Page 41 of It Started at the Lake

Me: I’ll meet you there.

There’s no way I want to be trapped at a club until midnight. Snatching my keys off the dresser, I head to the garage. I keep the radio silent on the way to the dance club. The noise is too much for my nerves. I’m clammy and my mouth is dry. Half an hour. That’s it. In and out.

I can do this.

Pulling into a parking spot, I immediately hop out of my SUV before I talk myself out of going inside. I open the door and am greeted by a line of people waiting to get inside. I text Henry.

Me: Where are you guys? I just got here.

Henry: We got a table in the back left corner. Ordering drinks in a minute. Want anything?

I’m afraid I’ll puke if I try to put anything in my body right now. Me: Nah, I’m good. See you in a sec.

I show the burly bouncer my driver’s license and he waves me in. Weaving around clusters of people in the dimmed room, I make my way toward the back. Usher’s “DJ Got Us Fallin’ in Love” plays at a decibel level my ears don’t appreciate. Drinks are served from the bar off to the right of the large space. I keep looking for my family and just when I think I’m at the wrong place (which isn’t possible since this is the only dance club in Stokesley), I spot Evie hugging some guy I’ve never seen before.

She sees me and shrieks, “Bennett! Yes, I’m so glad you came.” She grabs my arm, hauling me in front of the stranger. “Eric, this is my cousin Bennett. Bennett, this is Eric. We met a week and a half ago.”

Makes perfect sense Evie found someone to hang out with this summer the first few days here. She’s never lacked for company, especially those of my gender. “Hey, man. Nice to meet you.”

He tips his chin up in the standard bro hello. “Hey.”

Evie turns and introduces the rest of the guys. Wait… Where’s Millie? Acting as casual as can be, I ask, “Where’s Millie? I thought she said she was coming?”

Evie pouts. “Your mom has her all giddy with this new job. She wanted to stay home and do more research.”

My brows rise. I’m surprised, in a good way. I can’t believe a young twenty-year-old college student is willingly passing up an opportunity to party. I’m torn between staying and going home.

Emerson stands, clapping my shoulder as he does so. “I’m headed to the bar. Do you want to come with me?”

I shake my head. “I’m going to dance.”

Then go home. I can tell Mom I tried. It sucked. The end.

Turning around, I survey the dance floor. Though it’s only eight-thirty, there are at least a hundred people here. I take my time feeling out who appears to be single, who catches my eye (so far no one), and who I’m willing to approach.

My hands shake and a sheen of sweat coats the back of my neck. This is stupid. I turn to tell my family I’m not feeling well when someone taps on my shoulder.

Turning around, I stare at the newcomer. A woman with fiery red hair and a very tight, very short green dress smiles exuberantly at me. “Hi.” She waves. “Would you like to dance with me?”

I want to say no. Instead, I hold out my hand. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

She slides her slender fingers across my palm. The move is meant to be seductive. But I feel… nothing. No heat. No sparks.

This feels like when I hold my elderly neighbor’s hand every Tuesday evening when she comes home from playing Bingo at the senior center and needs help up her front steps.

We move away from the table, closer to where people are dancing. It’s a fast song, one I’m not used to moving my body to. Purposely keeping a foot between us, I’m awkward as I move my feet and hips. My grandpa has better moves than me. Ignoring the heat scorching my chest and neck over my terrible shuffling I’m calling dancing, I peruse the woman brave enough to approach me.

She’s cute. There’s a smattering of freckles covering her cheeks and nose. Her dress hugs every inch of her curves, accentuating her slender figure. Her makeup isn’t heavy or messily applied. Objectively, she’s someone I may have flirted with before Jen. But right now? There’s nothing here. Maybe I need to touch her?

As if I had telepathy, the DJ changes the music to a slow song. Bravely, I close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around her waist. I don’t pull her into me, keeping a lengthwise three-Bible distance between us.

She takes the opportunity of the languid pace to speak. “I’m Faith. What’s your name?”

“I’m Bennett.”

Her hand moves from my shoulder to behind my neck. “Are you here for the summer?”

That one small move is like her grasping my throat and squeezing. I can’t breathe. This is painful. I choke out, “Yes. You?”

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