EXCEPTional

Ch. 19 (Chance)

*Chance*

She was a large woman, both in stature and in presence. Her gold and red hair looked like a frizzy fire atop her head, and her brown eyes took up most of the space on her face. Her copper skin brought out the golden honey in her hair, and she looked unexpectedly . . . exotic.

I grinned and turned in my chair to face her directly. Tilting my head to the side, I greeted, "You're the roommate, I assume."

She just continued to stare at me in awe and disbelief, which was a reaction I was quite used to. She managed in a normal, albeit a bit shaky, voice, "Bee, get over here. I'm going to drop these bags if you don't."

Bridget sighed, again, and hurried over to the woman. She took the plastic bags from her roommate's arms and stepped aside as we both watched the woman's arms go limp. I could sense Bridget rolling her eyes as she said, "Well, don't just stand there. Actually come into the place. I'd rather you faint on a couch than a floor."

"Your concern for me is heart-warming," the woman teased, moving slowly into the TV room, not once removing her eyes from me.

Bridget walked into the kitchen once more and set the bags down on the counter with a quiet groan. She glanced at her roommate and back to me. She whispered, though louder than a typical whisper, "Forgive her. The doctors still aren't sure what's wrong with her."

She resisted a glare, too glued to me to look away, even for a second. She informed Bridget matter-of-factly, "I know exactly what ailment I have. I am currently suffering from star-struck-ism, where I fear that if I look away, the star before me will disappear."

"It's quite common," I chimed in, grinning crookedly while looking at Bridget from the corner of my eye.

She was not afraid to glare at me. She clipped, "Don't encourage her please." She glanced between us. "In fact, please don't encourage each other. I'm rather attached to my sanity."

Chuckling, I rose from my seat and took a few steps to cross from the kitchen to the living room. I held out my hand to the roommate. "Hello. As you know, I'm Chance Olson. Pleased to meet you."

My new proximity seemed to shake her into something closer to normalcy. She took my hand and, with a smile, said, "You are amazing, actually. My name is Sheila Ryce. And the pleasure is all mine."

"You get that a lot, don't you?" Bridget questioned from behind us. "The whole, 'no, the pleasure is mine' thing?"

Sheila put her hands on her hips and finally looked to her friend. She asked, as though offended, "Are you trying to say that I'm not original?"

Bridget stood beside me and gave a barking chuckle. "Oh, no, trust me, you are original. One of a kind. But what you said was not novel."

"Would you rather I have said, 'I'd like to have your children?'" she challenged, an eyebrow beginning to quirk.

I put a hand up to interject, "Actually, that's cliché, too. I've had plenty of women say that to me."

Bridget looked at me, eyebrow arched. "Are you bragging about that?"

The large woman giggled, a surprisingly soft sound from such a loud person. "You two are great. I am in love with you both."

"You sure throw that word around," Young noted as she ventured back into the kitchen to unload the bags.

Sheila followed after her, stating, "I can't help it if I'm a lover and that I love everything." She began to help, putting things skillfully into their places. By the way she composed herself as she walked about, I assumed the kitchen to be her domain.