was cute. He was broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw and bright green eyes. His blond hair was neatly smoothed back for the occasion, and he was dressed in a nice dress shirt suit jacket that seemed to be straining at the seams. There was a half-cocked smirk resting on his lips as he looked you over, and you felt your own jaw clench as your eyes met his.
“Hi,” you said.
“You know, you’re late,” he told you as if you were old friends.
“No kidding. I thought the ceremony started at—” you checked your phone, “three-twenty-four. That’s a normal time for weddings to start, right?”
He chuckled, but it sounded more like a scoff. He jerked his chin up towards the archway where Rooster was standing, fiddling with his hands nervously. “Which are you here for? Bride or groom?”
“I’m sitting on the groom’s side, aren’t I?” you shot back.
He fixed you with a look that made you freeze in place. “I wasn’t aware you had many options.”
Your cheeks started to warm, but you fought it back and cleared your throat, blinking and tearing your eyes away. What was that accent? It was faint, just barely there—Texan, maybe? “Me and Rooster are old friends. High school.”
“No kidding,” said your seat neighbor, throwing his elbow up against the tiny back of his folding chair. “He’s never mentioned you.”
“You don’t know me,” you reminded him.
“Jake,” he said quickly, holding out his hand. “I’m an old piloting buddy of Bradshaw’s.”
After a moment, you shook his hand and introduced yourself.
“There,” said Jake. “Now I know you. And now I know for sure that he never mentioned you.”
“Well, he never mentioned you, either,” you said.
Jake laughed, and you were oddly pleased to be the inspiration of such a noise. “You know just how to cut a man deep, don’t you?”
“It’s a talent,” you admitted with a sly smile.
A dimple on Jake’s cheek twinkled as he gave you an appraising sort of look that went on for several seconds longer than might have been appropriate. Then he stretched out, saying, “So, old high school buddies, huh? What’s the deal there? Childhood sweethearts? Best friends who always wanted more?”
“No,” you said sternly, shooting him a glare.
“What?” he shrugged, laughing. “I’m just saying. Someone pretty as you—there’s no way Bradshaw’s never thought about it.”
As you scoffed and adjusted your outfit, feeling quite flustered, the bride’s entrance music began to play. Everyone shifted in their seats except for Jake, who kept looking right at you, pinning you with that green gaze. You finally said, “You’re extremely presumptuous, Jake. No wonder Rooster never mentioned you; you’re exactly the type of piloting buddy he would have told me to stay away from.”
“Bingo,” said Jake. “Best friends who always wanted more. I knew it.”
“That’s not—!”
“Ssh,” he interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. Behind it, his mouth curled into a teasing smirk. “It’s rude to talk while the bride is making her entrance.”
Part of you wanted to wring his neck; another part of you was sure he could hear the way your heart was pounding in your chest, an excited, flirtatious flush coursing through your body as he watched you. But you maintained your composure and turned primly in your seat, turning to watch as Rooster’s wife-to-be slowly and elegantly made her way down the aisle.
The ceremony was lovely and beautiful, just as you knew it would be. Rooster had asked Maverick to officiate, something you knew meant a great deal to Rooster and probably more to the old captain. When it came to the reciting of the vows, you were fairly certain there wasn’t a dry eye in the house; even aloof, stoic Jake next to you dropped his cocky smirk, and you caught him subtly dabbing at his eyes once or twice when he thought no one noticed.
Once the reception began, you didn’t hang around to let Jake get under your skin anymore. It was wild to you just how quickly he’d figured out what buttons to push that made you squirm, and you didn’t want to give him any more opportunities to learn anything else about what made you tick. Instead, you rushed to find Rooster as soon as you could, throwing your arms around him and giving him a congratulatory kiss on the cheek before doing the same to his bride.
The hours plodded on, and soon everyone was at least three drinks in—or, as Mickey liked to say, the wedding had actually started. You split your time between dancing with him and dancing with Natasha, and you used slow dances as an opportunity to return to the bar and rest your feet for a bit.
You were nursing a tequila sunrise at the bar when you remembered the man from the ceremony. Come to think of it, you’d seen him on the floor a couple times, dancing with a bridesmaid or a couple of his bro-ey friends, but he hadn’t said a word to you. And why would he? Why were you still thinking about him? He was obviously just a flirt; he’d probably gotten under the skin of half the bridal party tonight.
“Stupid,” you muttered to yourself, stabbing your straw through the cherry in your drink.
“Whoa,” said a voice at your shoulder. “What’d that cherry do to you?”
“Jake!” you gasped, whirling around to see him leaning casually against the bar right next to you. His hair was tousled and his tie was loosened, the top three buttons of his dress shirt undone and exposing a sizable stretch of muscled, tan chest. His eyes were shining, and his cheeks were rosy. In short, he looked about as tipsy as you felt.
