Page 23 of The Lake of Lost Girls

I opened my eyes, looking around, wondering what sleazeball was playing voyeur.

A figure on the opposite side of the room caught my attention for no other reason than she seemed completely out of place. Not dancing. Not moving. Just standing there, her frizzy, overly permed brown hair stuck to the side of her head as if it were wet.

The strobe lights made it hard to see her properly. Her features were jarring in the flashing glare.

Tammy?

My breath caught in my throat. My palms went clammy.

I blinked and she disappeared.

I knew it wasn’t real. An alcohol-induced figment of my overwrought imagination. I was letting the conversation with my pledge sisters earlier in the week get to me. Their paranoia seemed to be contagious.

I scrunched my eyes closed again, terrified to leave them open.

A few minutes later I felt the warmth of someone pressing close to me. I opened my eyes to find a cute guy with an attractive toothy grin dancing beside me. He leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear lobe. “This is probably going to sound like a line, but can I join you?”

I couldn’t tell him how much I welcomed his distraction. Even if he was over the top with his forwardness. The hair was still raised on my arms. The ever-present tingle on the back of my neck hadn’t gone away.

The old Jess wanted to leave. To go back to the dorm and bury herself under the covers. Instead,new Jessgave him a coy smile and turned her back, glancing at the hot boy over her shoulder as I wiggled and shook the parts of me I knew he was staring at.

In my experience good-looking guys, young or old, were only ever after one thing. And they used their looks and easy smiles to make the rest of us go along with just about anything. My insides buzzed with bitter-tinged excitement.

“You can tell me to get lost if you want. But I really hope you don’t,” he shouted to be heard over the music.

I turned around, moving against him. His eyes widened, his grin broadening. He put his hands on my waist, his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh, making me shiver.

He was ridiculously attractive in a way that should make me suspicious. He was shirtless with a cheap Hawaiian lei around his neck and Bermuda shorts that hung low on his narrow hips. His longish hair was brown with blonde streaks that definitely weren’t natural. It kept falling in his eyes, which gave him an adorable boy-next-door appeal.

I took another sip of beer, trying not to shudder at the taste.

Mr. Cutie stopped dancing and peered into my cup, blanching. “Who gave you the piss water to drink? Hot girls are supposed to be given the good stuff.”

“Maybe the person who gave this to me didn’t think I was hot.”

The guy looked at me as if I had grown a second head, his hands still warm on the skin at my waist. “I may be slightly drunk, but my eyes still work.” He took the cup from me, left it on the table pushed against the wall and took my hand. “Come on, I’ve got the good shit upstairs.”

I tugged out of his grip, my feigned confidence melting away as nerves set in. “Um, maybe we should stay down here.”

“I promise to be a perfect gentleman.Theperfect gentleman.” He crossed his heart with his finger. “It’s just a crime for a girl that looks like you to be drinking the swill we reserve for the rest of the masses.”

I laughed, allowing myself to be flattered. “So you’re a brother at Sigma Kap?” I asked him.

“Not yet. I’m only a lowly pledge,” he answered.

“Me too.” And then I gave him a smile. A real one this time. He was cute and more than a little charismatic. There was something about him that made me want to be around him. Some people you meet, you feel that instant spark. This guy was one of those people.

“Figured you were one of the Pi Gamma girls.” He seemed proud of his deduction work.

“We’ll just call you Sherlock,” I joked, shoving his arm.

He held out his hand again. “So can we go get something better to drink?”

I hesitated, but only for a moment. He seemed like the perfect distraction right now. I put my hand in his and let him lead me toward the stairs, taking one last look around at the drunken party before we left.

Upstairs, we headed down a long, barely lit hallway. He pushed open the last door on the right to reveal a messy dormroom that stank of stale beer and body odor. Dirty clothes littered the floor and empty beer cans lined the window sill. The room was bigger than mine, with two wooden beds lofted to allow for the desks to fit underneath.

The guy cringed as he watched me take in my surroundings. “It’s not my room. I don’t live like a total pig.” I noted that he purposefully kept the door open, which I appreciated.

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