Lucky Number

1

Yep, just a wrong number. You debated whether or not to respond, but finally settled on letting this Tom guy know he had the wrong person (since it was apparently "urgent"). Just as you started typing your response, the phone began vibrating in your hands, flashing the same unknown number on the screen. Your thumb hesitated over the decline button, but what the hell—you pressed accept.

"Matt? Did you get my texts? It's just that I really need those bandages now, see I'm kind of bleeding all over the hotel towels, and, so yeah, can you maybe hurry back?" The man's voice, although rather anxious, was incredible. Not deep, yet not high pitched either, and wonderfully smooth. But then again, you'd always been a sucker for an accent, especially British. There was something familiar about it that nagged at the back of your mind, but some people just have that kind of voice.

You usually weren't timid, but something about this man made your stomach flutter and your brain go blank. "Uh, hello—"

Tom made a strange strangled noise. "Oh shit, I am so sorry I must have dialed the wrong number by mistake—sorry about that!"

And the call ended abruptly. Not a second later, and your phone began vibrating again. You swiped to accept the call and laughed into the phone. "It's still me."

Tom cursed on the other end of the line, followed by a slew of apologies. How very British of him.

"Ufgh, I must have typed Matt's number in wrong." He sighed loudly. "Sorry to be bothering you with all of this...Hey!—you don't happen to have a bandage, do you?" His voice sounded hopeful.

This guy's kind of an idiot? "Um, I mean, yeah I do...but this is a phone call?" You gently reminded him, trying to hold back a fit of giggles "You could be half-way across the country for all I know. And it kind of sounds like you need a band-aid pretty immediately, so I doubt I'd have time to catch a flight to wherever you are."

Tom half groaned, half laughed. "Fuck, you're right. Guess I'll try to figure out Matt's actual number...I probably only got it a number off anyways..."

"You know, you could always try the front desk. You're at a hotel, right? They usually have first aid stuff like that."

"Brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?" His voice became muffled. "Mate!—Ring reception and ask for one!" Tom's voice regained clarity. "I shoulda thought of that—I'm such a div, but you're a life-saver, err..."

A blush crept up your cheeks. "Y/N, my name's Y/N."

"Pretty..." The line was silent for a second. "Well, you've been a big help, Y/N. I guess I'll let you get on with your evening then. I'm really sorry I bothered you."

"Yeah sure, no problem. Hope you stop bleeding soon." Your heart raced, and you knew your time with the mysterious Brit was coming to an end.

"Me too. Sorry for bothering you—fuck I already said that. Sorry."

You couldn't help laughing at with him. He may be a bit of a moron—you didn't know much about this guy, but you were certain of that much—but damn, he's an adorable one.

"Anyways thanks again for your help...bye."

"Goodbye, Tom." The line went silent as the call ended.

How had the best part of your date ended up being a completely weird conversation with a strange British guy? Not how you'd expected the date to end, but to be honest, it was a pretty good end to a very bad date. If only Tom had been your date instead of the girls-only-like-Marvel-for-hot-guys idiot feature. You had no clue what Tom looked like, but he'd been charming in a bizarre way, and the minute-long conversation had been light-years better than the hour and a half spent with your real date.