“Why haven’t I seen you all night?” he asked, shifting a little closer.
“Trust me,” you said, “I’ve been around. You’ve just been busy, is all.”
His eyes lit up and he beamed. “Have you been keeping track of me?”
Fuck. “No.” You wiggled on your stool, moving out of his personal space to try and clear your head. You waved your hand in his direction. “You’re just very…noticeable.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s not better!
“You know, I’ve been told that before,” said Jake smoothly, accepting his whiskey from the bartender with a cool nod and taking a long drink, watching you over the rim of the glass. He motioned towards the cocktail in your hand. “Has this been your night, then? Drowning your sorrows at the bar because your best friend just married someone else?”
“Oh, my god, no!” You laughed, shaking your head. “Would you quit it with this ‘I’m-in-love-with-Bradley’ line?”
Jake held up his hands in a ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ position. “You said the thing about him not wanting to introduce us, not me.”
“That is not what I said.”
Before you could argue more, Jake leaned in close—so close your breath caught in your throat and you felt yourself paralyzed by those green eyes again. He smelled like whiskey, but it worked for him. He said, “D’you wanna dance with me?”
"Are you hitting on me?” you asked.
"I was hoping you’d pick up on that,” he said.
You coughed, taking a long sip from your cocktail before shrugging. “Okay.”
He downed the last of his whiskey in one gulp, which was an impressive feat since he probably still had two fingers left in the glass. Then he grabbed your drink out of your hand and placed it on the bar before leading you by the arm to the dance floor, where they were playing some classic love song—Here Comes My Girl by Tom Petty, you thought. One of his hands splayed firmly across your waist, and a swarm of butterflies burst into life in your stomach, but you tried to play it cool.
“When’s the last time you danced?” he asked, the judgment in his tone clear.
“I’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” you muttered, staring at your feet in concentration. “Gimme a minute.”
But a strong pair of fingers caught your chin, lifting your head till you had no choice but to look Jake square in the eyes. You were positive he could hear your heart pounding, sure he caught the way your breath hitched at the touch. But he just smiled, using the hand on your waist to help sway you to the music and said, “Don’t think. Just do.”
“You are unbelievable,” you heard yourself say.
“I get that a lot,” he replied.
You rolled your eyes and allowed him to lead you in a close, swaying dance, trying not to focus on the lyrics too much. Or on the fact that his cologne smelled really good, especially mixed with the whiskey. Or on his fingers at the base of your spine, or the way his other hand had twined your fingers together nonchalantly, like it was the most casual thing in the world.
You started talking before you could think twice about what it was you were saying. “Before, when I said you’re the type of guy Rooster would have warned me to stay away from, I didn’t mean it’s ‘cause he was protective of me, or there was history there, or anything like that.”
“Oh really?” His voice rumbled in his chest, reverberating through you. God, he made it hard to focus.
“Uh-huh,” you said.
“Well, then what would the reason have been?” He squeezed your hand, his lips so close to your ear that you could feel his breath on the side of your face.
You swallowed. “Because he knew you were exactly the type of guy I would have gone for.”
You felt more than saw Jake’s smile. “Is that so?”
“And you’d break my heart,” you went on, “and Rooster’d have to pick up the pieces.”
Jake didn’t have a snarky report ready for that. He kept swaying you, but it felt a little less self-assured now, a little more cautious, and strangely, more intimate. You let your eyes fall shut, trusting him not to let you fall, and enjoyed the feeling of being wrapped in his arms, dancing to a classic Tom Petty tune at your mutual friend’s wedding.
“So what now?” Jake asked finally, drawing you back into the moment.
You blinked your eyes open and pulled just far enough away so you could look him in his eyes. “I don’t know,” you said softly, allowing yourself a tiny smirk. “Are you gonna break my heart, Jake?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted softly, and you were surprised to see the confident facade had fallen away. It must have been the booze, you thought. It had to be the booze.
His eyes darted down to your lips before moving back up.
You really did smile then, wrapping both of your arms around his neck so that he could hold you fully by the waist. “Guess there’s just one way to find out,” you teased lightly.
His stare was hot and intense, sending shivers up and down your spine. “Do you want to get out of here?” asked Jake.
You threw your head back and laughed before settling in his arms, resting your head on his chest. His arms tightened around you, and you said, “Let’s finish the song first.”
allie help i blacked out and somehow wrote almost 3k. what did u do to me. @spideystevie
13. meeting as the best friends/wingmen/chaperones of their two friends who want to go out together, but not alone
word count: 2.7k
“I can’t believe you actually convinced me to come along,” you muttered, propping your feet up on your best friend’s dashboard.
