Can I Have Your Number?
Title: Can I Have Your Number? [s/a]
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: my_obsession_xx
Rating: PG
Pairing: (one-sided) Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: CRACK Brendon really wants Ryan's number.
Disclaimer: Not true, don't own.
Author Notes: This is based on MAD TV's Can I Have Your Number? skit that makes me laugh entirely too hard. This is merely a poor attempt at recreating it. For starlesscities because she encouraged this nonsense. ILYGURL<3
It was Ryan’s lunch break and all he wanted was a quick bite to eat. The office had been crazy since nine, papers flying every which way, the phone was ringing off the hook and everyone was running around like chickens with their heads cut off over the Bronson case and Ryan really, really needed some peace and quiet.
So he chose Wendy’s. Nothing too crowed or loud or very expensive so Ryan had figured, why the hell not? And he pulled into the parking lot at the last minute, trotted inside and ordered a salad.
He found a clean booth at the back, wiped a few crumbs out of the seat before sitting down, and slid behind the table quietly. It was somewhat cloudy out; the sun was bright but straining to be known through the gray clouds that hung over head and it was that certain kind of muted but vibrant tone in the sky that made it almost impossible to look at the clouds rolling in without your eyes watering. It was going to rain, no doubt, but the sun was still trying to put up a fight. He brought his umbrella inside just in case.
Ryan preps his salad, seasons it with the grease-slippery salt and pepper shakers on the end of the table and adds his dressing. The first bite is delicious, even if the lettuce wasn’t as fresh and crisp as he would have liked it, but of course, fast food restaurants don’t specialize in gourmet salads - or gourmet anything for that matter - so it would have to do. When he takes a sip from his water, the bell at the entrance jingles and his Blackberry buzzes in his pocket; he pointedly ignores it.
The Bronson case was quite possibly going to drive him mad. It was obvious the guy was guilty, but it was Ryan’s job to make sure his firm defended him to the best of their ability. It was stressful, being a lawyer. There was nothing worse than dealing with secretaries bustling about shrieking about lost files and having maintenance men in and out of the office constantly, fixing paper jams or replacing ink cartridges. Not to mention the 3 AM phone calls he’s received from his clients, worrying about the looming court dates or feeding him information that they’ve only just remembered.
He hates his life sometimes.
He pokes around at his salad, decides to reserve the best looking pieces of lettuce until his last few bites and tucks them away onto the corner of his plastic container. Just as he’s taking a sip of his water, someone slips into the booth in front of him. Ryan glances up to see a kid, probably around twenty four or so, clad in a Pizza Hut uniform and thick rimmed glasses. His hair is dark and hidden behind a geeky looking Delivery hat and he’s totally and completely gawking at Ryan.
Ryan smiles politely, although a bit bothered by the delivery boy’s nerve to just stare so rudely, and goes back to his salad, head bowed. The boy in the booth blinks, jaw hanging open and continues looking at the top of Ryan’s head.
And okay, Ryan is used to people staring at him. He stands in front of a judge and jury on a regular day basis, but he’s not eating then, you know? And the entire courtroom isn’t looking at him like this kid is looking at him, all wide-eyed and blank-faced and being overwhelmingly creepy. So Ryan coughs into his napkin and hunkers down in his seat just a little bit.
The boy in the booth blinks out of his trance and licks his dry lips nervously. He starts to say something but his voice cracks and Ryan thinks it would be a bit too rude to laugh at him so he bites his tongue and prods his salad some more.
“Uh. Excuse…” his voice dies off when Ryan doesn’t allow himself to look up and he clears his throat shakily. “Excuse me?”
Ryan winces internally but glances up with curious eyes. The boy in the booth almost combusts in his seat when they make eye contact and despite the fact that he has pretty eyes, Ryan finds the kid to be an absolute loser.
“Yes?” Ryan says meekly and the boy swallows hard.
“Um, yeah. My name’s Brendon,” the boy says, practically leaning over the entire table with bursting enthusiasm. “It’s spelled with an oh, instead of an a. I know a lot of people spell it with an a, but my mother wanted me to be unique, so my name is spelled B-r-e-n-d-o-n.” Okay, seriously, Ryan thinks, this kid is ridiculously lame. “And um, I just wanted to know if uh, if you were sitting alone?”
