Disclaimer for the Story: I'm only going to say this once, Sakura, Syaoran and all other characters mentioned in the Cardcaptor Sakura anime series that I used in my harmless, non-money-making piece of fiction do not belong to me. However, they are owned by several large conglomerates that I can't touch, like CLAMP and Nelvana (Yeah right.). Any characters or places that were not mentioned in CCS do belong to me. I made them up. Mine. But I still don't own CCS, or anything to do with them. I do, occasionally, use them for chores. But all authors do that, so it doesn't count.

This Fic is rated: PG13 because of sexually oriented scene later on in the material. This scene does not include graphic or pornographic depictions. It's actually rather tasteful, if I do say so myself.

Notes: This is an AU piece, in which they have no magic and do not know each other. Sakura's twenty and Syaoran's twenty-one, so everyone's legal. This is, of course, a S+S fic, as are all my fics. Not much of the gang really, there will be a little, a cameo perhaps. But this is mainly based on the cutie couple. Two chapters are written in advance, so there will be NO GIVING UP. Yes, I can hear the cheers.

Dedication: To Zenin, who beta-ed this and basically wrote it herself. YOU ROCK GIRL!

I Dare You to Dance

Chapter One: Hard-Up For Cash

--*--

Men hooted and whistled for the pretty twenty-year-old.  Her waist was adorned with a belt with small bells hanging off; her midriff top showed her toned body.  The top was really just a light-blue boob tube with purple and dark blue sparkling, opaque material wrapped round it.  Her skirt was a loose, almost opaque material that shimmered with every twist of her hips – of which there were many.  Her feet had henna designs and her hands and arms were adorned with bangles and rings.  Her hair was tied in a bun, wrapped up with a sparkling ribbon.  Her face had make-up on it, shimmering blusher and some lip-gloss.  Her earrings were hoop earrings with the tiniest of bells hanging off.  She was a pretty sight for the drunken men and embarrassed wives and probably the only reason for people dining here.

Sakura Kinomoto was in no way proud of her job.  The pay was not the greatest, but no one else would hire her.  She was just some small-town girl looking for better things. She was working to pay for tuition so she could be a pre-school teacher. She lived in a two-bedroom apartment with one bathroom and an 'open plan' living area; which basically meant that the kitchen, dining room and living area were all mashed together.  The rent was five hundred a month, though the electric bills often made the sum soar up to seven hundred.  Sakura had learned very early that she could live on very little.  She had lived off her savings and this job for several months now.  But money still was tight…and Sakura was tired of being a joint waitress/belly dancer for a group of disgusting men. Which brings us to the start of this tale.  It's not a glamorous start, but a start nonetheless.

The restaurant itself had everyone sitting on comfortable cushions with low tables and flickering candles.  The floor was a dark wood, but covered with old carpets, stained with years of over-use.  The walls were a dank, yellow-ish colour with a large painting of a man riding a camel on the left wall and a picture of a dancing girl on the right.  The ceiling had the night sky painted on it, with the constellations joined up and the names written in the flowing Arabic hand.  The 'tables' were grouped in a circle, with a break in the circle to make way for the waitresses bringing out hot trays of Arabian cuisine.  They all faced the spot where Sakura danced up to twenty minutes to whichever music selection the audience chose.  It was a cosy place – seating up to forty customers at a time.  Twenty was the usual number.

That evening it was quiet, with only fifteen people in the restaurant.  Sakura rushed around, wearing her dancing outfit and serving people.  There were only four waitresses and three cooks so serving was always a bit fast.  Sakura watched a young man, maybe only a year older then herself, with interest.  He was always writing things down and looking around, taking cautious bites of his food.  She tinkled over with a large smile. 

"Sir, is there anything I can get for you?"

The young man looked up at her.  His eyes travelled slowly down her dancing ensemble, and then back up.  "A clean glass of ice water would be nice."

Sakura reddened.  The other girls had told her how rude he had been, but if you wanted a good tip, being polite was a must.  "Coming right up, sir."

He nodded his head and Sakura bustled away, bringing his water back to him within the space of two minutes.  He looked up, surprised.  Sakura secretly noted that if the young man only smiled a bit, he would be much more attractive.  She smiled warmly at him and turned to walk away.

"The bill?"

Sakura felt her smile starting to feel fake.  You'd think a little courtesy would hurt the guy…  She quickly brought the bill, glad to see the back of him.  He placed some money down and left.  She counted the bills, and then shook her head disgustedly.  "The bastard.  Not even a tip…"

Sakura collected her tips and pay for the week and went into the bathroom to change into a black turtleneck and a pair of dark jeans.  After all, it was winter, and the one time Sakura had left work without changing ended up with her stranded in the streets and penniless.  In other words, she had been mugged. 

She yelled good-bye to the head chef and bundled her black coat around her, tying up the belt tightly.  Sakura had learnt the hard way that the more clothes you wore and the less you carried a handbag, the less likely you were to be mugged.

