We Found Love in a Halloween Rave (The Team Jacob Chronicles)

Sir, This is a Denny's

All Stiles had wanted were some 3 am pancakes (the best kind, in his opinion).

Three hours after he'd practically floated home on a heart-shaped cloud, Scott had called him up and demanded that Stiles come and drive him and Allison to Denny's for a drunken feast.

And Stiles, his buzz long faded, had grudgingly agreed. His stomach convinced him to say yes, the thing practically snarling at him for some blueberry pancakes and bacon.

So Stiles picked up the tipsy twosome and they all headed to the diner. They ordered and they laughed, giggling amongst themselves about anything and everything—but especially about Denise Morganblatt's costume—like, c'mon, a sexy Minion???

Seriously, some things just can't be unseen. And when Stiles says as much, Scott chokes on his orange juice and Allison laughs so hard she starts to cry.

Stiles was halfway through with his pancakes when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. He shivered, and slowly turned his head to look.

There in the doorway of this nearly-empty Denny's stood Derek fucking Hale, waiting for a table with three other leather-jacket-wearing model types.

Stiles decided there and then that he was glad Derek was wearing that mask when they hooked up—the sheer perfection of his face would've psyched Stiles out and he would've never gotten his mouth on the man's wonderful cock.

And to make matters worse than Derek's sexy face and sculpted body and his stupidly large penis, was the fact that Stiles was now hard as a rock at 3 am in a Denny's.

A Denny's.

And it didn't help the situation that Derek was staring right at him—the beautiful, beautiful creeper.

Stiles had gulped down his bite of blueberry-y goodness and nodded at Derek. Derek, the bastard, had smiled wide, curling in his bottom lip and biting down on it slowly.

Stiles whimpered, unable to look away. He watched as Derek's group—seriously not one ugly person amongst them, what are the odds??—followed after the hostess.

But Derek hung back.

He walked casually up Stiles' row, forcing Stiles to turn his head back around and act like nothing was going on.

Allison and Scott were taking turns feeding each other bites of eggs—which, in Stiles' opinion, is actually quite disgusting—and didn't seem to notice the frantic vibes emanating from Stiles' side of the booth.

His shoulders tensed as Derek passed by, and he couldn't help checking out the man's fine, fine ass.

He really can't stress that ass's fineness enough, goddamn.

When he raised his gaze, he found Derek turned toward him, walking backward and nodding towards the restroom with a quick jerk of his chin.

Stiles had blinked dumbly and nodded, causing Derek's grin to turn practically feral before he disappeared into the restroom alcove.

Stiles had spluttered out a hasty excuse about "explosive happenings" in his stomach and told his besties that he'd be a while, never looking back as he made his way after Derek. They say you gotta keep your eyes on the prize, after all—visualize what you want in order to will it into existence.

And when he locked the bathroom door and whipped around to find the visual of Derek Hale leaning back sexily against the sinks, well, Stiles became a fucking believer.

After all, all he had wanted were some pancakes.

What he got was so much better.

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