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

plucked a flute of champagne off a tray as a server strolled past. “Cheers,” I said in a terrible English accent. He watched with a mixture of humor and shock when I tipped the whole glass down my throat as if I was doing shots at the bar.
    “Well, then,” he said.
    I tried to look cool, but all the bubbles went up the back of my nose making my eyes water. I coughed and sputtered an apology. “This is totally not how I wanted this to go down. I’m a professional.” Except that last word came out more like a whine than a declaration.
    Clint leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. I hoped the amusement on his face wasn’t at my expense. “Are you here with a date?”
    “No, not tonight,” I replied. I wanted to shock him. Yeah, that’s right. I see other people, too. I also wanted to see what his reaction would be if I jumped into his arms, wrapped my legs around his waist, and kissed him.
    “That’s too bad.”
    I waved my hand dismissively, temporarily distracted by the weird trails my fingers left in my vision. “It’s fine. I’ve got plenty of dates. I’m having the time of my life, you know.”
    “Oh, I know. They’re abundant and of low value,” Clint said, almost under his breath.
    Even in my ridiculous state, that specific phrase ripped through me like a shock wave. “They’re what?” I slurred. “What did you say?”
    He looked toward the crowd as if he wanted to be anywhere but standing next to me. “It’s nothing. So, are you here with a friend then? Anette?”
    “Yes! Her… is around here somewhere,” I replied squinting into the room. My eyes locked with the pretty brunette, Monica. She was looking a bit more concerned about our conversation than an agent should. The green-eyed monster crept up again. “Are you sure there isn’t anything going on between you and Tits McGee over there?”
    Clint cut off a short bark of laughter and covered it with a cough. “Tits Mc… No, I can assure you there’s nothing going on between us.”
    I closed my eyes at this point, mostly in an effort to get the room to stop swaying. “Good.”
    I didn’t notice Clint lean in closer. When he spoke, his breath tickled my ear, voice low and husky. “Why is that good?”
    I panicked. Just before the tiny alien succumbed to alcohol poisoning, he sent out a final mayday. Stay professional!
    “Oh, just because you…” I cleared my throat and leaned away. “You’re horrible with women.”
    Clint gave me the slow blink. You know, the one that says ‘I can’t believe you actually did or said that.’
    “You said it yourself,” I tried to deflect, as if that made it any better.
    The last little good humor he had left in his expression drained away. “That’s right. That’s me. The hopeless romantic.” He looked away again and I felt my mood shift like a landslide.
    I wanted to apologize. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to demand what he was doing out with another woman when we’d…
    This is where my memory goes all fuzzy. There are moments here and there, but nothing that can be pieced together in a coherent way. I can’t even be sure how long we stood there talking, but the next thing I remember was sounding like every drunk coed after a hard night.
    “Why are you acting like this?” I whined.
    “And how exactly am I acting?” he asked, rolling his eyes.
    I scrunched up my face and looked him head to toe. “Like you… I don’t know. Like that! ” I exclaimed, pointing at his mouth. “That right there.”
    Just as he was about to respond, Anette suddenly appeared at my side. “There you are! So sorry. I accidentally left my leash in the car and Talia slipped away. Anette,” she said as she held her hand out.
    “Clint,” he replied taking it.
    Anette turned to me and spoke as if I were a child. “I think it’s time for someone to go home.”
    “I’m fine. I’m…”
    “That’s a great idea,” Clint said. Again, there was the steely tone!
    “Right there!” I shouted,