And Ryan can’t really lie to the kid, I mean, he is sitting alone and it’s not like he can make up the excuse that he was just leaving because he’s just started eating, or explain that his friend is in the bathroom because the table is only set for one.
“Uh, yeah, I-”
Before he has a chance to finish, the boy has found a seat in Ryan’s booth, just on the other side of the table and the look in his eyes suggests that he’s just about to bubble over with excitement.
Ryan really hates his life.
“Um, hello?” Ryan says a bit taken aback. The boy just invaded his table without an invitation and he’s grinning in this really…awkwardly-attractive-creepy-stalker kind of way.
“So what’s your name?” Brendon asks, eyes still blown wide and intrigued and Ryan places his fork on the edge of his container, slightly irritated. “Is is something really common like Bill? Like Tony? Like Josh? Is it unique like my name? Like Tristain? Like Aiden?”
“It’s Ryan,” Ryan blurts out without meaning to, just anything to get Brendon to shut up.
Brendon’s face lights up brighter than what Ryan thought possible, given the way it was already practically glowing and Brendon says, “Ryan? Okay, yeah. I can see that. You look like a Ryan, now that I think about it. So hey, Ryan-” Ryan’s not sure if the boy has trained himself to breathe around his words yet, but he’s talking a mile a minute and it’s uncomfortable. “-do you have a girlfriend? A boyfriend? A significant other? Someone that you are exclusive to in return for them being exclusive to you? Are you single? Can I have your number?”
Ryan eyes him like he’s lost his mind. First of all, he hardly understood a word that just came out of Brendon’s mouth; second…what?
“What?” Ryan asks, confused.
Brendon quickly changes the subject and points to Ryan’s salad, “So you’re eating a salad? That’s cool. You’re not trying to watch your weight or anything, are you? You don’t think you’re fat, do you?”
Ryan mumbles an awkward, “No.”
“Good, cause you could eat anything you wanted, you know? You could eat pizza. Do you like pizza?” Ryan nods with a raised eyebrow. “I deliver pizza-” Brendon points to his hat proudly. “Have I delivered pizza to you before? I don’t think so because if I had, I would have asked for your number. Can I have it? Your number, that is.”
“Uh, listen, Brendon. I-”
“So what do you do since you’re all dressed up nice and whatnot? Do you do something prestigious? Are you a doctor? Do you save lives?” Brendon asks and Ryan doesn’t know if he should answer each question with an individual no, or if he should just answer them all with one big no.
“I’m a lawyer, actually,” Ryan says, looking down at his slacks and button up shirt and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Come to think of it, he’s sitting awkwardly as well because apparently, this Brendon kid just radiates awkward.
“Oh, you’re a lawyer?” Brendon says, sounding surprised and impressed. “That’s cool. So you like, put people in jail and shit? Do you make a lot of money? Are you well-known? If I happen to wreck my moped, can I call you? If so, can I have your number?”
“Um, I actually don’t deal with civil cases or anything dealing with insurance, but if you want I can give you the number of one of my colleagues,” Ryan says, leaning over onto his hip to retrieve his wallet and pull out his Blackberry.
“Okay, yeah. Thanks,” Brendon cheers and takes out his own phone. “So hey, listen. Since I’ve got my phone out and you’ve got your phone out, we might as well exchange numbers so that I can have yours. I mean, I can have it, right?”
Ryan laughs uncomfortably and says, “Look, Brendon. You’re a nice guy and all but-” Shit, now what? You can’t just blatantly make a false compliment and then deny the guy your number, Ross, he thinks. “But company policy says we aren’t allowed to give out personal numbers. Sorry.”
Brendon’s smile doesn’t falter and he says, “No, I get that. I understand. Yeah, no, it’s cool. You wanna make sure you’re protected, right? Don’t want anybody calling to harass you? Yeah, that makes sense.”
Ryan smiles gratefully as Brendon nods enthusiastically.
“So are you on your lunch break? Are you enjoying your salad?” Brendon asks.
