Ryden Oneshots

Paper Jam

I scoff. “Excuse me?”

He bites his lip, still smiling. “You heard me.”

“I am not uptight. I’ve just got a boss who’s riding my ass.”

He lets out a laugh and wiggles his eyebrows. “Really?”

My eyebrows dip down as a frown sets in, and I can feel heat rise to my cheeks. “That’s not what I meant.”

He laughs again. “You shouldn’t frown like that. You’ll get worry lines, and it’d be a shame to have those marring such a cute little face as yours.”

I gape at him because did he just hit on me? To increase my uneasiness, he moves away from the copier and walks right up to me, placing a hand next to me on the wall as he leans in. “You’re kind of hot, even though you’re a bit of a dick. But that’s okay, I like that.” His face is mere inches away from mine, his voice low and husky. I stare down into his eyes for a few seconds, and then my brain starts functioning again.

I back out away from him. “Oh please,” I say in a disinterested tone. “Can I just get my papers?”

He moves from the wall, still smirking at me despite the rejection. “Only if you tell me your name. I’m Brendon, by the way.”

I walk over to the copy machine and take the papers from the tray before he can get in the way. “Bye, Brendon,” I say, giving him a triumphant smile as I head out the door.

It is only when the elevator doors close that I allow myself to let out a relieved sigh.

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“Jeez, Ryan. What’s wrong with you?” Jon says as I collapse on the couch next to him and give a frustrated groan. At least it’s Friday.

I mumble into a couch cushion, trying to rub the day I had out of my head. Jon laughs. “Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

I sit up and remove the jacket of my suit and toss it on the arm of the couch. “I said, ‘Work’s getting to me.’”

“Aw, what’s up?” Jon asks, concerned. “Is Wentz hassling you? Or did that copy boy hit on you again?”

I sigh, remembering how much Jon laughed when I told him about the incident last week. “No, I haven’t seen him again, thank God. It’s just a general frustration with work. I mean, all these deadlines, and Patrick hinted about something going on with the investors. I’m just really stressed out.”

Jon hits me playfully on the back. “Well, let’s get you un-stressed out.”

“What?” I ask, suspicious of his words. “Jon, whatever you’re thinking, don’t think it. I just want to stay home, watch some TV, and veg out on the couch.”

“No,” Jon says, and there’s the gleam in his eye that I was afraid of. “We’re going out. I’m taking you to a club.”

“A club?” I groan into the cushion. “Jon, I don’t really want to sit around and watch you pick up girls.”

He shakes his head, laughing. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

It takes Jon twenty more minutes to get me off the couch, thirty minutes to get me dressed and ready, and ten more to get us out the door.

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The music is too loud for my taste, the bass of the techno beat heavy against my heart. Jon leads me towards the bar, and we get up against the counter and wait for the bartender to come by us.

“Two beers,” Jon says to him. I take mine and turn around, surveying the dance floor. Most of the girls are almost too slutty, and the guys dance behind them, desperate to get laid tonight.