Rooster glanced sideways at you before going back to anxiously scanning the parking lot. “Me neither,” he admitted, “but I’m so glad you said yes.”
“Remind me of the plan one more time?” you asked.
He held up his fingers and began counting items off. “First, we meet up with Natasha at the Shake Shack.”
“We are at the Shake Shack,” you said.
“Yes. The three of us laugh and play nice for a bit, just to break the ice. Second—or maybe third?—you get up to use the restroom. I don’t know, make up some excuse.”
You rolled your eyes but let him keep going.
“Fourth—wait, or are we still on three?—anyways, fourth, while you’re gone I put the moves on Natasha, maybe invite her to officially do something one-on-one. Fifth, you come back and I’ll give you the signal. Remember the signal?”
You recited, “‘Ready to rock and roll?’ means it’s not going good and we have to go. ‘Living the good life’ means it’s going really well and I should buzz off. You picked such corny catchphrases, man.”
“But you remembered them!” Rooster considered things for a moment before adding another finger. “Sixth, seventh, whatever—profit.”
You hummed sarcastically and turned to look back out the window. It was winter, so it was already completely dark over the Shake Shack as you and Rooster waited for his definitely-not-a-date to show up. Other young people on awkward first outings, as well as large groups of friends, milled about on the open-air tables and greater parking lot, swapping ice cream and fries and having a generally great time. Rooster probably couldn’t have picked a better place to stage this “friendship coup” as he called it—in short, an attempt to get out of the friendzone with Natasha Trace.
You’d only met Natasha a handful of times, but you liked her. You weren’t sure how much you liked her for Bradley, but you also weren’t the type to meddle that deeply into your friend’s love life. And Rooster had been single now for nearly four long, painful years; you thought it would be good for him to get out of his head and get back in the dating game.
“Oh, shit, that’s her!” he hissed suddenly, swatting your arm. “Come on, let’s go!”
You quickly climbed out of the Bronco, following Rooster’s lead as he began to make his way towards the sleek Volkswagen that had just pulled into the lot. The headlights in the Volkswagen shut off and the driver’s side door opened to reveal Natasha, graceful and strong as ever. She broke into a smile as soon as she saw Rooster and leaned against the open frame of her door.
“Hey, Rooster,” she said before her eyes slipped past him and landed on you. They lit up with recognition. “Oh, hey!”
“Hi,” you said, feeling incredibly transparent and awkward.
“Oh, uh—they just wanted to come with, I started talking about Shake Shack and they were like, ‘oh my god, I want to go!’ So I hope that’s okay,” rambled Rooster.
You glared daggers at the back of Rooster’s head, but Natasha just laughed and nodded. “Yeah, no worries. I mean—I’d be kind of a hypocrite if I said no.”
Rooster laughed. “Haha, yeah—wait, what?”
Natasha bent down into the open door and said, “You can come out, you know.”
The passenger door to the Volkswagen swung open and a man stepped out, and you momentarily forgot that you were in the middle of drilling a hole in the back of Bradley’s head with your eyes.
He was tall and lean, with short blonde hair combed back out of his face. He was wearing glasses, but even in the dim light of the parking lot you could make out wide, blue eyes and a shy, kind expression on his face. He glanced nervously around the group: first at Natasha, then at Rooster, then back to Natasha, and then to you, where they stayed.
“This is Bob,” said Natasha. “I figured it’d be okay if he tagged along with us, too.”
Your mind had stuttered to a halt, but if there was one thing to be said about Rooster, he was quick on his feet. “Yeah, definitely! Nice to meet you, Bob. Hey, I just remembered I left my wallet in my car like an idiot.” He pinned you with a sharp look. “Can you come grab it with me?”
You only considered arguing for maybe half a second before tearing your eyes away from Bob and sighing, “Yeah, let’s go. Be right back, guys. Meet you at the shack?”
“Sounds good!” called Natasha as you and Rooster began to jog away.
Rooster yanked open the driver’s side door of the Bronco and bent over the seat for pure formalities, because he knew as well as you did that the outline of his brown leather wallet was prominent and very obvious in his back pocket.
“She brought one too!” he hissed at the gas pedal.
You looked up at the sky, asking anyone listening to please, please, send you help. Then you said, “So?”
“So that throws a bit of a spanner in the works!”
“Does it?”
He straightened up, waving a pad of brown napkins in your direction. “Yes! Is that her way of telling me this is a strictly-friends situation? Is Bob my competition? What message am I meant to receive here?”
“Maybe the message that she felt the same way that you did about this little hang-out and brought along a safety net?” you offered. “Please stop waving those napkins at me, Bradley.”