“Well, I was,” Ryan says with a sigh, looking down at his plate. The reality of his words hits him and he stutters to amend, “I mean, I am, I just- I don’t have much time to eat, you know. And I don’t want to give you the impression that I’m ignoring you if I eat.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Brendon apologizes, face screwed up in the first sign of regret since he sat down. “I didn’t mean to keep you. You just- Go ahead and finish eating. I’ll just go back to my table.”
Ryan chuckles and picks up his fork with a small smile, thinking thank fucking god that kid is gone. Ryan goes back to focusing on his salad, the lettuce now mostly soggy and just as he’s about to take a bite, he looks up to see Brendon staring at him, not having left the table yet.
“Um…”
“I’m just going to wait,” Brendon says with a smile and Ryan’s eye maybe twitches. “You go ahead and eat though.”
Ryan drops his fork with a sigh and says, “Look, Brendon. I’m not really looking to date anyone right now.”
Brendon’s wide eyes blink and he says, “Oh, it’s okay. I get that, I do.”
“But thanks anyway,” Ryan smiles, forcing his lips to curl politely.
“You’re welcome,” Brendon says, nodding. “You’re welcome.” Ryan goes to take a drink of his water, but almost chokes when Brendon takes his hand and says, “So you like bracelets, huh?” and observes his wrist.
Ryan snatches his hand away and nods slowly, “Yeah. Brendon, you-”
“Bracelets, I like that. And it’s all beaded and natural, recycled shit, too. Yeah, yeah. You like to recycle? Are you an environmentalist? Do you have a greenhouse in your backyard? You like to go plant trees and watch them grow up to be healthy and strong just like our relationship would if you would just please give me your number?”
“Brendon, look. Please stop asking me for my number,” Ryan groans, finally starting to reach his breaking point. His salad is practically wasted, he has ten minutes to get back to work and this kid will not leave him the hell alone. “I told you, company policy says we can’t-”
“Oh, right, right. I forgot you said that, I’m sorry,” Brendon says, laughing lightly.
“I have to get back to work now,” Ryan says stacking his trash onto his uneaten salad and sliding out of the booth, only to have Brendon follow him closely.
“Here let me get that for you,” Brendon offers, snatching away Ryan’s garbage and disposing it into the nearest trashcan. “So, um. Listen. You’ve got to get back to work, right? Get back to filing papers and sending people to court, right?”
“Um, yeah,” Ryan says, scratching the back of his head and looking down at the time on his phone. Brendon eyes his phone like he’s ready to pounce on it and when Ryan clears his throat, Brendon snaps back up to Ryan’s gaze. “But, uh. Thanks for, um. Joining me. Or whatever. It’s been, uh. Interesting.”
“Say, Ryan- I can call you Ryan, right? Or do you prefer Ry? Can I call you ‘Ry’, Ryan?”
“Call me Ryan,” Ryan winces and takes his keys from his pocket before leaning over to retrieve his umbrella from inside the booth. “And it was nice meeting you, Brendon, but I better-”
Outside, the bottom drops out of the clouds and a long roll of thunder punctuates the rain that immediately starts pulverizing the pavement outside, darkening it with water and splashing off of the hood of Ryan’s black Cadillac.
“Damn!” Brendon says, staring out the window in awe. It’s the first time he’s looked away from Ryan since he came over and Ryan takes the opportunity to roll his eyes and grit his teeth. “It’s raining hard outside! You better hurry on out to your car. Which one’s yours?” Brendon asks, beckoning Ryan towards the door hurriedly. “Is it the Cadillac? I bet it is, since you’re a lawyer and whatnot, Mister Lawyer Ryan, driving a nice Cadillac? Is it yours? That black one? The black Cadillac under that tree that I bet you planted because you’re an environmentalist? Is it?”
“Yes, Jesus,” Ryan blurts, exasperated with Brendon’s incessant nagging and oh my god, if he doesn’t stop asking questions, Ryan is going to go postal. Seriously. “Yes, the black Cadillac is mine.”
“You have a nice car, Ryan. A really nice car. I bet you bought it yourself, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Ryan answers. “I did.”
“I respect that, man. I do,” Brendon says, smiling. “I bet your law firm thing could probably hook you up or something, right? But you bought it because you’re a mature, flourishing adult, right? Yeah, that’s cool…”
Ryan throws Brendon an uncomfortable side glance and fiddles his keys, “Uh, sure. I guess.”
