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"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 as if that was explanation enough.
"Abigail... Or Abby, whatever."
"Beautiful name." Giselle smiled. A beat of awkward silence passed, then she said, "So...?"