She hailed a cab, reluctantly handing over the five-dollar fine once arriving home.

--*--

"Sakura, girl, open the reviews section of the paper. It's page four."

Sakura smiled into the receiver of her phone, picking up the paper and flicking to the entertainment section and turning to page four.  "Tash, I'm always up for seeing a movie.  You don't need to read the reviews to me."

"No –" crackled the voice of her good friend Natasha.  Her best friend had the luck to share a swish apartment overlooking the park with her fiancé, Jake.  The park truly was a beautiful place to live in springtime; what with all the cherry trees in bloom.  " – go to the restaurants segment.  Your work got reviewed."

Sakura scanned the page and quickly found the article.  Only a few seconds into the column, she slammed the page down on the table. 

"That piece of – Who had the audacity to write this?" She practically spat into the receiver.

"His name is Syaoran Li. It says so at the bottom."

Sakura sank into her couch and leaned back.  "I can't believe it. The place is struggling to attract enough customers as it is.  Why would someone want to discredit it?  I mean, I know it's not the nicest restaurant around, but…"

The voice on the phone switched from morning to motherly.  "Oh, sweetie.  He did call you a piece of entertainment..."

Sakura groaned.  "No, Tash.   What he said was: 'And there's a belly dancer at this place.  A girl by the name of Sakura.  Pretty, but not talented.'"

Natasha sighed.  "Some people are just born with a mean streak.  Do you want me to complain?"

Sakura sighed, echoing Natasha's own sigh. "No, that's alright.  Thanks for telling me though, Tash.  You're a gem."

"Well, if you really are ok, I'll let you go.  Ciao Sakura!"

"Bye, Natasha."

Sakura put the phone down next to her and put her head in her hands.  She only looked up when she heard a strident knock at the door.  Sakura slowly stood up, smoothed out her knee-length denim skirt, and walked over.  She opened the door and was greeted by her landlady: Mrs Lackerly.  The old woman had her hands on her hips.

"Miss Kinomoto, where is the five hundred in rent for this month?  It was due yesterday, when you get your payment."

Sakura sighed and looked at her feet.  This day just got worse and worse.  "Mrs Lackerly, I'm in a tight spot.  I didn't get enough last night to cover the rent for this month.  Please…let me have an extra week?"

The landlady looked hard at the girl.  "Will you have the money?"

Sakura chewed her lip and forced herself to look the landlady in the eye.  "I don't like having debts, but I just can't help it."

"I need to live too, missy," Mrs Lackerly snapped.  "Or did you forget that?"

"No, of course not, Mrs Lackerly!  But I only have two hundred, and I need that for grocery shopping and bills.  Please, one more week?"

"No." The old woman glared at Sakura. "If I gave you that, I'd have to give everyone an extension."

Sakura felt like slamming the door in the evil woman's face.  Her grip tightened on the doorknob…and then the brightest of ideas came to her.  She smiled charmingly at the landlady.  "Look, Mrs Lackerly, if I have one extra week to get a roommate, I will pay you everything that I owe. I'll pay this month's and next month's."

The old woman looked at her for a long moment.  "Fine.  You have your extension.  But I will be back next week; and if you don't have this month's and next month's fees by then, you're out of here."

Sakura smiled triumphantly. "Thanks you so much, Mrs Lackerly!"

The old woman hmphed and walked sharply to the next door to finish her rounds of Sakura's floor.

Sakura sat down on one of the old wooden chairs that surrounded her four-person dining table.  She grinned, grabbed her worn notebook, and scribbled down a draft for her ad. 

"Seeking roommate to share two bedroom flat, complete with kitchenette.  Rent is typically around four hundred dollars a month, not counting utilities.  Roommate must be prepared to share the bills and chores, as necessary.  If interested, please contact me at following number…"

Yes, Sakura liked the sound of it.  Very business-like and proper.  She hoped she would attract the right sort, hopefully someone nice.  Hopefully someone…not like the reviewer of her restaurant.  He would be the wrong sort.  He was probably old and ugly and had a cheating wife and kids who hated him. 

Sakura smiled dreamily to herself as she got caught up in her mental image of the nasty reporter.  He probably had lots of warts.  Hairy warts.  And a third arm, or something.  And fleas.  At least, that's what Sakura imagined.

Sakura laughed and went back to making her tea.  By now, the water probably needed to be re-heated.  But Sakura would do it with a smile.  Why?  Because she was imagining that horrid reporter in a vast array of painfully miserable situations.  Sakura knew, with that mental picture, she was guaranteed a happy day.  She'd go to the newspaper place and place the ad.  Then she'd come home and eat ice-cream for lunch, before going out for a brisk walk.  And then…well…it would be time to go to work.

Sakura smiled broadly. Maybe her day wasn't going to be so bad.

-*-

Like it? Then review, please. The comments make me decide whether to hang this story over a cliff or to celebrate it. Feed my ego.