“So yeah, um. I was wondering: Can I get your number? I mean, I know your company rules say you can’t or whatever, but I figured since you obviously like rebellion so much that you wouldn’t mind giving me your-”
“Brendon!” Ryan snaps. He seriously cannot tell if this kid is just overeager or abnormally creepy. It’s probably a mixture of both, but Ryan’s uncomfortable meter is about to break and yeah, he’s about to be late for work. He forces a chuckle and says, “I have to go, like. Now.”
“Alright, yeah. That’s fine, um. So can I walk you to your car? Maybe hold your umbrella for you so that you don’t get rain on that face of yours? You have a nice face, by the way. Do you shave everyday? Cause it looks really smooth and-” Ryan dodges Brendon’s encroaching hand and grips his umbrella tight. “Oh, I see. Okay, you want to keep your beauty secrets to yourself, alright. That’s cool. I like that though, you’re a secretive person, I admire that.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, drawing the word out before walking towards the door.
“Hold on, hold on!” Brendon urges and takes Ryan’s umbrella from him quickly. “I’m gonna walk you out,” Brendon says when Ryan gasps in shock. “You deserved to be treated with class and respect. Can I hold your umbrella? Carry it over you and make sure you don’t get wet? Lead you to your nice black Cadillac and maybe there I can get your number?”
“Sure, I gu-”
“So I can have your number?” Brendon interrupts, eyes wide with excitement.
“No, I meant you can walk me to my car,” Ryan corrects. “If you want.”
“Oh, okay, okay. Yeah, that’s fine,” Brendon grins and leads Ryan outside onto the sidewalk where he opens the umbrella. “Man, this is a big umbrella. I bet two people can fit under here, can’t they? I bet you like to help old ladies across the street with this, don’t you? You like to aid the elderly?”
“Um, no, actually I got this so that I could assist my clients into court on those days it rains, so…”
“So you’re a gentleman? That’s cute, that’s real cute. So, hey, listen-”
“Brendon, I really have to get going,” Ryan pleads, sensing another question concerning his ten digit phone number.
“Yeah, yeah. Right, I’m sorry.”
Brendon tucks Ryan into his side and walks them through the puddles in the parking lot and despite the vibes of creepy bouncing off of Ryan’s skin due to Brendon’s close proximity, Ryan does feel slightly flattered for having Brendon keep him dry.
“Here you are, Mister Lawyer Ryan,” Brendon says, extending his hand towards Ryan’s car in a gesture. “Welcome back to your nice Cadillac under your baby tree.”
Ryan resists the urge to roll his eyes and mumbles a thanks before unlocking his car and settling inside and rolling down the window to bid Brendon farewell.
“It was nice talking to you, Br-”
“So, I had a question to ask you, um-”
Ryan starts to roll up the window in annoyance but Brendon puts his hand over the retracting glass and says, “Don’t you want your umbrella back? Your big, two person, client commuting umbrella?”
Ryan thinks about it, looks through his front window at the torrential rain outside and back into his rearview mirror at the long walk back to Wendy’s and sighs. “No, it’s okay. You can keep it,” he says.
“Are you serious?” Brendon gasps, amazed. “I can have it?”
“Yeah, it’s yours,” Ryan asserts.
“Aw, Ryan, thank you, man. I appreciate you, I appreciate you. That is a very kind thing of you to do, so if you wouldn’t mind giving me your number-”
“Goodbye, Brendon,” Ryan chuckles and rolls up his window all the way, leaving Brendon standing outside in the storm.
Brendon pats the hood of Ryan’s car as he backs out and Ryan hears the muffled sounds of Brendon speaking something along the lines of “Mister Lawyer Ryan” and “nice black Cadillac” and pulls out of Wendy’s with a heavy sigh and a load off his chest. He’ll be back at work within the next five minutes, stomach still empty and nerves all shot to hell and the image of a geeky pizza delivery boy hitting on him in the most unflattering, obnoxious way imaginable.
It isn’t until Ryan parks in his designated spot in the employee parking lot of his office, windshield wipers slapping off rain harshly, that he remembers the umbrella he gave Brendon has “If Lost Or Stolen” contact information inside a plastic slip on the handle.
Ryan’s Blackberry rings and he drops his head onto his steering wheel with a groan.
