Things We Never Saw Coming

Liar Liar

Saturday, 6pm

Stiles got to work early the next day for a couple of reasons. The first was that he’d blackmailed his best friend/roommate Scott into driving him, and super secret date night with Allison started promptly at 6:30pm. The second was that he wanted to make sure everything was ready for opening time. It wasn’t his job to set up the club—taking the chairs off the tables, wiping down the bar, unloading the dishwasher, etc.—but he didn’t mind. He found it rather soothing to be in the club by himself.

He slipped in through the back door, using the key he’d gotten when the manager—Mr. Finstock, or “Coach Finstock” as he’d been known to Stiles when he’d still been in high school—had decided he was trustworthy enough to have a “key to the booze kingdom.” Stiles thought it was weird and more than slightly creepy that his lacrosse coach ran a nightclub, but he’d experienced weirder things in his life. Mainly his best friend turning into a werewolf, but there’d been some other curveballs thrown in there.

Stiles turned on the TV while he worked, half listening to the news while he took the chairs off the tables and placed them on the floor. There was nothing exciting—the price of gas had gone up, funding cuts to education, Paris Hilton said something else that was racist again, and so on. Stiles was just about to change the channel to ESPN when the “BREAKING NEWS” banner flashed across the screen. Stiles perked up at once. In Beacon Hills, breaking news had a 25% of actually being something of interest. Stiles parked himself at one of the bar stools so he could watch the TV.

“The Beacon Hills Murderer has struck again,” the woman on the TV said, her plastic face contorted in something like a frown. “Police have yet to release a name, but we do know that the latest victim is a female. Her body was found by the docks just moments ago. More details after the break.”

Someone knocked on the door to the club loudly, and Stiles flipped the TV off. He trotted over to the door, his mind whirring with the news of the killing. The person knocked again, and Stiles quickened his pace. He opened the door, about to say (a little rudely) that the club wouldn’t be open for half an hour. But it wasn’t an already slightly buzzed college kid he found waiting at the door. Derek looked up from his shoes, and Stiles was fairly certain that he muttered a swear under his breath when their eyes locked. “Hi,” Stiles said, moving aside so Derek could come in. “You know you’re early, right?”

“I always get here early,” Derek growled, jamming his hands in his pockets and stalking past Stiles.

Stiles was a little taken aback by this new Derek. This must be what Lydia had been talking about when she said Derek didn’t play well with others. But Stiles still had a few tricks up his sleeves. He followed Derek, earning an irritated glare. Stiles smirked—did Derek really think that a scowl would stop him? Oh, he was so wrong. “Did you hear about the murder? The Beacon Hills Murderer got another one. A woman this time.”

Derek stiffened a little. “Yeah, I heard about it,” he grunted, and refused to speak again. Stiles continued to follow him around as he put his bag in the back and made sure everything was in place for opening time. He was forced to abandon his grouchy companion when Isaac and Erica arrived. The two grinned wolfishly at him as they entered, and Stiles grinned back.

Erica slid past Stiles, making sure to brush herself up against him. “Hi, Stiles,” she purred, batting her heavily mascara’d eyelashes at him. “How was your week?”

“I’m not letting you copy my sociology homework,” Stiles replied curtly. He heard a snort from behind him and looked to see Derek watching Erica with amusement.

Erica stuck her lower lip out in a childish pout. “Please?”

“No,” Stiles reiterated, hoping to hide behind the bar until Boyd—the other bouncer and Erica’s… boyfriend? It was hard to tell with her —showed up. Erica followed him, her hips swaying with a feline smoothness. “Why can’t you just do your own homework?”

Erica laughed like a siren, rolling her eyes at him. “I’ve got better things to do,” she told him, leaning against the counter. “Or rather, I’ve got better people to do. When was the last time you got laid?”

Stiles nodded towards Derek. “Last night.”

The reaction was better than he could have ever imagined. Erica whipped her head to stare at Derek, who was staring at Stiles with his mouth hanging open to reveal his overbite. But what happened after the initial shock was possibly the best reaction Stiles had ever gotten to one of his jokes. Derek closed his mouth and looked over at Erica, who was still staring at him. He shrugged. “I told you that you weren’t my type,” he said, and walked without another word to the door.