Page 113 of Kismet

“What should we do tonight?” I ask as we make our way out of the busy airport.

“If you aren’t too tired, we should go out. There’s a club close to my place. Or if you’re tired, we can just stay in and chill. Either way.”

“Nah, let’s go out,” I reply with conviction. Fuck being tired.

We drop my shit off at his place before catching an Uber to the club. There’s a huge line around the block, but Weston knows someone at the door, so we get in right away. It’s packed wall to wall with sweaty, probably drunk, people. Bodies grind against one another like no one’s watching, shots steadily flow at the bar and at the tables, the music loud, vibrating through the hot, muggy air, and the room is dim, lit only by flashing neon lights.

I follow Weston to a table he apparently has reserved in VIP. There’s a badass looking dude sitting in the booth already when we walk up, but the smirk on Weston’s face lets me know he isn’t a stranger.

“Hey, man. This is Cash, my hometown friend. Cash, this is Enzo. He’s also visiting from out of town.”

The dude—Enzo—tips his chin at me as he lifts his drink. “Nice to meet you, Cash.” He has a thick southern drawl, but it isn’t a Texas accent, that’s for sure. His arms are fucking huge, covered in colorful ink. As a matter of fact, there’re tattoos covering every part of his body that’s visible, aside from his face.

“Hey, man. You too. Where you from?”

“Georgia,” he offers. “You?” He’s stoic. Nothing given away on his face.Interesting.

“I live in Texas,” I reply with a grin as I take a seat across from him. Weston sits in the middle of both of us. I wonder how he knows this guy. Doesn’t seem like someone West would normally hang out with.

“Let’s do shots,” Weston suggests, with a glint in his eyes. There’s a bottle of chilled Grey Goose at the table already. He grabs it and pours three overflowing shots, handing Enzo and I each one. “Too bad Bran isn’t here to give one of his famous toasts, but to letting loose and having fun. Cheers!”

We all clank our glasses together before tossing the contents back. The familiar burn works its way down my throat until it warms my chest. Weston and I share a chuckle when we’re done. Branson was known for legendary—and sometimes ridiculous—toasts when we were in high school or college. It was his thing, and nobody does a toast quite like Branson.

We all have a couple more shots and shoot the shit for a while. Weston and I catch up a little, while I learn a little more about the mysterious Enzo. He doesn’t divulge much about himself, but I do find out he’s a cop, which makes him even more of an enigma. I’m gonna have to remember to ask Weston about their story once we’re alone.

Weston’s brother, Kingston, shows up a few hours later and joins us, throwing back a couple of shots. He’s five years older than us, but we used to spend a lot of time with him when we were kids. He’d drive us everywhere before we were old enough to have licenses and would buy us alcohol once he was twenty-one.

Weston has two older brothers, him and Dalton. Dalton is only three years older than us, but stuffy as fuck. He’s always been the wet blanket of the family. He got married pretty early on and is an anesthesiologist, just like their dad. He lives in New York with his equally stuffy wife. I’ve seen him probably five or six times since high school. He doesn’t visit much, and even when he does, he’s not any fun. King and West have always been the closest out of the three. They’re so similar, it’s insane. Which is part of the reason Weston moved down here as soon as he graduated college.

Three shots later, Weston and Enzo are dancing while King and I hang out at the table. We can see them from where we’re seated. They are… interesting. I can’t get a read on EnzoorWeston with Enzo. Are theyjustfriends or more? I chance my luck with King.

“What do you know about Enzo?”

“Not much,” he admits, bringing his drink to his lips. “He’s only been here twice, as far as I know. Why?”

“Curious. Weston’s never mentioned him before, and they’re interesting, to say the least.”

“Pretty sure they’re fuckin’,” he nonchalantly states.

It doesn’t entirely surprise me. Weston was always known for being somewhat of a playboy in college who never had any trouble getting plenty of ass. He’s never shown interest in men, at least not around me, but if anyone’s aware of how fluid sexualityreallyis, it’s me. I mean, is anyone one hundred percent straight these days? Probably not.

We’re observing them. They’re both grinding on each other, but neither one of them appears to be more in charge than the other. Both of them seem to be calling the shots. They’re close to the same height, faces close to one another as song after song plays. The sexual tension is thick, even from all the way over here, and it’s no surprise when Weston finally wraps his palm around Enzo’s nape and crashes their lips together. Kingston and I look at each other, both of us shaking our heads with matching smirks as we turn away from their intimate dance floor moment.

Not surprising at all. It does make me wonder what Stone is doing, though. It would be fun as hell if we were here together. Although, knowing us, we’d most definitely be doing more than making out on the dance floor. We’d probably be banging in the bathroom by now. Lord knows we can’t keep our hands off each other for any period of time.

******

It’s just after three in the morning as me and Weston are getting back to his place. The club was insane. Way fucking different from Lubbock nightlife. As tired as I am, I’m happy we went out. I feel like a piece of me was reignited tonight that I’d lost over the years.

My early twenties were jam-packed with school and more school. Deciding to get my PhD was a huge decision. One I’ve never regretted, but it took up a lot of my time. I fell into an easy routine of school and home life, and then when I finally graduated and got my professor job, I jumped straight from a school, home balance to a work, home balance, never giving myself much time to enjoy myself.

Tonight helped remind me what it’s like to have genuine fun. Hanging out with Kingston, Weston, and his… whatever the fuck Enzo is to him… was exactly what I needed. To get carelessly drunk with an old friend and not worry about a goddamn thing. I need to allow myself to do that more often.

Weston raced to his room as soon as we got home. We’re both tired as shit, and he has to get up pretty early for a meeting that he wasn’t able to reschedule until after I leave, so he wanted to try to get some shut-eye while he could. I, on the other hand, opted to take a hot ass shower, rinsing all the sweat off my body.

There’s not much else better than a scalding shower right before bed. Plus, the shower in Weston’s guest bathroom is nice as fuck. It has glass doors, dark gray ceramic tiles on the walls, and the shower head comes from the ceiling, mimicking rainfall. If this is what the guest bathroom looks like, I can’t even imagine what his en suite looks like.

He’s doing pretty well for himself.

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