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: my_obsession_xx
Rating: PG
Pairing: (one-sided) Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: CRACK Brendon really wants Ryan's number.
Disclaimer: Not true, don't own.
Author Notes: This is based on MAD TV's Can I Have Your Number? skit that makes me laugh entirely too hard. This is merely a poor attempt at recreating it. For starlesscities because she encouraged this nonsense. ILYGURL<3
It was Ryan’s lunch break and all he wanted was a quick bite to eat. The office had been crazy since nine, papers flying every which way, the phone was ringing off the hook and everyone was running around like chickens with their heads cut off over the Bronson case and Ryan really, really needed some peace and quiet.
So he chose Wendy’s. Nothing too crowed or loud or very expensive so Ryan had figured, why the hell not? And he pulled into the parking lot at the last minute, trotted inside and ordered a salad.
He found a clean booth at the back, wiped a few crumbs out of the seat before sitting down, and slid behind the table quietly. It was somewhat cloudy out; the sun was bright but straining to be known through the gray clouds that hung over head and it was that certain kind of muted but vibrant tone in the sky that made it almost impossible to look at the clouds rolling in without your eyes watering. It was going to rain, no doubt, but the sun was still trying to put up a fight. He brought his umbrella inside just in case.
Ryan preps his salad, seasons it with the grease-slippery salt and pepper shakers on the end of the table and adds his dressing. The first bite is delicious, even if the lettuce wasn’t as fresh and crisp as he would have liked it, but of course, fast food restaurants don’t specialize in gourmet salads - or gourmet anything for that matter - so it would have to do. When he takes a sip from his water, the bell at the entrance jingles and his Blackberry buzzes in his pocket; he pointedly ignores it.
The Bronson case was quite possibly going to drive him mad. It was obvious the guy was guilty, but it was Ryan’s job to make sure his firm defended him to the best of their ability. It was stressful, being a lawyer. There was nothing worse than dealing with secretaries bustling about shrieking about lost files and having maintenance men in and out of the office constantly, fixing paper jams or replacing ink cartridges. Not to mention the 3 AM phone calls he’s received from his clients, worrying about the looming court dates or feeding him information that they’ve only just remembered.
He hates his life sometimes.
He pokes around at his salad, decides to reserve the best looking pieces of lettuce until his last few bites and tucks them away onto the corner of his plastic container. Just as he’s taking a sip of his water, someone slips into the booth in front of him. Ryan glances up to see a kid, probably around twenty four or so, clad in a Pizza Hut uniform and thick rimmed glasses. His hair is dark and hidden behind a geeky looking Delivery hat and he’s totally and completely gawking at Ryan.
Ryan smiles politely, although a bit bothered by the delivery boy’s nerve to just stare so rudely, and goes back to his salad, head bowed. The boy in the booth blinks, jaw hanging open and continues looking at the top of Ryan’s head.
And okay, Ryan is used to people staring at him. He stands in front of a judge and jury on a regular day basis, but he’s not eating then, you know? And the entire courtroom isn’t looking at him like this kid is looking at him, all wide-eyed and blank-faced and being overwhelmingly creepy. So Ryan coughs into his napkin and hunkers down in his seat just a little bit.
The boy in the booth blinks out of his trance and licks his dry lips nervously. He starts to say something but his voice cracks and Ryan thinks it would be a bit too rude to laugh at him so he bites his tongue and prods his salad some more.
“Uh. Excuse…” his voice dies off when Ryan doesn’t allow himself to look up and he clears his throat shakily. “Excuse me?”
Ryan winces internally but glances up with curious eyes. The boy in the booth almost combusts in his seat when they make eye contact and despite the fact that he has pretty eyes, Ryan finds the kid to be an absolute loser.
“Yes?” Ryan says meekly and the boy swallows hard.
“Um, yeah. My name’s Brendon,” the boy says, practically leaning over the entire table with bursting enthusiasm. “It’s spelled with an oh, instead of an a. I know a lot of people spell it with an a, but my mother wanted me to be unique, so my name is spelled B-r-e-n-d-o-n.” Okay, seriously, Ryan thinks, this kid is ridiculously lame. “And um, I just wanted to know if uh, if you were sitting alone?”
