Then Came You { a pedro pascal fanfiction }

Chapter Thirteen

I ruffled my hair in the mirror, trying to get it to stay parted in the middle after parting it to the side my entire adolescence proved difficult most days. I usually ended up abandoning the entire operation and letting it fall slightly to the right as it did naturally. I struggled with it a bit more, then glanced at the clock, realizing at that moment that I didn't have any more time.

I huffed, grabbing my phone and keys, and dashing out of the apartment, locking the door behind me.

I was halfway down the hall when Pedro's door opened, sometimes I thought that he waited to leave until he heard me do so.

"Hey." He beamed, his eyes flickering down my body and back up. I hated that my innate reaction to him checking me out was still stomach acrobatics and weak knees. "Date?" He asked, trying so hard to sound nonchalant, but his tense jaw and watchful eyes betrayed him.

I nodded, "I'm about to be late, so I've got to go." I scampered past him and began down the stairs, "I'll text you when I'm home." I called out before he could ask.

I fanned myself with my hand as I walked the five blocks separating our building from the restaurant. It was roasting outside, uncharacteristically warm even for New York during the summer. I was wearing a dress, which was a relatively new purchase, I never wore dresses back in San Francisco, the wind and the fog never permitted it.

I could feel Pedro's presence tugging at me from down the block and I groaned, picking up my pace. I would go on a thousand mediocre dates if it aided me in forgetting about that fucking kiss, but so far, I hadn't had any luck.

I wanted to believe that if I found myself a boyfriend, everything would fall into place. Things with Pedro would be easier, living in New York would be easier, and even my writing would be easier. But the more-- mediocre-- dates I went on, the less I believed that notion to be true, either way, it worked as a decent distraction, a way to spend my evenings that wasn't sitting next to Pedro, wishing I was sitting on him.

I reached the restaurant, awkwardly scanning the tables outside for my date. A 36-year-old journalist named Cameron, who seemed likable enough over text, but I wasn't getting my hopes up anymore. I spotted him sitting at the furthest table from the door, scrolling absently on his phone.

I approached, waiting for him to glance up and notice me, but he never did. Whatever he was looking at on his screen must have been engrossing as hell.

"Hey." I said, watching him continue to slowly scroll. "Hey." I said again, a bit louder.

"Oh." He glanced up at me, his dark eyes flickering across my face, then down to my tits, then down to my legs, then back up. "Hey." He grinned, "Lucy, right?"

"Yeah." I sat down across from him before he could stand up and pull me into an awkward hug. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

He shook his head, "Just been here a few minutes. You look hot, by the way."

I tried to stifle the grimace that rumbled through my body at the word hot. I didn't like that word, it felt immature and crude when men uttered it.

"Thanks." I smiled weakly, glancing down at the menu in front of me. "Did you get a chance to look at this yet?" I asked, holding it up.

"Nah." His fingers ran up through the back of his tight curls and scratched his head, "But I've been here before, their steak is fire."

"I'll keep that in mind." I said, scanning the menu absently. Eating in front of a first date was weird, but he had shot down the idea of just getting drinks, so I was forced to pick something out regardless, and if he said the steak was fire, why not try it? Especially if he was paying for it.