She'd been waiting for thirty minutes and there was still no sign of Chris. This was the final attempt, she reminded herself, and if he rejected one more girl, she was giving up on him and his I-suck-at-relationships attitude.

Giselle sat alone in the noisy club, uncomfortable with the frilly dresses the other girls wore, the cigarette smell, and the alcohol consumed. After all, they lived in Nicoladafus, a country hell-bent on keeping everyone on the "right track" by implementing all kinds of ridiculous laws.

Noise arose from her left, and her head whipped to see the chaos on the other side of the club. The fake ID seemed to triple in weight inside her clutch as she noticed the bouncer kicking out a young couple who looked in their early twenties--just like her.

She gulped and held her chin high. Confidence, she'd learned, went a long way, especially when you didn't want to get caught being mischievous, or in her case, breaking a law. It wasn't as much the criminal record she was afraid of as it was losing face in society which was a pressure injected into her since she was ten years old.

"Whatever will the people say?" was her mother's favorite phrase up until the day she'd died two years ago. If she hadn't loved her mother so dearly, she would've told her how laughable those words were.

She couldn't blame her, though. Maintaining a good reputation in society was of utmost importance for the people of this country, or at least the people residing in the city of Phoenix. Things like sex or moving out before marriage was frowned upon. Of course, the generation she proudly belonged to got around the laws and prying eyes of high society maniacs as much as they could. She'd gone as far as snorting at the poster plastered next to the club's gate, "Say No To Alcohol Before Age Twenty-Five! It's the law!"

That was before she presented the guard with her fake ID, a wink, and fifty dollars worth of hush money when he looked at her suspiciously. Chris had resorted to sulking at the bet he'd lost, calling her a cheater. She'd paid him no heed, of course. It was as if he'd been counting on her failure since he, himself, had no problem getting inside. Although, he should've known after spending eighteen years with her that if Giselle put her mind to something, she more often than not accomplished it.

Music blared and the ground vibrated as her eyes traveled across the heated dance floor. You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift started playing, and she sighed happily on the inside, singing along. Her fingers drummed her thigh over the jeans she wore. The door to the club opened to her right, and she looked out longingly. This time of the year, the cold wind blew, signaling the start of the autumn season.

Sighing, she scanned the crowd for Chris one more time, worry starting to settle. Her heart hammered for a moment, but she brushed it off. He was a grown man who could handle himself. And if he'd decided to ditch her because of the bet he'd lost, she'd strangle the sore loser at home.

Someone grabbed her shoulder from the side, and with a little jump of her heart, she spun to her left. At a place like this where almost everyone was intoxicated ("...and people did unspeakable things when drunk!" her father's voice echoed in her head dramatically), she couldn't afford to handle a stranger. But, the man in front of her was anything but that.

"What--Are you drunk?" she bellowed over the loud music. A few people turned to give them a fleeting glance.

Giselle held him by his shoulders as Chris stumbled on his step.

"Not my fault." He hiccupped, and then laughed at himself. She flinched at the smell, then sighed in defeat, letting him go.

"Chris," she called him with a steady voice. "Why did you drink?"

"Not my fault!" he repeated, looking at her as if she'd lost her mind, then frowned innocently. "You know I don't drink."

"What happened, then?"

"I just wanted to forget," he said. His brown eyes squinted at her as if he was trying to focus.

Her brows knitted. "Forget what?"

"I... I couldn't take it anymore."

She shook her head in confusion. "What?"

He rose his finger to her nose, flicked it, and grinned.

Giselle stared at him ridiculously, regretting the bet she'd won. "What harm could it be?" she'd said when Chris opposed her idea of club-search earlier that day. "We'd be in and out in a matter of minutes."

"What now?" she wondered out loud.

A drunk Chris defeated the purpose of being at the club, as ironic as it was, because this state seemed to strip him of all his charms. And as bad as he already was at relationships, this was an additional blow to any advancements she wanted him to make today. It wasn't as dramatic as she was making it, she knew that, but what was the fun in life without a little overreaction?

Chris sat on a stool beside hers, both hands in his lap. He turned toward the bar behind them and gestured for the bartender to come.

He said, "A tequila shot, please." She gaped at him, and he shrugged at her. "It's Sunday tomorrow."

