Note: To clear a few things up, some names used for this fic are in fact borrowed from other characters played by Dylan O'Brien (and one by Max Carver). A few others are actors on Teen Wolf. This is solely because I am bad at making up names; they are not based on said people/characters- if anything, they're inspired more by the corresponding characters in What's Your Number?. So, Stuart is more of Jerry Perry than anything, although I tried to make him a little less awful.
Also if it wasn't already clear, this is a humans!au, in keeping with the movie and everything. The werewolf mention in here is just for kicks!
Lastly, I know Ally's wedding planning timeline is a little unrealistic. Let's just pretend it's a rush job, ok?
-~x~-
Lydia untwisted a final lock of hair from her curling iron, letting it bounce into place. She was wearing a striped blouse tucked into an A-line chambray skirt, accompanied by her best patent wedges. Paired with a bright red lip, she thought the whole outfit gave off a very Parisian vibe. It seemed to fit the theme of a puppet show well enough, despite puppets not being specifically French. But marionette was a French word, which she supposed was close enough in terms of outfit planning.
As she made her way out of her apartment and onto the sidewalk, Lydia reminded herself that she'd only put in this kind of effort today (even more than usual, shockingly enough) for one reason: to impress Stuart, her nerdy, puppet-wielding ex-lover. Yes, he'd been greasy and fidgety and a mistake, in more than one sense of the word. But she had every right to look nice for him if she so pleased. That was the whole point of this experiment she was running, was it not?
Moreover, and she could not emphasize this enough, her primping had nothing to do with the narcissistic lowlife of a neighbor who'd be meeting her at the show. Absolutely nothing. She repeated the words in her head like a mantra, and yet they still weren't quite convincing.
She entered Central Park on 71st, just like her aforementioned neighbor had instructed, but it still took her a few minutes to find the puppet theatre. The only tip he'd given her yesterday was that it was "near one of those big rocks," which turned out to be remarkably unhelpful (there were a lot more rocks than she'd remembered).
Lydia ended up spotting Stiles first, before the colorful façade of the theatre came into view. He waved to her from a blanket about thirty feet away.
"Who's this?" she asked as she plopped herself down beside him and small, unfamiliar child. The boy looked to be around five, and was wearing a too-large Mets cap on backwards. He shyly curled himself into Stiles's side.
"Oh, this is my buddy Derek's kid," Stiles clarified. "I thought we'd come off less creepy if we had a child with us. Say hi, Pete."
"Awooooo!" The boy cried.
Lydia looked at him questioningly, but Stiles just shrugged. "He's a werewolf today."
Not five minutes later, a bunch of confetti was tossed into the crowd to indicate the end of the show. Lydia's lateness had timed out perfectly.
Stiles nodded at her. "You're up. Take Pete with you."
Although Pete was resting cozily on Stiles's lap, he seemed happy to hop to his feet and take Lydia's hand, following her around the back of the puppet theatre.
"Did you like the show, sweetie?" Lydia asked, trying to make polite conversation. Pete just howled in response. He made his hands into claws and wiggled them at her face.
"Lydia Martin," came a scratchy voice. "Is that you?"
Stuart wasn't much taller than when she'd last seen him, though fortunately, he'd broadened out a little. He still wore thick glasses and an ill-fitting polo shirt. His khakis had grass stains on them.
Lydia refrained from cringing. She'd been generous placing him seventh on the list, recalling how nice he'd been to her- a stark contrast from the others- but a puppeteer wasn't exactly what she had in mind when she undertook this project. Let alone a puppeteer who still couldn't dress himself.
She took a deep breath, forcing a polite smile. "Stuart, hi."
He leaned in to hug her. "I can't believe this. What's it been- ten years?"
"Mm. Just about," she answered tensely.
"How's Allison?"
"Great. Engaged," she told him. Stuart's face dropped slightly as he took this in.
"Well, I'd love catch up sometime," he said, though his tone still sounded dismayed. Lydia filled with regret. She shouldn't have come today.
He reached into his pocket handed her a business card. "Available for birthday parties," it read on the back. She accepted it courteously, though she had every intention of tossing it as soon as he was out of sight.
"I'm sure I'll see you around," Lydia laughed, trying to make her response sound somewhat pleasant. "The show was wonderful. Thanks for having us, Stuart."
She threw him a saccharine sweet smile before turning to pull Pete down to the gravel path. Stiles jogged up to them moments later, looking confused.
"That was quick," he observed, taking Pete's other hand.
"Yeah, this one was sort of doomed from the beginning."
"You hardly gave the guy a chance!"
"Even if he doesn't raise my number, he's not worth it." She shook her head. "For starters, he's still practically drooling over Allison-"
"Wait, this whole thing is about your number?" Stiles slowed in his tracks. His face lit up with realization. "So that's why you haven't had sex with me."
"Only one of many, many reasons," she assured him. "I wouldn't be optimistic, if I were you."
