Meet Me at the Lake

I thought Will had ditched me. He’d excused himself to the bathroom as soon as Eli went upstairs to get ready for his set. He was gone for so long, I leaned across the table to see if he’d taken his backpack with him. But there it was, across from me on the bench.

I ordered two Jäger shots while I waited, then applied lip gloss with an unsteady hand, wiping the excess on my thigh.

I’d been lying to Will all day about Jamie. Now we both knew it.

I held my breath when he returned. His hair was damp and pushed off his forehead as though he’d washed his face in the sink. He sat, not meeting my eyes, and stared down at the shot glasses, lips pressed together. I considered apologizing, but I wasn’t sure what I should apologize for. It shouldn’t have mattered that I had a boyfriend. I wasn’t up-front about it, but it wasn’t like I was leading Will on. He had a girlfriend.

“Listen,” I started, although I had no idea what words would follow.

But Will lifted the glass closest to him and brought it toward his mouth. His eyes found mine and held them until I raised my shot. “Cheers,” he said, and we tipped the black liquor down our throats.

Will slammed his glass down, then stood. I was certain he was about to say goodbye, but he walked to my side of the booth and held out his hand. “Let’s go dance, Fern.”

I wouldn’t have guessed a Nirvana ska cover band would have much of a following, but the Mighty Mighty Kurt Tones had packed the people in. The upstairs venue was a long, narrow space, with a bar running along one wall near the back and a tight stage at the front. I’d never seen it so crowded.

Without speaking, Will led me to a stack of chairs in a corner. He took the tin of lemon drops from his backpack and stashed our bags under the chairs. He pressed one candy into my palm and popped another into his own mouth before threading his fingers through mine and leading me through the crowd. He’d said five words to me since he’d returned from the bathroom, and I couldn’t tell if he was mad at me, mad at himself, or some combination of the two. It pissed me off.

I eyed the band as we made our way to the front. Every member was as dapper as Eli. They were squished on the stage in plaid pants and bowlers and checkered suspenders. Some of the audience was similarly dressed. Suit jackets. Fishnets. Fingerless gloves. I brushed past a woman in a kilt and crop top, then told Will to give me a minute and pushed my way back to our things. He didn’t want me to go home and change, fine. But I wasn’t going to feel like a frump. I unbuttoned my blouse and scrunched it into my bag, leaving me in my tank top.

Will didn’t say anything when I found him, but I could feel his eyes straying from my neck to my arms to my chest. My top was tight, white, and not opaque. My bra was black. One of the straps had slipped off my shoulder, and I didn’t care to pull it back up. With my short hair, there was nothing to hide behind. But I’d had four drinks and a shot of Jäger, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel much like hiding.

The lead singer stepped up to the mic, her hair rolled like a retro pinup girl, her waist cinched in a full-skirted polka-dot dress. As she introduced the band, I tiptoed up to Will’s ear.

“You should have warned me about their name before I met Eli.” I kept my eyes trained on his profile.

“Why would you need a warning?” he asked, his gaze not leaving the stage.

I didn’t answer him. He knew I’d almost lost it when the words Mighty Mighty Kurt Tones left Eli’s lips. “And you haven’t even seen them play,” I said.

I leaned closer, putting my hand on his arm to steady myself. Will knowing about Jamie made me feel as if a safety net had been unfurled below whatever balancing act we were performing. “You’ve taken a certified music snob to what could be the world’s worst concert. Pretty bold move, Will Baxter.”

He turned his neck, bringing his nose inches from mine. His gaze dropped to my mouth and lingered there. The net vanished. He met my eyes, then opened his mouth to say something as the bass began the first bars of “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”

His mouth closed and we stared at each other as the drums kicked in, and then suddenly there was a burst of trumpet, sax, and trombone. We looked at the stage, and then back to each other, and then the room suddenly became a frenzy of leaping elbows and arms and knees.

“Holy shit, they’re good,” I yelled.

Will’s smile was fluorescent. He grabbed my hand and lifted it above my head, twirling me around.

“I don’t really dance,” I said, trying to pull my arm back. It was mostly true. My friends sometimes forced me out when they wanted to shake off shitty dates or disappointing grades, but it was always under duress.

“You dance,” Will shouted. He put his other hand on my waist. “We’re dancing.”

Will’s moves were extraordinarily good. Even with my stiff hips and the number of times I stamped on his toes, I thought we probably looked like we knew what we were doing. Not that anyone was paying attention. We were smooshed onto the dance floor, and with every song, the room got warmer, more humid. Will’s hair fell in his face, slick with sweat, and my shirt was soaked.

It didn’t take much for our bodies to come together. A shove from someone sent me stumbling into Will. I glanced up at him to apologize, but he took my wrists and hung them around his neck. His body was hard and warm against mine.

“For the record, I can’t dance for shit,” I said the fifth time I trampled his foot.

He ran his hands down my back and along my sides, resting them on my hips. “You’re perfect.”

We danced like that, lined up together, eyes locked, his fingers pressing into me, until the Kurt Tones paused to fix a broken drum pedal.

We stopped moving and watched each other. Will swallowed, and his gaze dropped to my mouth again, and I knew that if he were single and I were single, his lips would have dropped there, too.

“Drink?” I said.

“Okay.”

We wriggled our way to the bar, and he ordered two gin and tonics, and I tried not to look at the way Will’s shirt stuck to his chest while the bartender fixed our drinks. He set them on the counter in front of us, a shriveled lime on each of their rims, and we grinned at each other. I took the straw out of mine and chugged it like it was water. It was half ice and so weak, it may as well have been.

“Let’s stay near the back,” I said when the music started up again. I was beginning to feel dizzy—fighting the heat and the noise and the ache in the arches of my feet. “It’s so hot in here.”

We stood at the edge of the crowd. Will kept looking between me and the band.

“You okay?”

I wiped my neck and nodded. But my thoughts swirled like a tornado, thoughts of Will and Jamie. Of Will’s body moving against me. Will’s arm brushed mine, and I automatically reached for his hand, pulling back when my fingers glided over his wrist. What was I doing? I wasn’t used to drinking this much anymore—it had been years since I’d allowed myself to be anything more than slightly tipsy. I needed air. I looked around the room, judging the distance to the exit. When Will touched the small of my back, I jumped.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I have to get out of here.”

He nodded. “Wait by the door. I’ll get our stuff.”

Will disappeared into the crowd. I edged over to the wall, pressing my forehead against the sticky surface. I stayed there, with my eyes closed, taking deep breaths, until someone touched my shoulder.

“Here,” Will said. “Drink this. Then we’ll get out of here.”

I opened my eyes to find him holding a glass of water. He leaned over me, blocking out the room. I took a few long sips and handed the glass back to Will, and he finished the rest.

“Come on,” he said, tucking my arm in his and helping me down the stairs.

We pushed out onto the front patio and then stopped. It was pouring. Water spouted from the corners of the bar awning and pooled in gutters. Light reflected off the wet sidewalks, the air heavy and metallic. The street was almost empty, except for a few people huddled under a streetcar stop. It wasn’t just rain. It was a torrential summer downpour. I stepped right into it.

I heard Will call my name, but I ignored him because I was already feeling better, the droplets cool against my skin. I raised my arms, closed my eyes, and lifted my chin to the storm. A minute later, a car raced through a puddle, drenching my shins, and I leapt back, shrieking.

Will stood beside me, water running down his face.

“All right,” I said, tugging on his arm. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

And even though he already knew the answer, I told him anyway. “Back to my place.”