Get me Out of My Mind (Brendon Urie)

8. Things are shaping up to be Pretty Odd

Repeat after me: I, Erin Roberts, am an idiot.

This has put me in quite the pickle here. It seems that not only have I gone back on my vow never to go on dates with someone more than once, but I have also... no, I can't. It is far too shameful; I can't bear to think of it. I need to run away and hide my face under a brown paper bag, I am that humiliated.

I have... maybe possibly slightly potentially given my phone number to Brendon.

I want to act like a child here and say it wasn't my fault, he made me! But to be fair... he didn't force me. He asked me. Yes, he genuinely asked me what my number is. With the implication that he actually wanted to phone me.

And the worst thing is, it's only fifteen minutes into our second "date".

Okay. Lemme rewind back those fifteen minutes so that I can show you just how the hell things managed to turn out this way, 'kay?

Rewind, rewind, blah blah blah...

Fifteen minutes ago:

Brendon Urie had just ambushed me at the place where I work and asked me, for some weird reason, to go in a second date with him. And I, because apparently I have lost all scrap of my strong will thanks to Grandmaster Urie, had accepted. He was currently wearing a shit...ake-mushroom eating grin because I just accepted, and I had no idea why he looked so happy.

"Seriously?" He grined, raising an eyebrow. "Well, then, let's go get tickets, yeah?"

I realised that this was actually, y'know, happening. I realised that I wasn't as pissed off about it as I probably should have been. I also realised that Pete and Patrick were still working at the ticket booth so... hmm, well, crap. When they emerged back from their Pea pod, it meant that they wiould sell Brendon the tickets. Which meant that Pete would take it as his personal mission to tease the crap out of me even further about my new "boyfriend". Oh, joy.

Brendon leaned casually against the counter and waited for them to emerge.

"Maybe we should go to a different movie theatre," I suggested, and he turned to me, raising an eyebrow.

"Why? We're here now, aren't we?" he cocked his head, and gave me an equally cocky grin. "What, are you ashamed to introduce me to your friends back there?"

"I hate you and this date is over." I blurted out, trying to cover the blotchiness spreading across my face with my hands. And failing.

Ten minutes ago:

Pete emerged with his pink hair sticking all over the place, reminiscent of Lisa Simpson. It was all too obvious that it was the work of one classy stylist Patrick Stump's Hands. He grinned like Christmas had come early and gave a loud, fake gasp when he saw Brendon and I standing together.

"Oh, Erin- thought you said he wasn't your boyfriend?" he smiled smugly as he approached us from the other side of the counter. The blotchiness on my face grew about 300% worse. Brendon chuckled beside me at my reaction, apparently not as oblivious to the sort-of-blush thing covering my skin as I would have liked him to be.

"I... he's not..." I mumbled into my hands. Pete was not having any of that nonsense, propping himself on the counter with his elbows to lean across and stage-whisper in my ears.

"I know they usually say don't have sex until the second date, but he's totally hot, so disregard that rule. You go for it..."

Brendon snorted with laughter beside me, and I smacked Pete's arm. Apparently the Universe hated me even more than I thought.