And Ryan can’t really lie to the kid, I mean, he is sitting alone and it’s not like he can make up the excuse that he was just leaving because he’s just started eating, or explain that his friend is in the bathroom because the table is only set for one.
“Uh, yeah, I-”
Before he has a chance to finish, the boy has found a seat in Ryan’s booth, just on the other side of the table and the look in his eyes suggests that he’s just about to bubble over with excitement.
Ryan really hates his life.
“Um, hello?” Ryan says a bit taken aback. The boy just invaded his table without an invitation and he’s grinning in this really…awkwardly-attractive-creepy-stalker kind of way.
“So what’s your name?” Brendon asks, eyes still blown wide and intrigued and Ryan places his fork on the edge of his container, slightly irritated. “Is is something really common like Bill? Like Tony? Like Josh? Is it unique like my name? Like Tristain? Like Aiden?”
“It’s Ryan,” Ryan blurts out without meaning to, just anything to get Brendon to shut up.
Brendon’s face lights up brighter than what Ryan thought possible, given the way it was already practically glowing and Brendon says, “Ryan? Okay, yeah. I can see that. You look like a Ryan, now that I think about it. So hey, Ryan-” Ryan’s not sure if the boy has trained himself to breathe around his words yet, but he’s talking a mile a minute and it’s uncomfortable. “-do you have a girlfriend? A boyfriend? A significant other? Someone that you are exclusive to in return for them being exclusive to you? Are you single? Can I have your number?”
Ryan eyes him like he’s lost his mind. First of all, he hardly understood a word that just came out of Brendon’s mouth; second…what?
“What?” Ryan asks, confused.
Brendon quickly changes the subject and points to Ryan’s salad, “So you’re eating a salad? That’s cool. You’re not trying to watch your weight or anything, are you? You don’t think you’re fat, do you?”
Ryan mumbles an awkward, “No.”
“Good, cause you could eat anything you wanted, you know? You could eat pizza. Do you like pizza?” Ryan nods with a raised eyebrow. “I deliver pizza-” Brendon points to his hat proudly. “Have I delivered pizza to you before? I don’t think so because if I had, I would have asked for your number. Can I have it? Your number, that is.”
“Uh, listen, Brendon. I-”
“So what do you do since you’re all dressed up nice and whatnot? Do you do something prestigious? Are you a doctor? Do you save lives?” Brendon asks and Ryan doesn’t know if he should answer each question with an individual no, or if he should just answer them all with one big no.
“I’m a lawyer, actually,” Ryan says, looking down at his slacks and button up shirt and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Come to think of it, he’s sitting awkwardly as well because apparently, this Brendon kid just radiates awkward.
“Oh, you’re a lawyer?” Brendon says, sounding surprised and impressed. “That’s cool. So you like, put people in jail and shit? Do you make a lot of money? Are you well-known? If I happen to wreck my moped, can I call you? If so, can I have your number?”
“Um, I actually don’t deal with civil cases or anything dealing with insurance, but if you want I can give you the number of one of my colleagues,” Ryan says, leaning over onto his hip to retrieve his wallet and pull out his Blackberry.
“Okay, yeah. Thanks,” Brendon cheers and takes out his own phone. “So hey, listen. Since I’ve got my phone out and you’ve got your phone out, we might as well exchange numbers so that I can have yours. I mean, I can have it, right?”
Ryan laughs uncomfortably and says, “Look, Brendon. You’re a nice guy and all but-” Shit, now what? You can’t just blatantly make a false compliment and then deny the guy your number, Ross, he thinks. “But company policy says we aren’t allowed to give out personal numbers. Sorry.”
Brendon’s smile doesn’t falter and he says, “No, I get that. I understand. Yeah, no, it’s cool. You wanna make sure you’re protected, right? Don’t want anybody calling to harass you? Yeah, that makes sense.”
Ryan smiles gratefully as Brendon nods enthusiastically.
“So are you on your lunch break? Are you enjoying your salad?” Brendon asks.
“Well, I was,” Ryan says with a sigh, looking down at his plate. The reality of his words hits him and he stutters to amend, “I mean, I am, I just- I don’t have much time to eat, you know. And I don’t want to give you the impression that I’m ignoring you if I eat.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Brendon apologizes, face screwed up in the first sign of regret since he sat down. “I didn’t mean to keep you. You just- Go ahead and finish eating. I’ll just go back to my table.”