His usually cool amber eyes flickered with something like genuine hurt, but before Lydia could even register it, he was smiling at her again.
"How'd you ever end up with that guy, anyway?" He asked. "Honestly, I don't see it."
"I'd just moved to New York," she began. "It was the beginning of ninth grade. He was head-over-heels for my friend Allison, but she was already with Scott-"
"Ninth grade. Jesus." Stiles interrupted, "I can't believe you got me beat by a year."
"Shh," she scolded. "Anyway, I was drunk at a senior's party. He was upset about Allison and I- comforted him, I guess."
Stiles laughed so hard his breath started coming in short pants. "So you lost your virginity to the puppet guy?"
"I was very, very drunk," she justified. "I'd just met Jackson, and I thought I could get it over with, you know, at least once. So I wouldn't seem totally inexperienced."
Stiles met Lydia's eye, still beside himself with laughter. Pete gripped his arm with both hands, and Stiles gave him a little swing.
"Alright, so we've still got seventeen candidates," he said, trying to regulate his breathing. "Honestly, though, I'm really not getting the preoccupation with this number. What's one more?"
"You really can't spend any time with a girl without having sleeping with her, can you?"
"Well I can, but it's not as fun." Stiles raised an eyebrow suggestively. She snorted. She hated when he did that.
"Statistically, raising my number over twenty makes me less likely to find a long-term partner," Lydia explained for what felt like the umpteenth time that week. "There's a very narrow bandwidth for what men consider to be the right amount of lovers, which frankly, I think is chauvinistic bullshit. But I'm also compelled to listen to data that's been collected over years and years of research."
"That's right, you're an engineer."
"I was a math major, undergrad."
"Damn. I wish you'd lived across the hall back when I was taking multivariable calc," he laughed.
Lydia met his eye again, a smug expression on her face. "I would've only embarrassed you," she informed him with a flip of her hair.
"Okay, I'll have you know I got an B+ in that course."
They fell into an easy silence. It was weird how often they were able to do that now.
Eventually, Lydia cleared her throat. "So what kind of law do you want to practice?"
"Uh, actually, I've always kind of wanted to be a public defender."
"Really?"
"Yeah," he smiled at her, "I guess I just really get a kick out of never being able to pay my bills on time."
They passed one of the playgrounds, and Pete began hopping from foot to foot. "Awoo!" He howled, pointing at the monkey bars.
Stiles ruffled his short, black hair. "Go ahead, buddy."
Lydia and Stiles joined a group of spectating parents at the wall. The breeze was light and the children's laughter was gentle, and for once, Lydia felt almost relaxed.
"This might actually be a great spot for his dad to come pick him up." Stiles nodded towards Pete.
"He's a sweet kid."
"Yeah. Shit, remind me to get my hat back from him."
There was another silence while Stiles took out his phone to type out a text. Once again, Lydia was the first one to break it.
"God, this was awful. I can't wait to go home and make myself a smoothie."
"Ooh," Stiles grimaced. "You can't. I sort of broke your blender yesterday. Long story."
"You what?"
"I'll make it up to you with Mexican food. And Jamba Juice."
Lydia groaned. "Fine."
"Fine?" He scoffed, "There's no smoothie you can possibly make that would rival a Jamba Juice smoothie."
"You'll be eating your words when I replace my blender, 8B."
"Yeah, there's no way in hell."
"Just order the food, will you?" She impatiently tapped a nail on his phone screen, still clutched in his hand. "I'm starving."
-~x~-
Lydia had always prided herself on throwing great parties, and Allison's bridal shower was no exception. It had a bit of a woodland creature motif, with a large floral photo backdrop and a cake topped with baby deer. Not especially Lydia's taste, but she did know Allison better than anyone.
She swirled her mimosa impatiently as she waited for the guest of honor to arrive. That was the best part of the whole thing- this baby shower was a surprise.
Kira approached her from behind, tugging the white bow on the back of Lydia's dress. "So, which of the twenty is going to be your plus-one next month?" She asked brightly. Lydia frowned.
"None of them, if things continue like they've been."
"Have you tracked down Jordan yet? I always kind of liked him."
"We got his station number," Lydia told her, "I was waiting to confirm that he's single, but since he appears to be morally opposed to social media, I might just run by there this week. Try and talk to him."
"By we, you mean that man-whore neighbor?"
"Stiles. Yes."
"He was at your apartment when I dropped off the bachelorette invites yesterday." Kira fanned herself dramatically. "I know you said he's kind of a dick, but that boy is hot, Lyd. Like, really, really-"
Lydia held out an arm to stop her. "Don't go there."
Fortunately, a chorus of party blowers cut off their conversation as Allison finally made her entrance. She shrieked in genuine shock, just as Lydia knew she would. This certainly wasn't her first time hosting a killer surprise party.
"Lydia!" she exclaimed when she ran up a few minutes later. "I can't believe you did all this."
"What's the fun of being maid of honor if you're not going to throw the world's greatest shower?" Lydia asked rhetorically.
