“You…what?” I asked.
“Please,” Chance leaned himself on my car, unable to stand any longer, apparently. “I made a huge mistake. I want you back.”
“How much have you had to drink?” I asked him.
“This many,” he slurred. He held up nine fingers, looked at his hands, then put up the tenth finger.
I sighed. “I’ll call you a cab.”
“Don’t you want me back, too?”
“God no,” I said, pulling out my phone to look up the closest taxi company.
“I thought you wanted to marry me?” Chance pouted.
“I did,” I pushed the call button on my phone. “But every day I thank God that I dodged that bullet.”
The phone rang once. “Coach Cab,” a friendly voice answered.
“Hi, yes, I need a cab sent to…” I started. Chance grabbed
