Chronicles of a Serial Dater - Book 7: A New Adult Romantic Comedy by Adele Huxley, Savan Robbins

“Talia. What are you doing here?”
    Standing face-to-face, his gorgeous green eyes intent and questioning… I was having second thoughts about coming over and saying hello, professionally or otherwise. My mouth worked wordlessly and his expression morphed from surprise to concern.
    He dipped his head to whisper privately. “Are you okay?”
    I shook him away and spoke in a louder-than-normal voice. “I’m great! Crazy to run into you like this.”
    Clint reeled back, still unsure of the situation. Hell, I didn’t know what was happening and I was the one causing it all! But I did my best to pretend I was perfectly in control.
    Have you ever seen the movie Men in Black? You know in the beginning when it’s revealed the old guy with the cat is actually just a shell for a teeny, tiny alien inside? There’s a moment just before I hit the level of ridiculously drunk when I feel like that. A small alien in my brain still clings to sobriety and normal behavior, frantically trying to steer my clumsy body and mouth through social interactions without tipping off exactly how inebriated I’d become. It lasts about ten minutes before the poor little guy in my brain drowns in vodka or beer.
    I was staring at Clint a little too long, so to seem more normal, I thrust my hand out to his date. “Name’s Talia. Talia McGinley.”
    As she hesitantly reached for my hand, I realized I was still looking into Clint’s eyes. Shit, look at her, you idiot! Not him!
    “Hi!” I said cheerfully, as if I’d just found her again.
    “Hello…”
    Clint graciously took my elbow and tried to steer me from the thick of the crowd. “Let’s get you some water.”
    “But I haven’t gotten your date’s name yet,” I protested. I spun away from his touch and extended my hand to her again, which she now looked at as if it were leprous.
    “Okay,” he said as he collected me by the arm again. “I’ll be right back,” he said to his date over my head.
    “ We’ll be right back,” I added.
    And then I learned something about myself in that moment, a handy tip for controlling a drunk Talia. Be a hot Englishman and touch the small of my back, preferably while I’m wearing a slinky, thin dress. I could probably be steered off a cliff that way.
    I tried to appear cool as Clint guided me to the side of the room, but inside I was desperately trying to hold on to the last slivers of sobriety. I knew this wasn’t going well, but maybe if I held it together long enough, I could pass it off as another one of those “Talia moments.” It’d make for a good laugh on Monday.
    “Who is she?” I demanded, sounding like a jealous wife.
    His eyes went wide, coupled with a single arched brow. “Monica? She’s my agent. I think you’ve spoken through email once or twice.”
    “Oh.” I sounded more disappointed than happy for some reason. I’d gotten myself all cranked up expecting… expecting what, exactly? To confront him? To demand an explanation?
    “What are you doing here?”
    Without looking, I pointed to the portrait on the wall above our heads. “My roommate’s girlfriend.”
    Clint gazed up. “She has nice breasts.”
    “What? No. Well, maybe…” I corrected as I peered up as well. “She’s the photographer, but maybe they’re… wait. I’m sorry. This isn’t at all how I wanted this to go.” The little alien in my brain was drowning. I was aware of my slurred speech but couldn’t control it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
    “And how did you want it to go?” he asked. It was the alcohol, I’m sure it was, but I could’ve sworn I heard a deeper meaning to that.
    The thoughts that flew through my booze-soaked brain are too raunchy to share. All I could manage was, “Better.”
    “You’ve had a lot to drink,” Clint said, stating the embarrassingly obvious. He sounded cooler than normal, but I just chalked it up as a reaction to my behavior.
    “I’m fine. I’m totally fine.” As if to prove the point, I