A/N: The reader's thoughts/texts are in italics, Tom's are

Your phone vibrated on the table in front of you, but you resisted the urge to check the notification. It was one of your pet peeves when people used their phone during meals, so as much as you wanted to—and GOD did you want to—the phone remained facedown. Normally, you were fine ignoring your phone when out with friends or family, but tonight was a challenge because your date was so fucking boring and kept going on and on about himself.

He was prattling on about some protein shake that was going to give him a six pack... Blah, blah, blah. He'd only asked you maybe three(?) questions throughout the entire dinner (and of course, he had insisted on inserting his own opinions). Basically, you were almost at the point of just bailing—there was no way you'd ever go out with him again, but you also hated ditching half-way through and being rude. Even when the rudeness was totally justifiable...hence why you left the phone facedown.

I swear, if he tries to mansplain one more time, that's it. I don't care about manners. I'm getting the fuck out of here. Your thoughts turned to how much better your night would have been if you'd just stayed home...mug of tea, pajamas, cozy blankets...ahhhh.

Your phone vibrated again, jolting you back to reality. After a second's hesitation, you picked the phone up, rudeness be damned. Before you had even entered your passcode, your date's nasally voice mentioned one of your favorite movies, catching your attention for the first time that night.

"You probably haven't seen Deadpool though. Girls aren't usually into those kinds of movies, I guess. Too gory or something."

Your tone was curt as you responded. "Uh, yeah, I did actually. I'm a big Marvel fan." You could already tell where this was headed.

"Huh, bet you only went for Ryan Reynolds cause he's hot."

You rolled your eyes harshly and took the napkin from your lap and tossed it onto the plate in front of you. Enough of this bullshit. "Ok, bud. As much as I'd love to hear more about your undoubtedly extensive knowledge of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, I'm going home before I do something I'll regret in the morning."

He held his hand up motioning for you to wait. "Hey, hey, hey. We don't have to sleep together tonight—I'm willing to wait until the second date if that's better for you."

Never underestimate the stupidity of idiots. You slowed your words down to a patronizing tempo. "Since you clearly lack the ability to identify subtle cues like tone of voice, I'm going to make it easy for you by quoting my good friend Deadpool: 'some of the best love stories start with a murder, and that's exactly what this is, a love story.' But hate to break it to ya bud: you'd be the murder victim in this story, not the one who gets laid."

His eyebrows knit together, a scowl contorting his face. "What'd you just say to me?"

Great, now he cares about what I have to say.

"I did you a favor by asking you out. Not every guy would be into you, but I don't mind big girls. And you've got the nerve to treat me like—"

Grabbing your purse and phone from the table, you got up, spun on your heels, and ran for the goddamn hills, not caring to stay for the rest of his petty, hurt white boy rant. I can't believe I wasted a perfectly good outfit on this date. Fuck him.

Outside, you hastily ordered a Lyft home, then checked the texts you'd received a few minutes ago during dinner. You swiped open the messages app and noticed it wasn't from a saved contact. Probably just a wrong number.

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.

Come on, pull it together woman. You are not crushing on this guy. You're never gonna hear from him again, and your life's too busy to waste time fantasizing about him, so just quit while you're ahead, ok? Ok. Great, I'm glad we had this talk.

*****

You were finally tucked up in bed with a mug of tea, watching the first Iron Man movie. This was what you should have been doing instead of going on that shit date. Your phone vibrated as a text notification appeared on the screen from an unknown number—it was Tom! You grabbed the phone as fast as you could, kicking your legs out in excitement.

Your thumbs hovered over the keys. Should you respond right away? That'd seem like you were a desperate bitch who was glued to her phone just waiting for someone to text her right? You locked the screen and set the phone down. You let a few seconds pass before picking it up again. No point fighting a losing battle—I am a desperate bitch. Why hide it. You quickly typed a reply.

- Sounded like you were bleeding a lot, so I'm glad you didn't bleed out. If you had died, I would've felt responsible. At least now I won't be hunted by the police for being an accomplice to murder...orange isn't really my color, so I usually try to avoid going to jail.

- Oh? What, are you going to try to impress me with how tough you are?

- no no I want to hear it now

- it's really not 😂 but I mean, how'd you break your nose? Because the story might make it a bit better?

- how do you break your nose at work??? Do you do construction or something?

Dots appeared showing he was typing his response, but then they disappeared after a second. You waited a minute, hoping he would add something more. Did he just have to go do something else, or was he really going to leave his answer there? "Not really" was such an odd reply.

- Ok.....so you're a world-champion boxer and broke it in fights?

Tom began typing back immediately. Strange.

- well you must need to practice more if you keep breaking your nose 😂

- Well, maybe *you* can't 😆

Why didn't he want to tell you what he did for a living? It was kind of weird right? Maybe he was like a stripper or something, or he did something else really embarrassing? If he wasn't going to give you any info about himself and be super vague, it wasn't even worth the energy to text him...he could be a serial killer or pedophile or something. You hadn't ruled that out yet. Maybe the whole thing was a ruse to win your confidence, get you to meet up, and then he'd murder you. You'd seen that kind of thing on the news...or maybe it was on Criminal Minds...

- how old are you? You sounded about my age on the phone, but if you're some old creep who's going to ask for nudes and then murder me...

- you've got to give me something man

😜

- idk tho you could be lying??

- Ok but that's what a liar and creep would say so

- That'd be a good place to start, yes :)

You texted for another hour or so, talking about everything and nothing. You knew his favorite movies—Primal Fear, Saving Private Ryan, My Cousin Vinny. He'd told you how ridiculously scared of spiders he was (specifically the little kind). He had confessed he used to be a dancer—did ballet and everything as a kid. And you at least knew the bare minimum of his personal info: he was around your age, originally from London, and he was currently in America for a work-related thing. What he did for work, however, was still a mystery. Not sure why it mattered that much to you, but you just had a weird feeling about it.

- Sure no worries. Sleep well!

😴

You set the phone down next to you, staring dreamily at it. How could you feel so mushy about someone you'd never met? But you did. The thought of his name sent your heart fluttering and remembering the sound of his voice gave you goosebumps. A smile was plastered on your face, and although you weren't remotely tired, you climbed out of bed to do your nighttime routine. You had to get up early, too, so hopefully you'd be able to calm down enough to fall asleep.

When you'd finished up in the bathroom, you flipped the bedroom light off and climbed back into bed. Plugging your phone in to charge, you realized Tom had texted you again.

Your heart burst, and your cheeks flushed. Could thoughts be a literal key smash? Because that's what your brain was doing. asjflasdfklsadhfkajsf

- Me too

Keeping it simple, keeping your cool. He didn't need to know how hard you were crushing...that was just your little secret.