Giselle turned to the bartender as well. "He will not be having any more of that." The man raised his hands in surrender and moved on to the guy clad in purple who licked a slice of potato and took a shot, his whole body vibrating at the impact. She cringed, asking herself why anyone would ever wanna do that with a potato, then ignored him and turned to Chris. "It's Friday tomorrow, not Sunday, idiot. And are you serious? We're here to find you a girl--"

"Which I don't want."

"But no, you can't be single for the rest of your life!" she almost whined.

"It's really not that serious, Pigtails."

She huffed. "Don't call me that. And do you plan on never dating? Because, frankly, you don't seem too eager..." She gasped mockingly. "You're gay."

He flicked the air beside her head a few times, then said, "Aha!" when he managed to hit her forehead. "It's not like I've never dated."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you have, and it has always ended up in a disaster."

"Maybe girls don't like nice men," he mumbled.

"Someone thinks too highly of themselves."

It's like he wasn't even listening to her. "I already have a girl, you know," said Chris, "and she's enough."

She met his eyes with her narrowed ones. "I find that hard to believe. Who's the lucky lady?"

His lips twitched up. "You."

Her lips stretched in a warm smile. "Yes, I'm your best girl. But we gotta find you a girlfriend. Don't you wanna get married one day? You're too lonely for my liking." She scrunched up her nose at him.

Chris mimicked her mockingly.

"No?" She faked a gasp. "Whatever will the people say?" And then she laughed at the absurdity because that was the last thing they cared about.

He was right, though. It really wasn't that serious. A small part of the reason she wanted to make sure Chris had a girlfriend, she reasoned, was so he could finally ease up to the idea of her relationship with Xavier, who lived in Petrichor. It had been a year since they'd started dating, and Chris still hadn't warmed up to him.

He scoffed at her exclamation. She grinned as her eyes moved around the packed room of partiers once again to see if any girl was waiting for someone to buy her a drink.

Since his past relationships were all disastrous, this had become a game for them in recent months. Whenever she was bored, she'd find ways to set him up with someone, though it never worked out the way she wanted. Chris was set on denying to date any girl Giselle chose for him.

They'd exhausted all the other locations, and this club was the last place she'd brought him to accomplish her goal. If this failed, she was giving up.

Red caught her eye again as she searched the mass. A girl sat alone in the farthest corner of the club. The entire time Giselle had sat there, waiting for Chris, the girl in red kept herself immersed in her phone, looking bored and uninterested in her surroundings.

"Chris?" she called, distracted.

But he was more distracted than she. "Hmm?"

"Check out that--" She paused, her face scrunching up in disgust. "What are you doing?" He held the slice of potato. The same one that the man in purple had licked...

He smiled widely. "Congratulating a potato on getting a role in Toy Story."

"Chris!" she scolded, stifling her laughter. Unbelievable.

"What?"

"Focus!"

"On what?" Throwing the potato away, he looked at Giselle with raised eyebrows. "What?"

She sighed and snapped her fingers in front of his face, trying to gain all of his attention. "I found you a girl, mister."

"Where is she? I can't see her," he said. "Are you sure you're not imagining her because you're so drunk?"

She pursed her lips.

"Wait a minute!" He gasped. "She's invisible, isn't she?"

"Chris. Never. Ever. Ever. Ever--"

"Look this gorgeous?" he cut her off, "sure!"

"...never," she continued, "drink again."

Ignoring the look he gave her, she jumped off the stool, and walked over toward the lady, clicking her black heels against the wooden floor. The woman in a red cocktail dress sat poised on the sofa. She held a glass of margarita stylishly in one hand and scrolled away on her phone with the other. Her curls were defined and tied back into a high ponytail.

"Hey!" Giselle invited herself across the table on the sofa opposite hers.

She looked up at Giselle with her almond eyes, put down her phone, and pursed her red lips. "Can I help you?" Her voice was soft.

Giselle had it all planned. "You see that guy over there?" She pointed in Chris's direction who, thankfully, wasn't making a fool of himself.

"The one wearing purple robes?" she asked, placing a hand on her chest in horror.

"God, no. The one with the black jacket."

