Forgetting Prince Charming.

CHAPTER 1

Emma had few regrets, a conscious choice to ensure a fuller life, but downing seven shots of tequila to out-drink the stranger next to her was now on top of her list. Drunkenly mumbling her secrets, was a quick second. She couldn't seem to stop herself. The more alcohol that slipped past her tongue, the more lubricated it got. It help nothing that the man- Fred, Kevin, no, John- was positively charming. Her original plan had only included solitude and alcohol. He had changed that. It couldn't be avoided. His enchanting smile had pulled her like a spark to a match.

He was buying so, how could she say no? She should have.

"Shall we get another round, or are you ready to admit defeat?" She could vaguely see his lips curve into a smirk. She swore under her breath. She was to blame for having caved so easily; she was never one to back down from a dare. He'd noticed within five minutes of meeting her. He was cocky and adamant that a woman of her stature could not hold her liquor. He was right, but damn if she'd let him know.

She swayed in her seat and shook her head. It didn't help her dizziness. She'd always been a bit of a lightweight, especially when liquor was involved. It helped nothing that she'd yet to have dinner. She'd surely feel it come morning.

"I don't give up that easily, Matt." She said with a slur.

The man chuckled. "It's Joey." His head shook in disdain as he turned to say, "you are drunk."

She shook her head aggressively. She regretted it instantly. "I'm not even tipsy," she said as she fell forward on the counter. It's cool surface was heaven to her flushed cheeks.

"Sure, sure." He looked unconvinced. She'd show him. Emma sat up and tapped the bar counter. The bartender filled her glass quickly. She gulped the pungent, clear liquid in one go and smirked at the man beside her. He shook his head and followed suit.

"You don't give up."

She snorted. "Some say I'm stubborn, but I prefer the term resilient."

He leaned forward suddenly and pushed a thick thigh between her legs. The warmth cleared some fog from her mind. He placed his left hand on her knee and it brought his clean, square face closer. Emma could make out sharp evergreen eyes between the two versions of him that floated around. They were startling.

His face moved to the side of hers, his lips against her ear. "I'm a sucker for feisty, resilient girls," he whispered. His voice sent a shiver through her and she gulped. He pulled away, his smug grin catching her attention. His hand remained on her leg and her inebriated body hated that her jeans blocked the contact.

"What do you say about us getting out of here?" he asked. Her body tensed. Emma knew better than to leave with him. Drunk or not. Her parents had taught her better.

"I don't know you," she answered instead. She wondered if he'd lose interest and wander off for a new victim.

He didn't, instead, he shrugged. "Fair point. Let's get to know one another better then?"

His words surprised her. Past men usually left when she said those words. Emma had never had one stay. She didn't know what to do next. She turned to face him directly and considered him as soberly as she could manage. He appeared unperturbed, still with his ridiculous smile on his face. He rose to his feet, his hand outstretched. He was sturdy, not a wobble in sight. She looked between his hand and face. "Let's go to a booth at the back. It's more secluded." She placed her smaller and darker hand in his and let him lead. Her legs wobbled as they shuffled towards the back. He kept a sturdy arm around her waist and Emma appreciated the gesture, though it was a secret she'd take to her grave. Her willingness to follow the stranger confused and concerned her. She was always cautious and reserved with men. She blamed the world's carelessness towards women for her three years on singleness. It appeared however, that her solution was alcohol.