I Fell In Love With A Stranger (Dylan O'Brien LS)

Chapter 4

-Dylan POV-

*Next Day*

Wednesday couldn't have shown up fast enough.

The sun was out, the sky was clear, and for once my nerves felt more exciting than stressful. I checked the time again, then grabbed my phone and called Jessica.

She answered on the third ring.

"Hello."

"Hey, Jessica. It's me."

She laughed softly. "Yeah, Dylan, I know. Your number is saved."

I chuckled. "Right. I'm heading out now."

"Okay. Call me when you're downstairs."

"Will do. Bye."

"Bye."

I locked my phone and slipped it into my pocket, grabbed my keys, and headed out. Twenty minutes later, I pulled up in front of her building and checked the time—10:00 a.m. sharp.

Right on time.

I called her again, then leaned back in my seat, waiting.

Jessica

As soon as the elevator doors opened, I headed outside, the warm air brushing against my skin. I spotted Dylan's car immediately.

I tapped on his window.

He jumped, eyes wide, and I burst out laughing as I walked around to the passenger side.

"Sorry for scaring you," I said, climbing in.

"I'll forgive you," he said, opening his arms, "if you give me a hug."

I leaned over without hesitation. He smelled amazing—clean, warm, familiar already. When we pulled back, our faces lingered close for a second longer than necessary.

Almost.

"So," I said, fastening my seatbelt, "you ready?"

"Yeah."

As we pulled off, I stared out the window, smiling to myself.

"You look nice without makeup," he said.

"I'm wearing lipstick," I replied, amused. "But thank you."

"Want the radio on?" he asked.

"Only if I get to control it."

He smirked. "Deal."

I turned the dial until Body Party came on.

"Oh girl, this my song," he said dramatically, swaying in his seat.

I laughed, shaking my head.

When he started singing—fully committed—I groaned.

"You are ridiculous."

He just grinned.

IHOP came into view, and as he parked, I noticed a couple making out in the back seat of a nearby car.

He laughed. "They're just in love."

"Perhaps." I simply say.

He reached for my hand, fingers threading through mine effortlessly.

"Come on."

Inside, the warmth of the restaurant wrapped around us. A waitress led us to a booth, and we slid in across from each other.

"Menus," she said cheerfully.

"Thanks," we replied in unison.

When she walked away, Dylan smiled at me.

"So," he said, leaning back slightly, "breakfast with you might be my new favorite thing."

I smiled, feeling that familiar flutter in my chest.

"Good," I said. "Because I'm really hungry."

And just like that, the date felt less like something planned—and more like something that was becoming routine in the best way possible.

I opened the menu, even though I already knew exactly what I wanted.

"So," Dylan said, resting his forearms on the table, "what's your go-to IHOP order?"

I glanced up at him. "Buttermilk pancakes. Scrambled eggs with cheese. Bacon. Hash browns. Orange juice."

He blinked. "That's... very specific."

"I don't play when it comes to breakfast," I said seriously.

He laughed. "Respect. I'm more of a waffles-and-eggs guy."

"Basic," I teased.

"Hey," he said, placing a hand over his chest, "that hurts."

The waitress came back, took our orders, and left us alone again. The booth felt cozy—too cozy—with just the two of us leaning in, elbows almost touching.

"So," he said, lowering his voice a little, "what made you agree to breakfast with me?"

I shrugged, pretending it was an easy answer. "I had fun with you."

"That's it?"

"That's enough," I said simply.

He smiled at that. A real one. The kind that reached his eyes.

"And you?" I asked. "Why breakfast?"

"Because dinner feels like pressure," he said honestly. "Breakfast feels... real."

Something about that made my chest tighten.

The food arrived, and for a few minutes, we just ate—stealing glances, smiling for no reason, laughing softly when our hands brushed reaching for syrup.

"This is really good," I said.

"Everything tastes better when you're not nervous," he replied.

I looked at him. "You were nervous?"

"A little," he admitted. "Still am."

That surprised me. "Why?"

"Because I actually care."

Dylan

I watched her while she ate, the way she smiled when she liked something, the way she pushed her hair back without thinking. She felt... comfortable. Familiar.

Dangerously so.

When we finished eating, we lingered—neither of us in a hurry to leave.

"You got something right here," I said, leaning forward and lightly brushing my thumb near the corner of her mouth.

Her breath hitched.

"Thanks," she whispered.

Neither of us moved.

The noise of the restaurant faded, and suddenly it was just us—her eyes flicking down to my lips, mine doing the same. I leaned in slowly, giving her time to pull away.

She didn't.

Our faces were inches apart. I could feel her breath, smell her perfume, sense the hesitation mixed with want.

My hand rested lightly on the booth beside her hip.

"Dylan..." she murmured.

I stopped.

"Yeah?"

She smiled softly. "Not yet."

I smiled back, even though every instinct in me wanted to close the distance. "Okay."

We pulled back, laughing quietly—relieved, flustered, smiling like idiots.

"That was close," I said.

"Very," she agreed.

And somehow, the waiting made it even better.