Ryan chuckles and picks up his fork with a small smile, thinking thank fucking god that kid is gone. Ryan goes back to focusing on his salad, the lettuce now mostly soggy and just as he’s about to take a bite, he looks up to see Brendon staring at him, not having left the table yet.
“Um…”
“I’m just going to wait,” Brendon says with a smile and Ryan’s eye maybe twitches. “You go ahead and eat though.”
Ryan drops his fork with a sigh and says, “Look, Brendon. I’m not really looking to date anyone right now.”
Brendon’s wide eyes blink and he says, “Oh, it’s okay. I get that, I do.”
“But thanks anyway,” Ryan smiles, forcing his lips to curl politely.
“You’re welcome,” Brendon says, nodding. “You’re welcome.” Ryan goes to take a drink of his water, but almost chokes when Brendon takes his hand and says, “So you like bracelets, huh?” and observes his wrist.
Ryan snatches his hand away and nods slowly, “Yeah. Brendon, you-”
“Bracelets, I like that. And it’s all beaded and natural, recycled shit, too. Yeah, yeah. You like to recycle? Are you an environmentalist? Do you have a greenhouse in your backyard? You like to go plant trees and watch them grow up to be healthy and strong just like our relationship would if you would just please give me your number?”
“Brendon, look. Please stop asking me for my number,” Ryan groans, finally starting to reach his breaking point. His salad is practically wasted, he has ten minutes to get back to work and this kid will not leave him the hell alone. “I told you, company policy says we can’t-”
“Oh, right, right. I forgot you said that, I’m sorry,” Brendon says, laughing lightly.
“I have to get back to work now,” Ryan says stacking his trash onto his uneaten salad and sliding out of the booth, only to have Brendon follow him closely.
“Here let me get that for you,” Brendon offers, snatching away Ryan’s garbage and disposing it into the nearest trashcan. “So, um. Listen. You’ve got to get back to work, right? Get back to filing papers and sending people to court, right?”
“Um, yeah,” Ryan says, scratching the back of his head and looking down at the time on his phone. Brendon eyes his phone like he’s ready to pounce on it and when Ryan clears his throat, Brendon snaps back up to Ryan’s gaze. “But, uh. Thanks for, um. Joining me. Or whatever. It’s been, uh. Interesting.”
“Say, Ryan- I can call you Ryan, right? Or do you prefer Ry? Can I call you ‘Ry’, Ryan?”
“Call me Ryan,” Ryan winces and takes his keys from his pocket before leaning over to retrieve his umbrella from inside the booth. “And it was nice meeting you, Brendon, but I better-”
Outside, the bottom drops out of the clouds and a long roll of thunder punctuates the rain that immediately starts pulverizing the pavement outside, darkening it with water and splashing off of the hood of Ryan’s black Cadillac.
“Damn!” Brendon says, staring out the window in awe. It’s the first time he’s looked away from Ryan since he came over and Ryan takes the opportunity to roll his eyes and grit his teeth. “It’s raining hard outside! You better hurry on out to your car. Which one’s yours?” Brendon asks, beckoning Ryan towards the door hurriedly. “Is it the Cadillac? I bet it is, since you’re a lawyer and whatnot, Mister Lawyer Ryan, driving a nice Cadillac? Is it yours? That black one? The black Cadillac under that tree that I bet you planted because you’re an environmentalist? Is it?”
“Yes, Jesus,” Ryan blurts, exasperated with Brendon’s incessant nagging and oh my god, if he doesn’t stop asking questions, Ryan is going to go postal. Seriously. “Yes, the black Cadillac is mine.”
“You have a nice car, Ryan. A really nice car. I bet you bought it yourself, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Ryan answers. “I did.”
“I respect that, man. I do,” Brendon says, smiling. “I bet your law firm thing could probably hook you up or something, right? But you bought it because you’re a mature, flourishing adult, right? Yeah, that’s cool…”
Ryan throws Brendon an uncomfortable side glance and fiddles his keys, “Uh, sure. I guess.”