“Right, sorry.” He tossed them into the backseat, where they scattered like confetti, and you fought back a shiver of disgust. “So what do I do?”
You cocked your head at him. “I don’t know, Rooster. Maybe…go hang out with her? And stop stalling at your car?”
Rooster blinked. “Fuck. You’re right. Let’s roll out.”
When you arrived at the front counter, Bob and Natasha still hadn’t ordered. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the menu, and you took a moment to try and decipher their body language: her arms were folded, his loose and relaxed; she would periodically tap her hip against his, less in a manner that tried to get his attention and more out of casual familiarity; when they spoke to each other, they didn’t turn their heads, just spoke out of the sides of their mouths and trusted the other to catch it.
In all honesty, they reminded you a lot of you and Bradley. The thought made you feel strangely…relieved, but you couldn’t figure out why exactly.
Bob noticed you and Rooster first, turning and smiling. He met your eyes, but then looked away just as quickly.
“Hi,” you said, stepping up next to him and introducing yourself. “Sorry about before. I swear, he’d lose his head if it wasn’t screwed on.”
“Yeah, I’ve gathered,” chuckled Bob before blinking. “Oh, I just mean—Natasha’s told me—I’ve heard that Bradley can be—”
“You’re good,” you interrupted swiftly. “I love him, but he’s an idiot.”
Bob smiled that quick, nervous smile again before turning back to the menu board. “Okay. Do you know what you’re gonna get?”
You nodded. “They do a killer float here.”
Bob glanced at you in surprise. “You don’t get shakes at the Shake Shack?”
“You do?” you countered.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s a Shake Shack.”
You found yourself laughing. “Okay then, wise guy, educate me!”
“I’m gonna change your life,” promised Bob, stepping up to the counter and ordering two peanut-butter fudge milkshakes. When you tried to pull out your own wallet, he put out a hand to stop you.
“I’m perfectly capable—” you started.
“Please. What kind of teacher would I be if I made my student pay for their own school supplies?”
You snorted with laughter, turning to share an amused look with Rooster before realizing in a panic that you’d been so caught up talking with Bob that you’d lost track of both Natasha and Rooster. You swore under your breath, stepping away from the counter and looking back and forth for where they’d gone. He’d asked you to be his wingman because he was nervous, and you’d already messed it up!
Bob stepped up next to you, two milkshakes in hand. “Hey, you okay?” he asked.
“Where’d they go?” you asked, still looking around the patio and the parking lot.
Bob slurped loudly at one of the shakes for a moment before saying, “She said something about stealing him away to play mini golf across the street. Must be what happened.”
You whirled around to face him. “You guys had a game plan?”
His cheeks colored and he didn’t meet your eyes. “Yeah. She was nervous. That’s why I’m here.” He squinted at you. “Did you guys have a game plan?”
You bit your lip, realizing you’d been caught. “Yes,” you said softly.
“There we go, then,” said Bob, holding out the second shake. “Even Stevens.”
You took it from him and worked your straw up and down, trying to mix it. “Well, then what are we supposed to do while they play mini golf?”
Bob did meet your eyes then, fixating you in place with that impressive cobalt stare. You felt your breath hitch in your throat and a warm flush began to spread out from your throat. You hoped against hope he couldn’t tell in the darkness.
Bob said, “Wait for them to get back, I guess.”
You led the way back to Rooster’s car, where you retrieved the spare key that only you knew about from its spot in the front wheel well. You and Bob worked together to lower the small tailgate of the Bronco, and then Bob helped lift you up onto it. You both sat there, hip to hip: you, swinging your legs over the empty space; him, keeping his calmingly still.
“I can’t believe they ditched us,” you said around the straw wedged between your lips.
Bob moved his straw up and down, just like you’d done before. You tried not to stare at his hands. He said, “I don’t know. This was kind of best-case-scenario for how tonight could have gone.” He smiled. “Imagine the four of us wedged in a cramped diner booth, watching both of them fail to flirt.”
“Ugh, good point,” you said. “Not that it’s any of my business, but—you and Natasha? Just friends, then? She’s here for Bradley?”
Bob made a strangled noise, somewhere between a snort and a raspberry. “No,” he said. “Just friends. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
You took another sip of your shake before setting it down behind you. “I don’t know, that can be kind of romantic sometimes.”
“Natasha and I are not romantically engaged,” he said, enunciating clearly. “She’s here because she wants to see how things go with Bradley.” He paused. “Besides, I’ve heard stories—how do I know you and him aren’t secretly pining for each other?”
You pretended to gag. “Ew, no thanks. He’s practically my brother.”
“See, it’s weird!” laughed Bob. “You’re not allowed to make fun of me!”
