Page 22 of Kismet

The storm doesn’t let up. It’s dark out now, and the thunder is loud as hell, rain pounding on the window. The lights keep flickering, probably about to go out at any minute.

“I really don’t understand why these have to be printed out. It seems so counterproductive,” Cash mumbles.

“I know. It doesn’t make sense. Professor Dillion is old school.” As I finish my sentence, the lights flicker twice before going out completely. We’re covered in darkness as the storm rages outside. I wait for the generator to kick on, but it never does.

“Shiiit.” I can barely make out Cash’s silhouette a few feet from me at his desk.

“I know,” I agree. “Want to help me find the breaker room? Maybe we can kick-start the backup generator.”

“Let’s do it. You got a flashlight, or do you have your phone? Mine’s at home.”

“We can use the light on my phone.” I laugh as we leave the classroom.

We make our way down the hallway, toward the stairwell, heading down to the first floor, where I believe the breaker room to be. By the silence that greets us in the halls, it looks like we’re the only ones here right now.

The rain is really coming down outside. We peek out the window once we get on the main level, and there’s at least an inch or two of standing water.

“Here, I think this is it.” He walks up to a closed door, twisting the knob. “Locked. Dammit.”

“Okay, let’s just go back up to the classroom. I’ll text the dean and see if he can help.”

We make it back to the classroom and I try to call the dean, but my phone dies. How did I not notice it was low battery?

“Shit, my phone died? You said your phone is at home?”

“Uhh, yeah. I accidentally left it on my bed when I ran out to get the papers.”

A thunderous roar booms so loud, it rattles the windows. Goddamn, this is one hell of a fucking storm. Thunderstorms are common here, but not usually like this.

“Alright, guess we better get comfortable,” I grumble.

There’re a few moments of silence before Cash speaks up. “So, teach… you still got that bottle of whiskey in your desk drawer?”

I can hear the smirk in his voice more than I can see it. “How do you know about that?”

“Eh, I’ve seen it in there a few times when you’ve grabbed things out of it.” He steps a little closer, my eyes having started to adjust to the darkness, staring right into his. “Do you?” he asks again.

“I do,” I confirm. “It was a white elephant gift from the Christmas party last year.”

“Let’s crack it open.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that, Cash.”

“Oh, come on,” he mutters, waving a hand in front of him nonchalantly, with a butter-me-up grin on his face. “You said it yourself, we better get comfortable. It doesn’t look this storm is letting up anytime soon. I know I don’t want to drive home in this, and I’m sure you don’t either, right?”

He has a point… what the hell else are we going to do for who knows how long? Let’s just hope that smirk on Cash’s face is an innocent one.

Jesus take the wheel.

Heaving a sigh, I walk over to my desk and pull out the unopened bottle of Jack I keep in there. “Fine. But not too much. We still have to drive home later whenever the storm stops.”

This probably isn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever had—actually, I know it’s a terrible idea—but similar to what Cash said in his toast in Portland, questionable choices seem to follow me whenever I’m around him.

“Oh, hell yeah. That’s what I’m talking about, teach.” Amusement dances over his features in the moonlight pouring in through the windows.

Twisting open the cap, I bring the bottle to my lips, letting the amber liquid fill my mouth, before swallowing down the burn. I walk over to Cash, handing him the bottle, and watch him while he takes a large pull of the whiskey too.

“What now?” he asks, as he hops up onto the table.

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