Idk where you want requests... Sorry, here goes: I thought you were my best friend so I jumped on you, but it turns out your just a really famous singer trying to get some shopping done without being noticed. Sorry? Or I'm a cop and you hate it, cause you're always worrying about me, but I love that I get to help people, and we try to work it out. Fluffy and worrying. Idk, those were bad, I'm sorry! But love your writing!!! And thank you, sorry if this is the wrong place.
A/N Thank you so much for your requests!! They are both awesome! This is exactly where they should be sent. I decided to go with the first one but may revisit the other at a later date because it seems pretty cool. Thank you for reading my stuff, I hope you enjoy this!
Thirty minutes late. I sighed, pulling out my phone and verifying the time. I should be used to this by now but it was still frustrating. It sucked to be always on time, to stress about punctuality, and then get rewarded for my promptness by waiting for everyone else to arrive. My best friend, Oliver, was the worst offender. Knowing him he’d found some hot guy on his way into the store and was currently chatting up his latest conquest, oblivious to the fact that I was haunting the home goods store, circling the aisles in a random pattern and avoiding the workers.
“Where are you?” I texted him, considering 30 minutes enough time waiting to not be considered a nag. And really, to be fair (to me), it was 45 minutes. Like the neurotic freak I am, I had arrived 15 minutes early. The sales people in the store probably thought I was nuts.
I did another circle of the lighting department, staring at the ornate lamps on display and fingering the delicate tassels on the shades. There was a blue Victorian inspired one I was especially fond of. I was ogling the intricate embroidery on it when I finally spotted him. His back was to me but I recognized his slim build with surprisingly broad shoulders. His dark hair was covered by a baseball cap.
Sneaking up behind him, I put my hands on his shoulders and jumped on his back. “Finally!” I said, “I’ve been waiting for you for ages.”
“What the fuck?” I instantly went stiff, sliding down his back and stepping away, my eyes growing wide. Fuck! Oliver didn’t have an Irish accent.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorr…” I started to apologize, absolutely mortified. The words died on my lips as my poor accosted stranger turned and I was confronted by the bluest eyes I have ever seen. His forehead was creased as he looked at me, obviously annoyed by my assault. He was fidgeting irritably with a phone and water bottle in his hands, shifting them from one to the other as he took a deep breath.
“Look, I woulda taken a picture with ya. You didn’t need to jump on me.”
“I’m sorry?” I asked, confused. A picture?