1. Our First Meeting, Thirty years Prior

I will my hand to stop shaking, as I hold up my quite clearly fake ID. I promised Heather a good time tonight, and Club Noctus is the only place that can deliver, since I have not a single bill left in my pocket at this point.

It’s my cousin’s photo on this piece of plastic. The bouncer takes one look at that grainy image of blond hair and no other similarities on the nearly-expired license and just gives a little grunt. Then his walkie bleeps. He looks to the camera seated over the door behind him, back to me and Heather...

He waves us through, and I feel myself exhale. That club promoter was telling the truth; no entry charge here, if you have an in. “This is so cool!” Heather beams, clutching all the tighter at my arm.

I shoot her a nervous smile. She’s the most popular girl in my grade. I cannot believe she likes me. She has the whole package, lead in our school play, dating a football player, while I was mostly keeping to myself. No top grades, no real extra circulars or involvement with sports. I spend most of my time at home or in the art room, not really noticing what’s going on outside. Then I heard the rumor that Heather Morris, of all people, liked me, and the guys all told me I should go talk to her… So I did.

I was pretty sure I made a fool of myself with that first painfully awkward attempt at small-talk, but Heather somehow found it cute. She dumped her boyfriend within a week. Then he tried to beat the shit out of me, right in front of a teacher, got suspended, and now we’re a thing. We’ve had two entire dates now. The first, a study-date of unclear intentions, and then an actual night at the movies, watching Titanic, of all things. Heather likes a bit of danger, a bad boy. No idea why she has a thing for me, but I… I mean, who wouldn’t like her? She’s got that tanned, curvy, valley-girl appeal, with personality to match. Any guy would kill to be out with her at 10 o’clock on a Friday night.

Of course, my parents would kill me should they figure out I am not sound asleep in bed right now. I slipped out the window. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, and they never come to check on me. I guess they really trust me, and I guess I should really feel bad about abusing said trust, but… It’s Heather Morris. I am probably never going to get beyond a third date with this it-girl.

Though Club Noctus is certainly dazzling enough to save me her disinterest. I have never heard music like this, this pounding, all consuming beat, layered in with strings and weeping chords…

Shit, Heather’s talking to me again. “What?” I can’t hear a thing of what she’s saying, but she doesn’t seem to care, smiling all the broader and pulling me over toward the dance floor.

I know how to dance. My mom gives ballroom lessons to seniors, and I’ve been her partner for those demos since I was ten years old. But absolutely nobody outside of that circle of retirees knows about that, because it would be absolutely mortifying and complete social suicide.

That said, were we at a school dance, I could handle myself – stick to a simple box step and sway with her to the tune. In this setting though… I have no idea what to do. I’m just standing there like a wooden board as she rolls her hips and throws up her hands...

I need to get the hell out of here. “I… drink?”

She can’t make out what I’m saying, so I cast my eyes to the bar, backing away from her with an awkward little point.

Then again… I can’t leave her alone in here. In this crowd, I’m not sure if I’d ever actually find her again. Also, there is no way I am getting the attention of that absolutely swarmed bar tender, surrounded by all those rich, scantily clad, and massively tipping hotties. I still feel like I am going to get arrested just fingering this ID and--

Heather’s loud, ecstatic laugh jerks me right back around.

It’s him, stood beside Heather and murmuring some compliment most intimately right into her ear.

His name is Luc. I don’t know his last name. I just know he’s…

He is the last guy you ever want your girlfriend catching sight of when you’re out on a date.

It was a packed theater for Titanic, but Luc approached us right outside, as we were exchanging awkward, agreed praise of the cinematic masterpiece. Luc took one look at us and spoke right at our backs. “Bullshit.” He had such a charming, wicked smile to accompany that soft curse. “You were bored out of your minds the entire run-time, wishing desperately for some dark corner to flee to for some much more stimulating entertainment.”

Perfect, dusky olive skin, inky, close trimmed curls, a clean shave, a perfectly tailored suit, and the most captivating eyes you’ve ever--

Heather certainly seemed taken with him anyhow. The second we turned around, she started giggling, and blushing, even as she was clutching at my arm. “Uh… what wasn’t there to like? And you are?”

“Luc.” He actually kissed her hand. Lifted it right up to his face and kissed it like a gentleman from a Jane Austen play.

“Already ditch your girlfriend because she dragged you to this chick-flick?” Heather teased, and Luc smiled all the broader.

“I came here of my own volition. Heard it was a masterpiece, yet I found myself watching you two far more than that most cliché love-story.” His eyes locked with mine. “I could tell you were likewise… distracted. Fellow suffering souls, lured in by a lie.”

“What a horrible critic! Right?” Heather asked me, and I nodded.

“It was… I mean, it was really good. And that scene, with the sketch…” Shit! Why would I bring that up. You cannot bring up a sex scene in front of a total stranger and a girl you have been on only a single date with.

“A marvelous tease of some scandalous artistry,” Luc agreed. “But if you’re looking for some real fun…” He pulled out a business card, folding it into my hand. “Stop by my club. Free entry, for those in the know.”

He turned away without another word and struck up a chat with another young couple, just now heading out from the theater. I found it surprising that he was working as a club promoter. He didn’t look any older than us, maybe nineteen, at the oldest, but he certainly had the confidence of a seasoned hustler.

Now he’s grinding with my girlfriend in the center of the dance floor.