Stiles is a little tipsy. Not whoo-hoo tipsy but definitely almost at the stage where he starts thinking he could pull off some close quarter magic. Sadly, Lydia knows how to stop this.
“Now let’s play my favourite game,” says Lydia, grabbing Stiles’ tie and dragging him across the bar. She walks up behind a tall guy wearing a leather jacket. “Hey, have you met, Stiles?”
The guy turns around and Stiles is a little self-conscious, it’s a good thing he suited up. The guy raises an eyebrow before wrapping his lips around a bottle of beer. Stiles holds back a whimper.
“No, I haven’t,” cuts in a blonde bombshell, standing next to him. “I’m Erica.”
Stiles can’t tear his eyes away from the unshaven mess of a man. Lydia elbows him in the stomach.
“Urgh, hi,” he says, half-hardheartedly to Erica.
“You’ll have to forgive Stiles, he has a short attention span,” smirks Lydia.
“Hey,” Stiles says, snapping out of his hot guy induced trance. “I can be very focused.”
Lydia merely raises her eyebrows. “Oh look, Jackson brought Danny. I need to get to them before Allison reels them into her wedding plans.”
And she leaves him in the lurch with Erica and the broody mystery guy.
“I better go,” says Stiles. He’ll take Scott and Allison’s post-engagement bliss over standing next to ridiculously attractive men. Scott has an uneven jawline, it helps level the playing field.
“Nonsense,” says Erica. “Come join us. Derek, show Stiles to our booth. I think I see Isaac. I’ll get a pitcher.”
She leaves Stiles alone with Derek.
“And that’s how I met your father,” says Stiles, sagely.
“Are you done?” his son asks.
“Not even close.”
“Are we being punished?” asks his daughter. “Because Father said he forgave us for breaking that window with the lacrosse ball.”
Stiles just steeples his fingers with unholy glee.
"I knew we should have run when we had the chance," his son mutters.