“I’m not!” you laughed back. “You made your point. I’m sorry.”
You both smiled, a comfortable silence falling over the backseat of the Bronco. The nerves of the night were starting to wear off, and you found yourself shivering in the cool winter air. When you reached behind you to grab the blanket Rooster kept stashed in the back seat, Bob helped wrap it tight around your shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down your arms.
“Thanks,” you said, trying to fight back that shy flush of warmth that threatened to overtake you again.
A few more minutes of quiet stretched out in front of the two of you, and you finally sighed, buzzing your lips and trying to fill the silence. “Now what?” you asked, starting to swing your legs again.
“How do you know Bradley?” Bob asked, leaning back and resting his head against the back of the headrest.
You turned, arching an eyebrow. “Twenty questions? Really?”
He laughed. “If you’ve got other ideas on how to kill time, I’m all ears.”
You rolled your eyes again, turning to face forward and letting an amused giggle escape your lips. “Okay, fine. But that’s not how twenty questions works. You have to work up to the deep shit.”
Bob pulled one leg up onto the tailgate, lacing his fingers around his knee. “Okay, wise one,” he teased. “Educate me, then. You go first.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Seven. How do you know Bradley?”
You burst out laughing, grabbing onto his arm to keep yourself upright as he snickered, obviously pleased with himself. When Rooster and Natasha came back, you were both still giggling, but over a different twenty-questions-inspired joke. You didn’t even know how much time had passed—apparently enough for at least one game of mini golf to be completely finished.
“You guys look like you’re having fun,” said Natasha with a smile.
“Hey, guys,” you said. “How was mini golf?”
“Good,” said Rooster, swapping a look with Natasha. “Fun. I lost.”
“No surprise, there,” you teased, and Bob chuckled.
Rooster lifted his eyebrows at you. “Thanks for that. You ready to head out?”
You sat up quickly, letting the blanket fall away from your shoulders. “Oh, yeah, sure. We can head out. Is this a rock-and-roll situation?”
Rooster shook his head but didn’t say anything, so you figured he was withholding a lot of things that he wanted your opinion on. You stifled a sigh and shifted off of the Bronco, stretching your legs as Bob stood up next to you. As he shuffled closer to Natasha—presumably to ask how her date was—you leaned back into the cab and grabbed your mostly-full milkshake, holding it out to Bob.
When he took it, his brow furrowed in confusion and he reached up to adjust his glasses. “You didn’t have any?”
“I had a couple sips,” you said defensively. “You can finish it.”
“But—you—I—”
You grimaced and whispered, “I don’t like peanut butter in my milkshakes. But I can pay you back!”
“This is the most embarrassing moment of my life,” said Bob, and you were only half-sure he was being sarcastic. “Don’t worry about the money. We’ll just have to come back and get floats next time.”
As soon as he realized what he’d said, his whole face lit up bright pink. You saw Natasha and Rooster’s eyebrows fly into their hairlines at the same time. You grinned, unable to stop the quiet laugh that bubbled out of you as you nodded and said, “Yeah, I guess we will. I’ll see you around, Bob.”
“See you,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck and wincing as he and Natasha began to slowly make their way back to her Volkswagen. She grabbed his sleeve, giving him a firm and teasing shake, and you grinned at the sight before turning and closing the tailgate back up and moving to the passenger seat.
“So,” you said as Rooster turned the key in the ignition, “how was it?”
He made a ‘kaputz’ gesture with his hand and blew a raspberry.
Your face fell. “Oh no. What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” he explained, turning and backing out of his parking spot. “I guess that’s kind of why it’s a no-go. I think we’re just better as friends. And I think I’m actually okay with that.”
You smiled and nudged him on the arm when he paused to shift gears. “I’m proud of you, Bradshaw.”
He scoffed and shook his head. You sat back in your seat, prepared for a nice, quiet drive home, when Rooster suddenly leaned across the center console, shoving his face into your personal space. “How was your night, hmm?”
“Oh my god, go away, you freak!” you giggled, shoving at him. “None of your business!”
He sat up and pulled out of the parking lot, laughing and sending you a knowing look that made you want to explode. “The truth will out,” he said, “and by that I mean I’m gonna text Natasha later and get all the details. So which side of the story do you want me to hear?”
“His,” you said. “Definitely his.”
Rooster laughed again and you kicked your feet back up on his dashboard, pressing your knuckles to your mouth as you turned to look out the window. A pleased, heady fog had settled over your brain, and you felt like giggling for no real reason at all. The night had no more biting chill left, and your fingers smelled like chocolate and peanut butter.
