Page 7 of Taking A Chance

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow night,” she says, pouting her lips out.

Probably because she knows I hate going to these kinds of things during the week. They always drag on so late, and while I’m not necessarily one of those people in bed by nine, I don’t want to drag myself home at three in the morning either.

“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But you owe me.”

“Yes!” she says, making a fist in the air.

I was inclined to tell her to fuck off, but she’s been there for me in similar situations and it’s my turn to bite it. We do this back and forth, being the other’s plus one to events we don’t want to attend alone.

I reach for another glass of champagne from the tray in front of us and slam back half of it. I’ll regret it in the morning. But tonight, I’m happy and feeling good. The board loved our ideas. They plan to implement them as soon as possible, with a promise to expand their services with us if all goes as planned. This is when I cross my fingers and pray our projections were accurate.

“Let’s dance,” Anna says, already wiggling back and forth in her seat.

Monica immediately starts shaking her head, but she’s already being pulled up from her seat by Sara. And no one has to tell me twice, because dancing might be one of my favorite things in the entire world.

We make our way to the dance floor of this crowded club in a train-like manner, holding our drinks above our heads and bumping into one another. I hate the fact that I have to take my drink to the dance floor with me. But what can I do? Leave it behind? We don’t have that luxury. We aren’t men.

Instead of trying to balance it the entire time, I slam back the rest of it and discard it on an empty table close to the dance floor’s edge. The rest of the girls follow suit and then we’re off, pushing our way to the middle and forming our own little circle in the crowd.

Almost everyone around us are coupled up and I can’t help but envy how their bodies fit together. I should clarify that dancing with a man is my favorite, while dancing alone is a close second. I start to feel myself sync to the rhythm after closing my eyes and swaying back and forth to the music overhead.

“Cora!” Claire yells through the music.

I stop and open my eyes, catching hers staring past me and pointing.

“Isn’t that your neighbor you hate?” she says.

I whirl around, eyes searching the crowds dancing and then beyond.

Declan and another man are sitting at the edge of the bar on the other wall. He’s sipping a drink and laughing. I’ve only seen him in public a few times. We shop at the same grocery store due to the proximity to the apartment, but he’s usually dressed in joggers and a white T-shirt. I saw him in the park too, again due to proximity.

I’ve never seen him in a place like this, though. From here, I note his shoulder-length hair is styled, which I don’t think I’ve ever seen. In spite of myself, I start walking in his direction. I don’t really have an intention; I sort of just want to observe him in the wild.

Is this the type of place where he collects his women to bring back? Is this his hunting ground?

Must. Know. More.

After approaching the edge of the floor, I try my best to crane my neck while still blending into the people dancing. Declan laughs and throws his head back. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him laugh, and I’m oddly fixated by his Adam’s apple as the muscles in his throat work up and down. Also, his teeth are really white. I wonder if he uses whitening strips. I wonder if there’s a way to find out without asking him. In this moment, I briefly consider digging through his trash and realize I’ve reached my alcohol limit for the evening.

Switching to water, starting now.

Declan’s eyes scan over the crowd and then lock onto me.

Fuck. I’m caught. I’m busted.Do I make a run for it? A wry smile stretches across his lips, and he holds up his hand and waves. He’s actually waving at me. In my alcohol induced niceness, I wave back. That’s right, I get nicer when I drink. Everyone’s heard of “mean drunks” but I’m the total opposite.Am I smiling too?Damn it.

Declan waves me over as he finishes off the drink in his hand and signals the bartender for another.

I start to walk toward him, hesitation in my steps. I’m not even sure why I’m going over there. I hate his guts and yet, here I am, willingly walking toward him in a social setting. When I reach him, I stand there awkwardly for a moment, my hand resting on my hip.

“Hello, asshole,” I say, smirking.

“Hello, love,” he replies, his smile unwavering.

Oh shit. I was not prepared for that.

6

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