"Come on," Allison tugged her over to the head table. "Speaking of my maid of honor, I'd like to hear how her life's been these past three weeks. I've barely seen you."
"Cause she's been on an ex-boyfriend treasure hunt with her dangerously attractive neighbor," Kira giggled.
"Honestly, Lyd, that guy seems skeevy to me. He keeps answering your phone when I call."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Okay, he's got a little issue with boundaries. But he's fine. Strictly a business partner." Her voice cracked a little when she said it, and she must have flushed pink or something, because Allison immediately narrowed her eyes.
"Oh God. You like him, don't you?"
Kira snorted. "Mark me down as not surprised."
"I do not like him." Lydia enunciated each word carefully, glaring at them both. "And even if I did, I wouldn't do anything about it. I have a number to protect, you know."
"Lyd, honestly. Scott couldn't care less what my number is, and neither could any other half-decent guy."
Lydia knew it was true, but she wouldn't budge.
"Like I said, it's worth a shot. It's like an experiment, really," she said adamantly. "It's fun."
"Chatting up your exes is fun?"
"Ally, if you'd never gone out with an ex-boyfriend, we wouldn't be here right now," she pointed out justly. Allison and Scott had been broken up for three years before they ran into each other at a high school reunion. If anyone should be feeling sympathetic to Lydia's plight, it should be her best friend.
Allison sighed in resignation. "Just let me know whether or not you decide to take one to the wedding so I can keep the caterer up to speed. As of right now, I still have you down for two."
"Deal."
-~x~-
When she got home that night, Stiles was thumbing through the folders. He'd made one folder per ex, and he put colored stickers on the front that corresponded with the strings on his board. Lydia had to give him credit for his thoroughness.
"Pizza on the counter," he shouted over his shoulder. She picked up the receipt next to box.
"Hey, your blender debt is down to thirty dollars."
"I still haven't paid that goddamn thing off? Was your blender made of solid gold?"
"You'd think so if you tried one of my smoothies."
He smiled at her. A real, genuine smile this time, like he thought she was funny. Her eyes flicked down bashfully, but when she looked up a minute later, she found that his were still locked on her.
"So," he cleared his throat, holding out a folder. "Rob's backpacking Europe."
"No planes," she reminded him, taking a bite of pizza.
"How do you feel about a train? 'Cause Thomas has some big shot job in the Pentagon."
"The Pentagon?" That sounded nice. Smart. Mature. Lydia imagined herself introducing him to her friends- 'This is Thomas, he works at the Pentagon.' She liked it.
"Yeah, probably pays better than puppet shows," Stiles sneered. "Or waiting tables at Applebee's."
The latter position was held by number 15, Eric Scavo, whom Lydia had paid a disappointing visit to last week. She'd also gone to Divorced Max's open house, only to have a tense conversation about how he didn't feel ready for another relationship yet.
In almost a month's worth of "chance" ex-boyfriend encounters, Lydia had seen every single conversation go sour. She had a pattern now. Each time, she'd arrive home bitterly disappointed, only to find Stiles sprawled out on her sofa with takeout, offering her a goofy smile and a sarcastic remark as condolence. Then they would start looking for another victim.
Thomas, though. He seemed promising. He was a brief college tryst at a sorority formal, who she had run into after her she found her actual date making out with a stranger in the pool. She remembered almost nothing of him or the night itself, but the mere fact that he'd gone to her school gave him a leg up on half of the others. Allison was right. Lydia had a history of hooking up with dimwits.
She and Stiles purchased her train ticket for Friday, immediately after work.
"You're lucky you've got your own built in house-sitter," he said, pointing two thumbs at his own chest. "Travelling must be such a breeze for you."
She crossed her arms. "As long as you water the plants on my balcony, you may spend time in here while I'm gone. But I swear to God, if you even think about bringing a date into this apartment, you'll have hell to pay, 8B."
"Mr. Stilinski is fine, actually. Or Stiles, Esquire."
"You're not a practicing lawyer, Mr. Stilinski."
Stiles closed his eyes and bit his lip. "Call me that again, 8B," he said in a low- but still mocking- voice.
Lydia threw a pillow at his face. "Grow up," she instructed. "Go get some sleep. And when you come back tomorrow, please wear a proper pair of pants."
"Hey," he objected, looking down at his gray sweats. "These are nice!"
"You look homeless."
"I will be homeless, if you keep charging me compensation for that blender."
"Goodnight, Stiles," she sang with a little wave, "Take the empty pizza box with you."
Lydia slipped into her bedroom before she could hear Stiles's own mumbled goodbye. Nor did she see him linger in her foyer, inventorying the pictures Lydia had hung there. There were a few with Allison and Kira, one with her parents on vacation in St. Bart's. A snapshot of her and Danny cut out of their high school yearbook. A group photo from her old boss's retirement party.
She was already in the bathroom, running her toothbrush under the faucet, when she heard her front door click shut.