💝 also also how about "[ company ] to hang out with them when neither have a date for the night" from the valentine's prompts list with bob hehehe -allie
allie i might have went a little crazy here i rewrote this like 3 times bc im indecisive teehee anyways enjoy beloved<3 @spideystevie | [wc - 1.5k] | join my prompt party!
“Are you serious?” you tried to keep the annoyance out of your tone, but a fair bit seeped in anyways. “We’ve had this planned for months, Nat.”
“I know, I know. I’m really sorry.” Your best friend’s voice crackled through the phone. “Believe me, I wish this was something I could get out of. But this is the first time her parents have asked to meet me. That’s a big deal. And it’s the only night that works for them. I’m so, so, so sorry, and I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
You shifted, pushing off the kitchen counter and turning to rest your elbows against the marble. You traced your finger along the grout and ceded, “I get it. It sucks and I’m annoyed, but I get it.” You sighed, rubbing at the crease between your eyebrows. “What’s another Valentine’s Day on my couch, right? I’ve had worse.”
Natasha was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I’m really sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. It’s fine. Go have fun.”
“You sure?”
“Natasha.”
“Okay. Love you. I’ll text you later.”
“Okay.”
Natasha hung up with a faint beep and you let your phone fall loudly out of your hand, where it clattered to the counter—unharmed. You dropped your head into your hands and muffled a groan with the heel of your palm, digging your nails into your scalp before shaking yourself and straightening up again. You pocketed your phone and came around the corner, leaving the kitchen and re-entering the living room.
It was pathetic to look at now. You’d decorated it with the intent to host a whole slew of your friends for a ‘palentine’s party,’ but one by one they’d bailed on you. Now it was just you and Bob Floyd in your apartment, waiting for a Natasha Trace that wouldn’t be coming.
When Bob saw you, he sat up straighter on the couch. He always sat so rigidly when he came over, like he was scared he’d mess up your cushions just by relaxing on them. You probably shouldn’t have found it as endearing as you did, but oh well. There were a lot of things Bob did that you probably shouldn’t have found as endearing as you did.
“She’s not coming, is she?” Bob asked, his wide blue eyes following your movement as you wound your way around the coffee table towards the far end of the couch. You threw yourself down with a tired sigh and blew a raspberry, shaking your head. Bob winced. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s whatever,” you said. “I should have known better than to try and make group plans on Valentine’s Day.”
“What now?” he asked, his fingers digging into the folds of his jeans at his knees.
You shrugged as best you could in your horizontal position. “I don’t know. Put on a movie, I guess. Eat a bunch of this chocolate. Drink a bunch of this wine. Procrastinate cleaning everything up.” You flopped your head to the side so that you could look at him and smile wearily. “I know you probably had fun plans with that girl—the one from the bookstore. Go on, get out of here.” You dropped your voice to a teasing whisper. “Save yourself.”
Bob just scrunched up his nose and shook his head.
Surprised, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows. “What—is she busy?”
He looked away from you then, pushing up his glasses and coughing into his fist awkwardly. “No,” he said, his voice sounding weird. “No, she’s, uh—it’s not gonna work out, I think. I haven’t heard from her in a while. And I haven’t reached out to her, either,” he added hastily.
You pushed out your bottom lip, sitting up fully and reaching for one of the bottles of red wine you’d put out on the coffee table. “Aw. I’m sorry to hear that. She sounded nice.”
Bob shrugged, still not looking at you.
“Well,” you said, pulling the cork out of the bottle with a loud pop, “if you don’t have anything to do, I guess you could stay here. God knows I won’t be going anywhere. But you don’t have to.”
“No,” he said quickly, “that sounds—um—that sounds nice. I’d love to. As long as it’s no hassle.”
“No hassle at all.” You smiled to yourself, pouring two glasses of wine and pushing one across the table to him before taking a long drink of yours. Then you pulled open the heart-shaped box of chocolates and plopped it on the sofa between the two of you before turning on the tv and starting to scroll through your movie options.
“You know, you’re allowed to relax,” you said as you reclined back onto the cushions, noticing the way Bob was still sitting so stiffly on the far side.
He laughed a little nervously. “Right. Sorry.” You watched as he awkwardly shimmied out of his coat and draped it over the back of the couch. He settled deeper into the cushions, his eyes trained on the tv screen, absently swirling the wine in his glass.
Your cheeks felt warm as you turned back to the tv. You were oddly touched that Bob wanted to stay and keep you company on your failed Valentine’s Day evening. Clearing your throat, you said, “So what are you in the mood for?”
“Anything’s fine,” he said quietly, but at that exact moment you scrolled past When Harry Met Sally and he gasped softly.
“I shoulda known you’d love a classic friends-to-lovers,” you chuckled, hitting play.
