The music in the club throbbed, a relentless pulse that threatened to drown out even my own thoughts. Perhaps the three or four shots I’d downed in quick succession were contributing to the haze.
“Magnolia Riley Richards, get your ass out here and join me!” Brendon’s voice, slurred with alcohol, boomed from the dance floor. I laughed at his audacity and moved to join him and our roommate, Lissy, as Party Rock Anthem shook the floor beneath our feet. As the song ended and Jar of Hearts began to play, I navigated awkwardly through the swaying couples toward the bar stools. It wasn’t my luck, but as I moved, I collided with a solid chest and felt a sticky splash as his drink spilled across my new outfit.
“Hey, watch it!” I snapped, then looked up to meet a pair of deep sea blue-green eyes locking with my own emerald ones. “Oh, um… sorry I wasn’t… I didn’t mean… sorry.” I stammered, feeling my words tangle as I lost myself in the depth of his gaze. He smiled, a gentle curve of his lips, and offered a hand to help me steady myself.
“That’s alright,” he said, his voice a smooth counterpoint to the pounding music. “I’m Harry, by the way, and it’s my fault your outfit is ruined.” He blushed, a faint flush rising in his cheeks. I noticed the subtle British lilt to his voice, and my heart began to beat a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
“I’m Maggie,” I replied, glancing down at the damage. The dress was a light purple, a shade that complemented my eyes and fair skin. Nothing about me felt particularly special; my naturally light brown, curly hair fell just past my waist, and I was an average height – about 5’7 – and slim. Nothing remarkably unique. I’d only had a couple of boyfriends in my eighteen years, and neither had been particularly serious.
We stood in silence for a couple of minutes as the song ended, and the volume surged back to ear-splitting levels.
“What?” I shouted over the music, trying to decipher his next words. Harry pointed toward the corridor leading to the club’s restrooms, just off the dance floor. I followed him as we squeezed our way past drunken dancers, attempting to glance back for Brendon and Lissy, but their faces were lost in the sea of bodies.
“As I was saying,” Harry laughed, once we reached the relative quiet of the hallway, “it’s a lot quieter over here.” And it was.
“How long have you lived in New York?” I asked. I’d moved here just a few weeks after graduating high school, and this was my first club outing in the city. The fake ID I’d used – borrowed from a friend back in Michigan – had almost been turned away at the door.
He chuckled at my question. “I’m not from around here. Me and the guys are on a quick holiday before we go back to work.” He winked, and a flicker of recognition sparked within me. I was certain I’d seen him somewhere before, but the lingering effects of the shots were making my mind feel sluggish.
“Oh, that’s cool,” I said, trying to think of something else to say when he glanced at his phone.
“Shit! I’m so sorry, we were supposed to leave half an hour ago!” He said, hurriedly typing a message. I looked down, wondering if I was boring him. Was I not as attractive as the long-limbed blondes on the dance floor like Lissy? He looked up, took my phone from my hand, and entered his number, then sent himself a text. My jaw dropped as he handed my phone back to me. He wanted to contact me again? I hadn't thought I was his type. He’d saved his number under a name: The Amazing Harry. A small smile played on my lips.