Pete isn't a dick, he's really not. But when his friend puts him up to some childish shit in the middle of the supermarket, then, of course, he has to do it and make himself look like one anyway. It is a dare after all and Pete's not a pussy either.
"All you gotta do is take an item from a persons' cart without getting caught, Pete. It's really not that hard," Brendon says, grabbing a jar of Cheese Whiz off the shelf and placing it in the cart.
Pete sighs, "Can I choose whoever I want to?" Brendon's thinks, putting one hand on the cart full of junk foods.
Pete pushes the cart towards the tortilla chips causing the leaning Brendon to fall on his ass. Pete nearly falls himself just from laughing. "Dude- oh my god, is your ass okay?" Pete says with no actual concern at all for Brendon's butt.
Brendon frowns and his cheeks turn red, "I was gonna let you pick, but now it has to be the next person you see." Pete extends a hand and Brendon reluctantly takes it.
"And yeah my ass is fine, it's nothing compared to what dallon did to it last night." Pete raises his brow and Brendon winks. He didn't need to know that.
"Hey, there's your guy!" Brendon points not so inconspicuously to the short dude at the end of the same aisle they were in.
"Brendo-" Pete turns to reason with his friend but he's vanished. Pete knows he's probably watching from behind several boxes of cereal or something, that bastard.
Pete pretends to scan through the various brands of tortilla chips in front of him while simultaneously stalking his 'victim' out of the corner his eye. Pete watches as he leaves his cart unattended to grab something from another aisle. Perfect.
Pete feels like a criminal, and that probably says something about his rebellious side- or rather, lack-there-of. He strolls over in a casual manner, when he reaches the cart he sticks his hand in, grabbing for anything. He picks a bag of bread because it was within his reach.
Stolen bread in-hand, he starts to make his way back to find his douche of a friend, but he's met with a pair of green-blue eyes looking at him like he's insane. Admittedly, he probably is but that's beside the point because this boy is hot. Red flannel button-up and skinny jeans, accompanied by a black fedora that leaves just enough of his strawberry-brown hair poking out from the front.
Great, he's staring. "Uh-" Pete tries to say something but hot-guy hastily takes the bread from Pete's hand and drops it back into his cart. Keyword: his.
"Look, I don't care what you steal, just don't take it from my cart," He rolls his eyes.
Pete mentally curses. This can't be his last impression of Pete, he has to apologize. "I'm sorry, I swear I'm not a thief,"
Pete frowns and hot-guy looks at him expressionlessly, "So you're an asshole?" Ouch.
Pete looks over his shoulder and spots Brendon. "Look! See that guy?" Pete whisper-yells and points to Brendon -he was just as Pete suspected: behind several boxes of cereal. "That's my asshole friend that dared me to do it," The man's facial expression softens and he lets out the cutest chuckle that Pete has ever heard.
"Why didn't you just say so?" Hot-guy asks. Wow, Pete really has to get his name instead of calling him hot-guy all the time.
"I was gonna- but your hotness kinda caught me off guard, I guess," Pete picks at the fraying thread of his jeans. The man looks down to hide his pink-tinted cheeks. "I'm Pete," He offers a hand. He accepts and shakes Pete's hand slowly.
"Patrick." He smiles, shyly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Pete was about to make small talk, but is interrupted when Brendon peaks out from behind a box of Lucky Charms and yells, "DID YOU GET HIS NUMBER!?" Pete's face is probably the color of an extra ripe tomato right now.
Patrick raises his brow. "Was this all just a ruse to get my number?" Pete expected him to get mad, but he's still smiling softly.
"No, actually it really wasn't— but if you do want to, you know, give me your number, that's cool," Pete stumbles over his words and shoves his hands in his pockets. He's preparing himself for rejection.
Patrick grins and pulls a conveniently placed pen out of his shirt pocket. "May I?" He politely asks, reaching out to gently take Pete's arm. Pete nods and Patrick proceeds to write seven digits in black ink on Pete's forearm. "Call me," He says just above a whisper before making his way to the next aisle, leaving Pete staring at the numbers on his arm with a huge smile.
Pete turns to face Brendon, lifting his arm up to show him that he did, in fact, get his number.