Delayed | b.w.s

2

13:58

Without a second thought, he grabs the back of a nearby chair and puts it in place opposite me before going over to the table he was previously sat at and retrieving his belongings, including what looks like a guitar in a case. As he sits opposite me, my eyes drift over to the tables around me and where he got the spare chair from. There are at least four empty chairs surrounding me, causing a frown to take its place on my face.

"Did those empty chairs not seem appealing to you earlier?" I ask him with a raised eyebrow as I take a sip from my hot drink, a faded red ring staining the cup.

"Oh...yeah that was just a lame attempt to talk to you, which clearly did not work." He confidently admits the otherwise awkward confession.

"Oh really?" I raise my eyebrow at him and lean back in my chair as I watch him carefully. "So you resorted to crashing into me and forcing me to talk to you instead?" I ask him playfully, not quite flirting but enough to not sound rude.

"Now that actually was an accident." He says whilst drinking from his clear cup with his name scrawled messily on the surface of it.

"Sure it was." I chuckle. "I bet you pick up all the girls like that."

"I wish I did, I might start using that." He leans back in his chair and watches me with glistening eyes.

"You'll end up with an abundance of coffee stained clothes, but at least you won't be sexually frustrated." I chuckle as I place my cup down on the table.

"Not all boys are like that, you know." He says, narrowing his eyes slightly. Not out of anger, but out of curiosity as if he is watching me for something.

"I'm yet to be proven wrong." I respond cooly and watch him with the same look.

He watches me for a second as if I'm some sort of puzzle, before sitting forwards and leaning his elbows against the table.

"So what awaits you in London?" I ask him, just to keep the conversation flowing.

"I'm playing a gig there, it's nothing big...but a gig is a gig." He shrugs.

"You sing?" I ask him curiously, I've always admired people who can sing.

Being a lover of music, it's always been fascinating to me how someone can be wired to sing so beautifully or compose a piece of music so perfectly. Unfortunately, I wasn't gifted with any sense of rhythm so I have to listen instead of create.

"I do." Brad responds and nods to the rather large guitar case. "Well, I try to. It's not gotten me anywhere quite yet but I'm still hoping it might." He releases a puff of air from his lips.

"Do you write?" I ask him, becoming more fascinated in the person sat opposite me as the minutes tick by.

"From time to time." He nods slowly, his little bun slightly bobbing from side to side as he does.

"What about?" I continue my questions, my finger tracing the circumference of the top of the coffee cup.

"Good old cheesy love songs." He grins.

"Oh god." I groan. "On what level is the cheesy-ness? Because I may have to end this conversation right now." I cover my face with my hands, peeking through the gaps between my slender fingers.

"I'd say about a seven out of ten." He chuckles to himself as I dramatically hang my head low, my hands getting lost in my natural afro hair.

"You're despicable." I joke and lift my head back up, my hair bouncing back into place.