Chris stood leaning against the bar and casually typed something on his phone, unaware of the girl on his right who kept giving him suggestive glances. Giselle smiled at how handsome he looked. His dark hair was styled into his usual pompadour, clothes fitted his muscular body, and when he looked around the crowd, his jawline got more prominent. Her favorite part, though, was his defined stubble.

"Oh yeah," she said. "What about him?"

"Well, you see, he's very shy. He wanted me to ask if he could buy you a drink, and that the said drink won't end up splashed on his face."

The girl chuckled and sipped from her glass. "Is he your brother?"

"My best friend."

"You play matchmaker for him a lot?"

Giselle grinned. "Never works, I assure you."

The girl bit her lip and waited for a moment before she said, "Not serial killer, right?"

"Giselle," she said, extending her hand.

"Abigail... Or Abby, whatever."

"Beautiful name." Giselle smiled. A beat of awkward silence passed, then she said, "So...?"

"What's his name?" she asked, glancing at him once.

"Chris."

"Okay. Ask him to come himself if he's interested."

Giselle gulped. Drunk Chris was not impressive. Drunk Chris knocked things over. Drunk Chris talked to potatoes. She cleared her throat, then said, "He's shy and uh, wants to take you out... Would you mind giving me your number, instead?"

Abigail looked at her with an eyebrow raised. "If he doesn't act, honey, he's not worth it."

"Oh, he acts."

Abigail raised both her eyebrows.

Giselle cleared her throat. "I mean, I know that because we've been friends since forever. But I assure you, he's daddy material."

The lady in front of her pursed her lips, her eyes bulging slightly, then the corners of her mouth twitched up.

Giselle's entire existence stopped at the realization, a buzz of embarrassment running through her body. What did I just say?

She licked her lips. "What I meant was... What I wanted to say was..."

Abigail chuckled. "It's okay. But I'm not handing out my number unless he has the guts to ask for it himself. For all I know, he stammers when he talks."

Her smile fell at the insensitive words. She wanted to call her out on it or defend Chris, but bit her lip instead, still awkward at the words she'd uttered earlier. "Right. One sample of male specie coming right up."

Before Abigail could say anything else, she hurried toward her best friend.

"Hello!" Chris greeted her with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"You have to ask her for her number. Right now," she said to him over the loud music.

Chris merged his brows. "Who?"

"I'll take you to her." She was sure Abigail was looking at them, so she had to play it cool.

He looked at her as if she was crazy. "I'm going nowhere."

"Please, please! I already talked to her."

"Giselle, life doesn't have to be so complicated..." he slurred.

"Okay, first of all, you will keep your speech at the minimum. Second, you will act shy because that's how I pitched you." Chris opened his mouth to, no doubt, protest, but she spoke over him, "And third, you will be a gentleman who asks for a lady's number at a club, and then we'll be out."

His eyes sparkled at the last sentence. "We go home?"

She smiled smugly. "Only after you do exactly as I say."

"I get her number, that's all?"

"And you'll call her and go on a date, of course!"

"Not happening, Cupid."

She folded her arms, and as her last resort, she started rambling, "It's rude not to call. And maybe you'll like her. She's so sweet! She's got the prettiest hair. And I'll look ridiculous if you don't. For me, please? As my birthday gift."

He smirked. "Your birthday is on the tenth of July next year."

She wondered how he could remember that considering how drunk he was. "Early birthday present?" She gave him her best puppy-dog eyes.

"I hate you," he muttered and pushed off the bar, sliding his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. Sighing, he gestured for her to lead the way.

"Really?" she squeaked.

"Hmm, only because it's important enough for you to ramble like an idiot."

Grinning, Giselle grabbed his arm and led him to the girl in red. She hissed when he stumbled a little, earning a what-have-I-done look from him. When they sat down with Abigail, he suppressed most traces of intoxication surprisingly well.

He asked for her number, his charms turned on, and all his claims of sucking at relationships went down the drain. At one point, Giselle noticed Abigail blushing as Chris kissed her on the hand, being the gentleman he was, before they headed out of the club. The new couple had agreed to meet on the coming Sunday over lunch, and she considered that success.

I can go to Petrichor tomorrow, she thought after pushing him into the passenger's seat of his car much to his dismay and getting in the driver's seat herself, and Chris might just warm up a fraction more to the idea of Xavier.