Hello everyone! This is the second installment of my Lake Norman series. I started writing this mostly as a gift to my younger self who would have been way too ashamed to write out a fantasy like this in such excruciating detail, so it made me smile to receive feedback from people who took time to read my silly little smutty story. Honestly, those first three "chapters" were more horny ramblings than anything, so I hope this installation is an improvement. Anyway, enjoy! (CW: Intoxication, dubious consent)
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4.
The walk down to Willman's Hall is peaceful, quiet. The sky has that never-quite-dark glow that it does at the height of the summer, and the lightning bugs glitter, jubilant, in the trees. The footpath along the road is dotted with tiger lilies and bright red thimbleberries. I pick a few and eat them on the way. They burst in my mouth, tart and sweet. I wander slowly along the empty road until the yellow-lit bar comes into view. Music drifts softly towards me, accompanied by the percussive zap of the large incandescent bug lights on the patio.
The hall is really just a long cabin. There's a couple of high tops, a jukebox in the corner, and a narrow wooden bar. Two men I don't recognize--a rarity--sit at the end of the bar furthest from the door. They eye me as I walk in. I ignore them politely. There are a few more guys playing pool in the shallow alcove and chatting quietly amongst themselves. Theresa is polishing glasses behind the bar. She's kind of an institution here. She greets me with a warm, gap-toothed smile.
"Hi, sweetheart!" the fluorescent orange bangles on her wrists clack against each other as she sets a coaster down in front of me. She smells of Curve perfume and minty gum, her gray-blonde hair teased into a messy updo.
"Hi, Miss Theresa! Slow tonight?"
"You know it, honey. Everybody's out of fuckin' town," she sighs. "'Cept you! Shouldn't you be at the lake with your girlfriends?" She raises a drawn-on eyebrow.
I sigh. "I'm working double shifts at the bakery. A girl's gotta pay rent."
This makes her laugh hard. I wasn't trying to be funny, but I'm happy anyway. I really like Miss Theresa and her costume jewelry and her raspy voice. She doesn't patronize. She pulls down two small glasses and pours us room-temperature shots of tequila. "I'll drink to that."
She knocks it back in one go. I take half of mine and grimace before gulping it down and she laughs again, good naturedly. "You want a chaser?"
"Please." She pours me a pineapple juice and I tip the rest of the shot into my mouth quickly before chasing it down.
"What happened to your hands, sugar?" She gently traces my palm, sort of like Arnold did. I think back to the car ride and shake my head.
"I forgot about oven mitts," I shrug. "And I dropped like a hundred muffins on the floor. Stupid."
Theresa makes a sympathetic face. "I bet that little prick Henry really gave it to you over that one."
"Well actually--oh, could I have another? With pineapple juice, mixed please--actually, I didn't get in trouble at all, really, because...well, you know Arnold?"
"Sure. Nice guy." She slides a tall glass in front of me and I sip from the plastic straw. It's strong.
"Well," I continue, "He came in and he bought them. I mean he didn't take them, obviously. But he paid for them. And then he called me out of work." I smile into my drink, stirring it with the straw absentmindedly. When I look up, Theresa has a knowing look on her face.
"That sounds like him," she offers, then pauses. The guys at the end of the bar are signaling for another round. She pours straight whiskey into their glasses. One of them says something, too low for me to hear. She rolls her eyes and swats him with her rag.
She returns to me and rests both hands on the bar. "Arnold is a good man. Good looking, too," she smiles at me. "How old are you now, Sara? Twenty two?"
"Twenty three."
She chuckles. "You ever had a conversation with an embryo? I'll be fifty six in November. More'n twice your age." She pours me another drink. "Let me tell you something. You're a beautiful girl. Sure, being pretty gets your muffins bought--" she winks at me. "But pretty ain't always the best thing to be. If you start living on pretty, depending on it, you know...you'll get sick and tired of it real fast. Getting treated like a blow-up doll, I mean. And you won't know what the fuck to do when you start deflating. Ha!" Something flashes across her face and I don't think we're talking about me anymore.
"I think you're beautiful too, Miss Theresa." It's the only thing I can think of to say. She rolls her eyes and hand waves my response away, but I mean it. I feel so warm around her. Her age shows clearly on her face, in her thick midsection. Around her mouth are deep smile lines. Her face is full of soft divets and gentle folds. To me she looks like a woman who's spent years being exactly as she should be. Her eyes twinkle brightly. The guys at the bar call her for another round. She half-turns to them and then curses under her breath.
"Hold on a second y'all," she says to them. "I'm out. Let me grab some more from the basement." And then she disappears into the door on the far side of the bar, down the stairs. I start towards the alcove and realize that I know at least one of the people at the pool table.
"Oh. Hi, Mark."
He turns at the sound of his name, and a look of surprise falls on his face for a moment before settling into an easy, boyish smile.
"Sara! I haven't seen you since--jeez, since school, probably. How are you?"
Mark was in the year above me in high school. Back then we took woodshop together and I had a vague kind of crush on him, mostly as a result of proximity. He was easy to talk to, and nice to everybody. It also didn't hurt that he grew a mustache before anyone else.
"I'm good. I work at the bakery now, so...are you still at your dad's construction place?"
"Yeah...yeah. Him and mom are on vacation in Mexico, so I'm here, holding down the fort. Oh, by the way, this is Pete. And that there is Tyrel. Two of my best guys. You wanna play some pool? We could have an even game that way."
I wave to them before answering. Pete lifts his beer in return. He's very tall, and he's wearing sunglasses. That's an odd choice. Tyrel has long and curly hair that's pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck. He smiles at me and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans bashfully. I decide right away that I like him.
"I'm not sure if you'd want me on your team, Mark. I'm terrible. Like, really terrible."
One side of his mouth quirks up and he shrugs. "Well, I'm basically a billiards master, so it evens out."
I think Mark is a little shocked at how bad I am at pool. On my first turn I miss the cue ball entirely twice before finally making contact. It rolls very slowly about three inches forward before coming to a rest. Pete sinks two balls in a row. His sunglass-clad face does not betray much emotion. Mark runs his hands through his hair. "Okay," he exhales. "Alright. It's okay. You just have to loosen up, y'know?"
"I told you."