When you glanced sideways at him, he was blushing. The opening titles reflected off of his glasses, making his expression hard to read. Embarrassment suddenly flooded you. Why the hell had you said that?
You turned sharply back to face the screen, determined to only focus on the movie playing.
Had you ever thought of Bob like that? Of course you had. It was hard not to. He was so kind and considerate and endearing and chivalrous. But he was one of Natasha’s closest friends, so by extension, he was one of your closest friends. You weren’t eager to mess that up with things like your inability to distinguish basic kindness from flirting.
The time ticked by, and you kept refilling your wine glass, even if Bob stopped after his second. Pretty soon the box of chocolates was on your lap instead of the cushions, and as you chased a caramel-filled one with a big gulp of wine, the word aphrodisiac sprung to mind.
You decided to ease off the chocolate and wine.
“Are you cold?” Bob asked about halfway through the movie, his voice causing you to jump.
“Um,” you said. The truth was you were cold, but you didn’t want to admit it.
Unfortunately, Bob was incredibly perceptive. He tugged the blanket off the back of the couch, and you found yourself scooting closer to him almost without meaning to. You held your breath as you gently tucked yourself under his arm and the blanket came around both of you, followed by his arm landing loosely across your covered waist.
He was very warm. His shirt was very soft. He smelled very good. You could feel his heartbeat.
“Is this okay?” he breathed.
“Mm-hmm.”
You’d spent so much time fighting off any feelings you felt for Bob like that that you’d never considered that he might like you like that, too.
The movie pushed onwards as Harry and Sally’s friendship changed and fell apart and became something entirely new. You settled into Bob’s side, almost concerned by how comfortable it felt to cuddle with him on your couch. His arm on your waist was heavy and grounding, and his fingers absently moved across your leg, sending shivers across your whole body.
“…I love that after I spend a day with you I can still smell your perfume on my clothes…”
“Hey, Bob?” you whispered.
“…I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night…”
“Yeah?” he replied, just as quietly, like he was scared to ruin the moment. You thought you could relate to the feeling.
“…And it’s not because I’m lonely, and it’s not because it’s New Year’s…”
“Thanks for staying with me tonight,” you said.
“…I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody…”
“My pleasure,” he breathed, and his hand tightened on your leg. Your breath hitched, but then the pressure was gone again.
“…you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible!”
“I’m sorry about bookstore girl,” you said, even as the more sensible you that was still on the other side of the couch tried to wring your neck for bringing her up at all.
“You see, that is just like you, Harry. You say things like that and you make it impossible for me to hate you!”
“That’s okay,” he whispered. “I think she got tired of listening to me go on and on about you.”
You sat up and Bob turned to look at you, his eyebrows pinched in the middle and his mouth drawn into a tight line. He was scared, you realized. The thought almost made you want to laugh at how ridiculous it was.
“Oh,” you said dumbly. Then, again: “Oh.”
And as Harry and Sally fell into each other’s arms, you curled your fingers into Bob Floyd’s tee-shirt and kissed him for the first time.
I know v-day is soon but if you want to write something before that, I would love 37 from the meet cutes, with bob :)
anon, this is so cute that im using it as the formal start to the prompt party. enjoy!! | join my prompt party!
37. meeting at a fire alarm test, having to evacuate the building
word count - 1.2k
This could not be happening. You hadn’t even lived in this new apartment building for a full week, and everything was already going wrong. First the plumbing busted and none of the toilets would flush; then the fridge broke and all of your produce went bad before your super could get someone out to fix it; and just when you thought things would even out, the whole fifth and sixth floor’s air conditioning had broken.
To cap it all off, after three days of sweating bullets in the blistering summer heat, the fire alarm was going off.
Footsteps thundered overhead as the whole building moved to evacuate. As you slipped out your front door, you saw people flooding the stairs, many holding dogs by the collar or clutching their cats tight to their chests as they ran. A few younger tenants stood in their doorways coolly, nursing cigarettes or joints, or else with their hands deep in chip bags, like there wasn’t a blaring siren going off overhead, their presence serving to remind you just how cheap your rent was.
You brushed past these jaded late-teens-early-twenty-somethings and shoved your keys and your wallet into your pockets, realizing too late that you’d left your phone on the counter upstairs. Trying to go back for it would be like trying to swim upstream at the Rushing Rapids, so you just let yourself get swept away with the crowd.
As you reached the floor below you, the door marked 504 swung open and a man stepped out, quickly pulling on a yellow tee shirt over black athletic shorts and flip-flops. With one glance, you knew his air unit was busted, too. There was a thin sheen of sweat across his face, and his cheeks were rosy-pink. With another glance, you worried that something other than the broken heating might be responsible for the warmth flooding your face.
