The Lucky One(62)

“Fun,” they said in unison.

They ended up at a table with six students from UNC Wilmington. The waitress introduced them as Matt, Sarah, Tim, Allison, Megan, and Steve, and the students each raised their bottles in turn and announced in unison: “Hey, Elizabeth! Hey, Logan! We have crabs!”

Thibault stifled a laugh at the play on words—crab was slang for something undescribable picked up during sexual encounters, which was obviously the point—but was flummoxed when he saw them staring at him expectantly.

The waitress whispered, “You’re supposed to say, ‘We want crabs, especially if we can get them with you.’”

This time he did laugh, along with Elizabeth, before saying the words, playing along with the ritual everyone observed here.

They sat opposite each other. Elizabeth ended up sitting next to Steve, who didn’t hide the fact that he found her extremely attractive, while Thibault sat next to Megan, who showed no interest in him whatsoever because she was far more interested in Matt.

A plump, harried waitress rushed by, barely pausing to call out, “More crabs?”

“You can give me crabs anytime,” the students replied in chorus. All around them, Thibault heard the same response over and over. The alternative response, which he also heard, was, “I can’t believe you gave me crabs!” which seemed to signify that no more were needed. It reminded him of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, where regulars knew all the official responses and newcomers learned them on the fly.

The food was first-rate. The menu featured only a single item, prepared a single way, and every bucket came with extra napkins and bibs. Crab pieces were tossed into the center of the table—a tradition—and every now and then, teenagers in aprons came by to scoop them up.

As promised, the students were boisterous. A running string of jokes, plenty of harmless interest in Elizabeth, and two beers each, which added to the raucous spirit. After dinner, Thibault and Elizabeth went to the restroom to wash up. When she came back out, she looped her arm through his.

“You ready to shag?” she asked suggestively.

“I’m not sure. How do you do it?”

“Learning to shag dance is like learning to be from the South. It’s learning to relax while you hear the ocean and feel the music.”

“I take it you’ve done it before.”

“Once or twice,” she said with false modesty.

“And you’re going to teach me?”

“I’ll be your partner. But the lesson starts at nine.”

“The lesson?”

“Every Saturday night. That’s why it’s so crowded. They offer a lesson for beginners while the regulars take a break, and we’ll do what they tell us. It starts at nine.”

“What time is it?”

She glanced at her watch. “It’s time for you to learn to shag.”

Elizabeth was a much better dancer than she’d suggested, which thankfully made him better on the dance floor, too. But the best part of dancing with her was the almost electrical charge he felt whenever they touched and the smell of her when he twirled her out of his arms, a mixture of heat and perfume. Her hair grew wild in the humid air, and her skin glowed with perspiration, making her seem natural and untamed. Every now and then, she’d gaze at him as she spun away, her lips parted in a knowing smile, as if she knew exactly the effect she was having on him.

When the band decided to take a break, his first instinct was to leave the floor with the rest of the crowd, but Elizabeth stopped him when the recorded strains of “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole began to waft through the speakers. She looked up at him then, and he knew what he had to do.

Without speaking, he slipped one arm behind her back and reached for her hand, then tucked it into position. He held her gaze as he pulled her close, and ever so slowly, they began to move to the music, turning in slow circles.

Thibault was barely conscious of other couples joining the dance floor around them. As the music played in the background, Elizabeth leaned into him so close that he could feel each of her slow, languid breaths. He closed his eyes as she put her head on his shoulder, and in that instant, nothing else mattered. Not the song, not the place, not the other couples around him. Only this, only her. He gave himself over to the feel of her body as it pressed against him, and they moved slowly in small circles on the sawdust-strewn floor, lost in a world that felt as though it had been created for just the two of them.

As they drove home on darkened roads, Thibault held her hand and felt her thumb tracking slowly over his skin in the quiet of the car.

When he pulled into his driveway a little before eleven, Zeus was still lying on the porch and raised his head as Thibault turned off the ignition. He turned to face her.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” he murmured. He expected her to say the same, but she surprised him with her response.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she suggested.

“Yes,” he said simply.

Zeus sat up as Thibault opened Elizabeth’s door and stood as Elizabeth got out. His tail started to wag.

“Hey, Zeus,” Elizabeth called out.

“Come,” Thibault commanded, and the dog bounded from the porch and ran toward them. He circled them both, his cries sounding like squeaks. His mouth hung half-open in a grin as he preened for their attention.