“So yeah, um. I was wondering: Can I get your number? I mean, I know your company rules say you can’t or whatever, but I figured since you obviously like rebellion so much that you wouldn’t mind giving me your-”
“Brendon!” Ryan snaps. He seriously cannot tell if this kid is just overeager or abnormally creepy. It’s probably a mixture of both, but Ryan’s uncomfortable meter is about to break and yeah, he’s about to be late for work. He forces a chuckle and says, “I have to go, like. Now.”
“Alright, yeah. That’s fine, um. So can I walk you to your car? Maybe hold your umbrella for you so that you don’t get rain on that face of yours? You have a nice face, by the way. Do you shave everyday? Cause it looks really smooth and-” Ryan dodges Brendon’s encroaching hand and grips his umbrella tight. “Oh, I see. Okay, you want to keep your beauty secrets to yourself, alright. That’s cool. I like that though, you’re a secretive person, I admire that.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says, drawing the word out before walking towards the door.
“Hold on, hold on!” Brendon urges and takes Ryan’s umbrella from him quickly. “I’m gonna walk you out,” Brendon says when Ryan gasps in shock. “You deserved to be treated with class and respect. Can I hold your umbrella? Carry it over you and make sure you don’t get wet? Lead you to your nice black Cadillac and maybe there I can get your number?”
“Sure, I gu-”
“So I can have your number?” Brendon interrupts, eyes wide with excitement.
“No, I meant you can walk me to my car,” Ryan corrects. “If you want.”
“Oh, okay, okay. Yeah, that’s fine,” Brendon grins and leads Ryan outside onto the sidewalk where he opens the umbrella. “Man, this is a big umbrella. I bet two people can fit under here, can’t they? I bet you like to help old ladies across the street with this, don’t you? You like to aid the elderly?”
“Um, no, actually I got this so that I could assist my clients into court on those days it rains, so…”
“So you’re a gentleman? That’s cute, that’s real cute. So, hey, listen-”
“Brendon, I really have to get going,” Ryan pleads, sensing another question concerning his ten digit phone number.
“Yeah, yeah. Right, I’m sorry.”
Brendon tucks Ryan into his side and walks them through the puddles in the parking lot and despite the vibes of creepy bouncing off of Ryan’s skin due to Brendon’s close proximity, Ryan does feel slightly flattered for having Brendon keep him dry.
“Here you are, Mister Lawyer Ryan,” Brendon says, extending his hand towards Ryan’s car in a gesture. “Welcome back to your nice Cadillac under your baby tree.”
Ryan resists the urge to roll his eyes and mumbles a thanks before unlocking his car and settling inside and rolling down the window to bid Brendon farewell.
“It was nice talking to you, Br-”
“So, I had a question to ask you, um-”
Ryan starts to roll up the window in annoyance but Brendon puts his hand over the retracting glass and says, “Don’t you want your umbrella back? Your big, two person, client commuting umbrella?”
Ryan thinks about it, looks through his front window at the torrential rain outside and back into his rearview mirror at the long walk back to Wendy’s and sighs. “No, it’s okay. You can keep it,” he says.
“Are you serious?” Brendon gasps, amazed. “I can have it?”
“Yeah, it’s yours,” Ryan asserts.
“Aw, Ryan, thank you, man. I appreciate you, I appreciate you. That is a very kind thing of you to do, so if you wouldn’t mind giving me your number-”
“Goodbye, Brendon,” Ryan chuckles and rolls up his window all the way, leaving Brendon standing outside in the storm.
Brendon pats the hood of Ryan’s car as he backs out and Ryan hears the muffled sounds of Brendon speaking something along the lines of “Mister Lawyer Ryan” and “nice black Cadillac” and pulls out of Wendy’s with a heavy sigh and a load off his chest. He’ll be back at work within the next five minutes, stomach still empty and nerves all shot to hell and the image of a geeky pizza delivery boy hitting on him in the most unflattering, obnoxious way imaginable.
It isn’t until Ryan parks in his designated spot in the employee parking lot of his office, windshield wipers slapping off rain harshly, that he remembers the umbrella he gave Brendon has “If Lost Or Stolen” contact information inside a plastic slip on the handle.
Ryan’s Blackberry rings and he drops his head onto his steering wheel with a groan.