The Butterfly Effect

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This chapter contains semi-sexual content.

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"Luck is a matter of preparation meeting opportunity."

Lucius Annaeus Seneca

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Nice to see you again too, Rae," Garfield sent her his signature, idiotic grin as he plopped down beside her at the bar in Dick's oh-so luxurious penthouse.

Raven suppressed the urge to scream in frustration. She massaged the middle of her temple (like she usually did during or after an encounter with him) and huffed, "First of all, it's Ra-ven," she started. "Second of all, what the hell are you doing here?"

Garfield let out an aggravating snicker that resounded inside her head. "What do you think I'm doing here? I'm clearly sitting at a bar trying to pick up some ladies," he stated as if it were obvious.

"As in why are you at this party in the first place," she gritted her teeth. She didn't have the patience to deal with him at the moment.

"I was invited! Duh! How else would I have gotten here?" Garfield shrugged his shoulders.

"Who the fuck invited you?"

"Gee, Rae, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were flirting with me," he wiggled his eyebrows before leaning in to whisper in her ear, "Two can play at that game."

"Stop," she demanded, her hand pressing against his chest and pushing him back in his seat.

"Stop what?" Garfield tilted his head and watched her with curious, puppy-like eyes. If he wasn't so darn cute, she'd-

"Stop doing whatever the hell you're doing!" she exclaimed.

"Uh..." Garfield furrowed his eyebrows. "Talking?"

"No!" her eyes widened at her implication. "I mean, yes! Just leave me alone!" she groaned and placed her hands over her face to avoid eye contact. She was so not dealing with him today. She'd had a horrible day already, and she didn't need to add one more headache into her plate.

"You know, we must be meant to be. Three meetings already? The first one might've been luck, but I call this one destiny," he teased, bluntly ignoring her pleads and continuing to flirt with her.

"This is the opposite of luck," she grumbled as she waved over the bartender and asked for her second dry martini that hour. Perhaps she was already a bit tipsy, and you'd think she'd learned her lesson by now (considering he was sitting right next to her), but she really didn't care how drunk she got, she just didn't want to think at the moment.

"Want to hear a joke?" he abruptly asked.

"God, please no."

But alas, he continued without her compliance, "So a guy walks into a bar-"

"What did I do to deserve this?" she muttered under her breath as she took a sip of her martini.

"-and asks for 10 shots of the establishment's finest single malt scotch. The bartender sets him up, and the guy takes the first shot in the row and pours it on the floor. He then takes-"

She frowned when the inevitable thumping commenced inside her head.

"-the last shot in the row and does the same. The bartender asks, "Why did you do that?" And the guy replies, "Well the first shot always tastes like crap, and the last one always makes me sick!" he patted his knee and clutched his stomach as he burst into laughter.