Chapter 4: A Saint and a Queen

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Sergio was drinking his third bottle of beer. He was in the club for half an hour and was counting the minutes until he could scamper away from his brother Andrés, and Martín, who met with a group at the farther end of the place. He was dying to get home and finish his book. These loud places had never been his style of winding down.

Club Rojo was a new place as far as he could tell. The dance club was the highlight of the newly built hotel in which the whole place was named after. He was sitting on one of the couches near the bar not far from the red square where people posed for pix. It was the in thing to do nowadays since the advent of high-pixel phone cameras and social media. Take a pic and show anyone who follow you that you've been there. People have no idea of the value of privacy anymore. Or secrecy, he thought.

He was observing various people hanging out at the bar and some who were on the couches. There was a young couple necking out in one of them. He'd bet his whole wallet that the couple just met here. This place, bathed in red glow, incited this kind of behavior. And alcohol was just the first ammunition. Dancing was another.

Just then, two women caught his attention who went to take pictures on the red square. The taller one was a redhead and the shorter one had dark blonde hair. The taller woman looked like she was used to this kind of scene, judging not by her clothes but by her "fun" demeanor and glazed eyes. The shorter one had the same demeanor but tampered down to just an occasional night out despite that drop-dead come-hither outfit. This one really took his fancy. Fancy meaning libido.

Sergio was no stranger to one-night stands specially when he was still in college. He did not care for relationships, however, and being the nerdy guy he was, it was no hardship at all. He was thinking a wife and a family are just social constructs not exactly necessary to improve one's quality of life. He preferred solitude and intellectual stimulation than the physical ones.

Except this one.

The dark-blonde woman is not exactly the overtly voluptuous type but her curves could fit in his hands, Sergio thought. Then he looked at the bottle of beers he had and wondered if he was more drunk than he thought. The way his mind was going while looking at her—just then the dark blonde looked at him and he quickly looked away. He didn't realize he was staring too long and was caught guilty as charged. He felt a hot zing and a flush down to his neck.

It was time he proved to his brother that his books on social behavior and psychology were never a total waste. He got up and headed for the red square.

Raquel was taking more pix of Alicia when her friend got up and stopped her.

"He's walking towards here." Alicia told Raquel. "Play it cool. Not easy. Have fun, chica. I will both leave you to it. And...don't give out your name." She kissed Raquel on the side of her head and left her near the square.

"Alicia, I told you—" Alicia walked away swiftly to the direction of the washrooms as if she needed to tend to call of nature. Her friend really was quite the pro.

"Hola." The guy in denim and white shirt stopped in front of her. "Would you like to dance?" He looked serious and a bit out of place. Good-looking as he was, he looked like he belonged to another era and not in 2010, more like 1950s.

"Sure." She smiled sincerely. What harm could there be? One dance and she's going back to the table with her friends.

He guided her by the elbow. Hm. A gentleman. She was thinking if he was the opposite in bed. Then she blushed. What the hell, Raquel, you are practically married!

They were on the dance floor when a famous tune drifted all over the hall that seemed to have invited everyone in the club to take part on the almost-full dance floor.

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