Page 5 of Whispers on the Water

“Three Dos Eqquis!” I call out, catching the bartender’s attention immediately.

“Hey, Sammy!” Claire, an old friend behind the bar, greets me enthusiastically. I’m fishing for cash in my purse when she waves off the money. “Just owe me!” she insists. Smiling, I nod. The next time Claire is at our bar, she’ll expect free drinks, but the trade is worth it.

While I sip one of the beers, I feel the music beat through me. The familiarity, the noise, the smells—it all wraps around me like a warm embrace, making the night feel like it could hold something special. For a moment, all the worries about family and secrets fade into the background, replaced by the promise of a night out with my closest friends.

I return to Tilly and Tommy, who are already lost in the rhythm on the dance floor. Tommy’s hands rest comfortably on Tilly’s hips, moving in sync with her as she presses back against him. I hand them their beers, Tilly taking a quick sip without missing a beat, and Tommy taking a generous gulp without letting his eyes leave Tilly’s body.

As Tommy’s hands roam Tilly’s hips in tune with the music, he barely moves his feet. It’s a story I’ve seen countless times before. We go out, and they flirt shamelessly, then go back to acting like nothing is going on the next day. Every time I see them dance together, they seem so in tune, especially now, as they let go of whatever’s holding them back. Tilly’s arms gently wrap around his neck, the beer still in one hand, her smile full of warmth and affection as she says something to him. Tommy’s cheeks grow rosy as he grins.

It’s so intimate that I have to turn away. As I glance around the club, the loud music and dazzling lights reveal couples completely lost in each other, just like that.

Frowning at the sight, I take another long drink, letting the fizzy liquid flow down my throat. I’m not about to interrupt whatever is going on with my friends. Feeling like a sudden third wheel, I retreat to a table near the room’s edge, my beer in hand, tapping my foot to the music. But something feels off. This night was meant for fun, for dancing, yet here I am, sidelined. There are a few groups of men hanging around, but I have no idea how to ask one of them to dance. Instead, I head back to the bar. It’s Tilly’s personal belief that tequila makes everything better and I’m about to subscribe to that idea.

“Claire!” I call out, and she looks over, holding onto a box of liquor. “Two tequila shots?”

Claire sets her box down and then steps onto it, expertly retrieving the top-shelf tequila. Because why use a stool when you can live dangerously? In a fluid motion, she pours two generous shots before moving on to another customer. I grab one of the shot glasses and toss it back. It burns all the way down, a warmth spreading through me, loosening the knots of tension.

“Good, eh?” A man’s voice catches me off guard.

I turn to see him, a crooked smile under a mop of neatly combed dark blonde hair, a white v-neck straining against broad shoulders. My cheeks heat up at his gaze. “Erm, yeah. Want one?” I nudge the second shot towards him.

He downs it smoothly and wipes a dribble from his chin. “Dance?”

“Uh, sure.” He holds out his hand, and I look at it for a split second before grabbing on. His palm is warm in mine as he leads me away from the bar, my laughter barely contained. Maybe I didn’t need liquid courage after all. I make a mental note for the next time I’m out dancing. Just buy them a drink.

The man doesn’t go far before he’s turning around. There’s a slightly awkward moment where we’re both just staring at each other, like we’re in the wild west about to draw our six shooters. Only with less tumbleweeds and ponchos and more disco lights and alcohol. I’ve caught plenty of looks before, but something about him sparks an unfamiliar excitement. His deep brown eyes seem to see right through me, igniting a shiver of anticipation. An intensity radiates from him, silently communicating the promise of a good time.

When he steps closer, he drapes my arm over his shoulder and puts his hand on my hip. We find our rhythm effortlessly, his guidance making me feel like I was born to dance. But when the song switches to something with a salsa beat, I suddenly find myself wondering if my hips do lie, because they’re not speaking any language I understand.

He pulls me close. “Relax, move with me,” the man says. His fingers grip onto my hips and it’s like a translator to my body. We move in sync, floating around in a bubble all our own.

Each spin sends my hair flying, laughter escaping me, and feeling more alive than I have in a long time. The closer we get, the more I’m drawn to him, his presence enveloping me in a pure, exhilarating scent that’s all his own.

When we’re face to face again, his smile is wide and infectious, and I make the decision to close the gap between us. So far, he’s been a complete gentleman, not letting his hands dip lower than my necessary and his eyes staying on my face. In fluid harmony, we sway together with an effortless grace. The song switches again, something faster, with a heavy bass line. I let our bodies touch in a tantalizing game of nearness and distance, a delicate balance that he seems to enjoy. But me? I’m practically begging for more. His scent fills my senses, a hint of salt mingled with something uniquely him.

Not sweat, something purer than that. It hits me like a thirty-foot wave. The man smells like the ocean. As soon as I realize it, my body heats from the inside out.

Encouraged by that idea, I reach up, tangling my hand in his hair; I feel the crisp, dried salt in the long strands on top. Bingo! Surfer detected. Well either that or he’s a rogue merman come to land for his ten-year anniversary of when he was lost at sea.

I laugh loudly at the ridiculous thought, and he smiles. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Totally!” I yell above the music. He twirls me around just as I say, “This is more fun than watching a dude get kicked in the crotch.” His eyebrows lower and he points to his ear. It’s too loud for him to catch my stupid joke so I just nod. Safer that way.

We spin again, each laugh I let out seems to draw him closer, his presence a thrilling charge in the air around us. My skin tingles, heat pooling in my belly.

As we dance, the buzz of alcohol in my veins amplifies the connection between us. His hands, rough and strong, roam over my back, igniting sparks wherever they touch. The colors of the club lights flash around us, casting us in a surreal, vibrant glow. I’m completely lost in the sensation of moving with him, his body an anchor in the pulsing tide of music.

“I’m Greg,” he says during a brief lull in the music.

“Stacy,” I lie.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Stacy.”

His compliment launches me into a state of blush-induced panic, my brain scrambling for a comeback that’s somewhere between ‘Thank you’ and ‘I know we just met, but let’s elope.’ In a swift move, his grip tightens on my hips, and my heart races with anticipation. I lean against him more, letting our bodies press together. The physical connection is undeniable, as something hard grazing my stomach suggests he’s just as turned on as I am. The feeling of his cock pressing against me only fuels my desire to get closer.

It’s been too long since I’ve allowed myself to feel this way, but Greg, respectful yet undeniably drawn to me, stirs a longing I’ve tried to suppress in the past. I lean in, my voice a seductive whisper. “Greg, you’re a fantastic dancer.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows wiggle, and I have to fight to suppress a laugh. But he leans close to my ear and stops moving altogether. “You should see what I can do off the dance floor.”

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