“Oh, sorry,” he said quietly as the two of you nearly collided, easily falling in place behind you. His hand brushed your shoulder as you walked, sending chills down your back, and you found it endlessly endearing that he’d chosen to touch your shoulder instead of your waist or lower back, like most guys in the building would have done.
Unfortunately, descending the building stairs, surrounded by your sweaty neighbors, didn’t give you much of a chance to do anything but smile nervously at him. You were moving again, painfully aware of the fact that he was right behind you and you were wearing the skimpiest tank top and shorts you owned in an attempt to fight off the heat. The alarm overhead continued to blare rhythmically, fading to a background drone as you moved steadily downwards.
The stairs finally spilled out into the foyer and you followed the mob out onto the front pavement of the complex. All sorts of different people milled about, talking on phones or conversing with their neighbors. Once again, you wished you’d remembered to grab your phone before you left. Now you were stuck awkwardly standing on the pavement in sandals, showing far more skin than you’d usually feel comfortable with outside of your apartment.
A ways off, the man in the yellow shirt was standing on the edge of the sidewalk, his brow furrowed as he typed on his phone. As you watched, he absently reached up to push his glasses back up from where they’d slipped down his sweat-slick nose. He ran his hand through his hair, not paying attention, and then grabbed the front of his shirt, fluttering it to try and cool down.
Almost like he could sense you, he lifted his head and made direct eye contact with you. You quickly turned back to face the building, your cheeks burning, hoping maybe he hadn’t noticed the way you’d very, very obviously been watching him—not even watching, you’d been straight-up ogling—
“Hey.”
Shit.
“Hi,” you said, turning to face him with an apologetic grimace.
You weren’t sure what to expect from him—maybe a confused glance, or an inquiry as to why you’d been staring. But he had a pleasantly neutral smile on his face, and he was passing his phone back and forth in his hands like he didn’t want to keep them still. When he spoke, it was a question. “Are you new?”
“Is it that obvious?” you asked with a wince.
He shook his head, still smiling gently. “No, that’s not what I mean. I just haven’t seen you before.” He gestured around the tenants milling around. “This is a pretty regular occurrence.”
“What, the building catches on fire?” you said before you could stop yourself.
The man chuckled, dropping his head as he did, like he was nervous to make eye contact. “No,” he said. “It’s an alarm test. Legally, they have to do one every six months, but the alarm’s been broken for…well, as long as I’ve lived here. So it goes off randomly every month.”
“And everyone obeys it anyways?” You glanced around skeptically, having a newfound surprise for the amount of people stuck outside right now.
He shrugged. “They jack up your rent for the month if you don’t do the practice. Apparently back in the ‘80s something happened where there was a real fire and people didn’t evacuate because they thought it was just a drill.”
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, glancing up at the old building. “I really picked a winner,” you murmured.
“It’s not all bad,” he said quickly, looking at you with wide, blue eyes. “I mean—the people are nice.”
You gave him another once-over, smiling a bit. “So far, I’d have to agree.”
His cheeks, which were still flushed from the heat, turned a shade darker and he dropped his eyes again. You felt a little proud of that.
“I’m Bob,” he said.
“Nice to meet you, Bob,” you said, introducing yourself. Then you said, “Your heating’s broken, too, right?”
He exhaled heavily. “Yeah. Debbie downstairs has been letting me borrow her box fan, but it’s pretty rough, as you can see.” He gestured down at his slapdash outfit.
You chuckled a little, nodding and gesturing at your own clothes. “How long do these usually last?” you asked.
Bob shrugged. “Anywhere from fifteen minutes to two hours, depending on how quick they can fix the alarm again. The fire department is gonna show up pretty soon and yell at the super, and then they’ll give us the all-clear. But nothing to do until then but kill time.”
You considered this, stepping out to get a look down the street. A few bodegas and small shops lined the sidewalks, but one place in particular caught your eye. Turning back to your neighbor, you said, “Do you want to go grab an ice cream while we wait, Bob? It’ll probably cool us down better than Debbie’s box fan.”
“R-really?” said Bob, blinking at you in surprise. His whole body stilled, like the nervous energy had fled, but he quickly broke into a smile and said, “Yeah. Yes! Yes, okay. Sure. That sounds nice.”
“Come on, then,” you said, and began to lead the way towards the ice cream parlor. And if you were tempted to hold his hand on the walk back, you kept that to yourself. And if Bob walked you all the way back to your apartment and gave you his number, that was entirely his own decision. And if you fell into bed that night with all your windows thrown open to try and clear out the muggy heat, a giddy smile on your cheeks and a newfound fondness for this apartment building in your heart, well… that was just between you and the night air.
