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“Assuming that I’m compatible with one in a hundred people, which I think is being a bit generous,” Michael Lampshire mused to himself, “that means I’ve got a chance with maybe one person here tonight.” He surveyed the room through his delicately-framed glasses. “Although, that’s possibly concentrated by the circumstances of the setting.”
In truth, Michael wasn’t even sure why he had decided to come here tonight. The pulsing club was filled with writhing, half-naked male bodies, and while Michael enjoyed looking at them just fine, he was rather hesitant to join in himself. It wasn’t the sweat or the heat that made him hesitate, it was the odds. Michael didn’t like doing anything for no reason, and the odds of anything good happening if he dove into the mass of men was fairly low. He cursed himself frequently for his fascination with chance and numbers, especially since it paralyzed him in situations like this.
As he mentally debated the pros and cons of leaving his bar stool, his eyes swept slowly across the room, looking for a reason not to give up and go home. He was pretty close to picking up and leaving already when, suddenly, he made contact with a pair of beautiful ebony eyes briefly before losing them again in the crowded room. But that moment had been enough to set his heart fluttering.
“The odds against finding those eyes again in the crowd are at least ten to one,” he told himself, but his heart had stopped listening. It had seen something in those eyes that it refused to ignore, even if he didn’t know what it was.
He shook himself and turned back to his tea. He wished he could have something stronger to bolster his nerves, but he had to drive home. It wasn’t far, but farther than he wanted to walk cold and inebriated.
“The odds of getting in an accident are highest within a few miles of the home,” Michael told himself. “And I’m only a mile and a half away. Those odds go up by forty-six percent after a single drink.” He sighed, still wanting a drink. Sometimes, he hated knowing the odds.
He was interrupted from his calculations by a gentle brush on his arm as a man leaned forward to get a glass from the bartender. Michael mumbled something apologetic and shifted to make room for the newcomer. As he discreetly gave the man a once-over, he saw that the man had long dark hair, pulled back behind his head in a braid. The man turned and gave him a dazzling smile, and Michael’s stomach started turning somersaults. In the light, he could see that the man’s eyes were not ebony at all, but a beautiful, rich mahogany. But they were undoubtedly the same eyes he had seen in the crowd.
Ten to one, Michael absently thought to himself as he smiled back.
“Hi,” the man said. “I’m David.”
“Nice to meet you David,” Michael replied. “I’m Michael.” He noted that David was drinking water. At least, he assumed it was water. The odds of someone still standing after drinking a glass of vodka that large were almost as low as the odds Michael had given his prospects for tonight.
“I saw you sitting here, and you looked like someone I’d like to know better.” David said, still giving him a warm smile. Michael blushed hotly and looked down at his tea, though his smile grew wider.
“I’m glad you did,” Michael said quietly. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a pointless evening.
“Can I buy you a drink?” David asked. “I’m not drinking tonight, but I noticed you weren’t either.”
“Thank you,” Michael said. “I’d like that very much.”
As they sat and talked for what must have been the better part of an hour, Michael found himself at war with his heart. The odds against a happy ending were only increasing with every minute they talked, simply because Michael’s heart thought David was perfect, and the odds against such a thing were astronomical. But the longer they talked, the more his heart wore down the barriers erected by the odds his brain provided.
Is this what they call love at first sight? He asked himself. Surely those odds were staggering to even conceive, but his brain was no longer providing him with solid numbers. The heart was winning, and Michael was almost ready to let it, and damn the odds.
“It was so nice to talk to you, but I have to work early tomorrow.” David said. With those words, the floodgates slammed back into place, and Michael cursed himself for a hundred types of idiot. He should have known it wouldn’t hold out in the end.
“That’s a shame. Can I call you sometime?” Michael asked, his heart not willing to surrender just yet.
“I’d like that,” David said with a smile. They exchanged phone numbers, and Michael walked David out to the street.
“It was really nice talking to you,” David said again. “I hope we can do it again sometime.” He placed a soft kiss on Michael’s cheek, and Michael flushed crimson under the streetlights as his spirit soared. Maybe there was hope after all.
“I hope so too,” he said.
As David walked away down the sidewalk, Michael’s pessimistic odds machine kicked in, and his shoulders slumped. Who was he kidding anyway? As he got into his car, the odds against seeing David ever again seemed impossibly high.
Three years later, as David slid an engagement ring on Michael’s finger, the odds weren’t important anymore. The impossible was now their reality.