Page 2 of Just Is Not Enough

Food is a form of art. Feeding people is my love language. The only thing I want to do is create food that people will talk about. Nothing makes me happier than seeing people enjoy my dishes. Showing my parents, I can be successful doing something I love, rather than following in the family’s footsteps into the academy, will be a bonus. It’s like they bred us to be clones of them. When I didn’t fit in that box I was labeled the rebellious one.

Despite the disappointment that I was with my parents, I worked my way up in the city’s restaurants over the past 12 years. Fine-tuned my chef’s skills and learned the business side of running a restaurant from Brenda and Grace, along with friends I’ve made in the industry over the years. Taking those hospitality management classes at UNC helped me prepare to be a proper leader for my employees.

In less than three months, we open the doors to our first restaurant, Stonewood’s Steakhouse, in the heart of the city. The hippie aunts offered to invest half their savings and be silent partners, helping me fulfill this dream of mine. My best friend, Gabe, joining us in this three-way partnership. Getting a Small Business Loan to cover the rest of startup costs sealed the deal. I have been extremely focused on all things encompassing building a restaurant, I barely remember my name these days.

Tonight’s dilemma is my own fault. I agreed to go out with Jackson and our cousin, Dakota. They moved to the city about four years after I did, when they finished the academy together. The “good boys” that followed the family path set for them. If the family only knew what they got up to these days.

They are always trying to lure me out to sports bars with them. ‘Luke, this place has the best wings. You should come check them out,’ was one of their tactics last month, trying to appeal to the food lover in me. Those fuckers will find any excuse to get me to drink and pickup women with them.

Tonight’s excuse, Jackson said he needed me to be his wingman at a party Dakota heard about on some radio station. Apparently, Dakota is acting weird lately and hasn’t been the best wingman after having a few beers. It’s a lousy excuse since we are both blessed with Stonewood genes, giving us a sharp jawline, jade green eyes that are accentuated by our raven hair, and a towering 6’3” that often times alone attracts women. I’m not trying to be cocky, but neither of us have ever needed a wingman to pick up women. When I called him out on his shit, he fessed up calling me a grump because I have been working too hard and thinks I need to get laid. Well, he’s not wrong about that.

The problem is, fucking random women may be fun in the moment, but then what? Dating? Get married? I barely stick around long enough for them to find their bras on the floor. I always let them know beforehand what to expect. I’m not out here trying to be that asshole women complain about to their friends. I have enough respect for women to not lead them on.

I don’t need to get distracted by a relationship, right now. My restaurant is my relationship and making it a success is all I care about. Dating would take my focus away from that and I cannot let that happen. I’m fine with my right hand in between going out to find the occasional hook-up.

He thinks he’s slick, but I know Jackson is trying to please our mother by helping me find her a potential daughter-in-law. He thinks I’m lonely as much as she does.

So here I am, letting these two idiots convince me to go to some singles’ meetup with them, hoping I meet the ‘woman of my dreams.’ I’ll settle for someone to replace my hand for the night.

Chapter Three

My Lively Sister Led Me to Him

Kaden

“TellmeagainwhyI let you convince me to come tonight?” I sigh heavily at Lanie.

“Because you love me and know we’ll have a good time, even if you insist you’re not here to find your lobster.” She thinks if she says it enough it will come true.

Faith, Lanie’s favorite human aside from me, giggles as if finding my soulmate hasn’t beentheirfocus for the past couple of months. I swear they have a bet going to see how long it will take or something.

“Did you really need to wear that shirt?” I ask again, she ignored me the first time, while we wait in line to get into the building. The party is being held in this big nightclub in the city. Waiting in line this long makes my legs feel like I’m on my morning run.

“Listen, if I don’t tell all the men here that you’re my brother, neither of us will be kissing any of them by the end of the night. It’s easier this way.” Twirling around like a Ballerina in her one-shoulder top and flowing mini skirt, acting like it’s not 40º outside. How is she not freezing?

She knows I’ll be glued to her side, as usual, so making a shirt that says ‘He’s Just My Brother, You Can Hit on Us’ will get us some laughs at the least. She is so carefree, not giving a damn what people think of her. I want to be her when I grow up.

When we get to the admission counter, we are asked for our name, age, occupation, and sexual orientation. Apparently, our information goes on a digital list that is put in kiosks stationed around the bars where we can look each other up with numbers from our name tags. I feel like I’m at Sheetz ordering some road trip munchies. Who the hell comes up with this shit?

Once we’re inside, Lanie and Faith beeline to the bar for drinks. I follow suit knowing having a few drinks is the only way I’ll survive this night. There’s already what feels like a hundred people here, which is about ninety-five strangers more than I can manage at once.

The club is a huge room with high ceilings and a big dance floor in the middle. On either side of the dance floor are two long bars with at least three bartenders working each. In the back of the room are a little more than a dozen high-top tables on a raised platform overlooking the dance floor.

“I’m ordering shots!” Lanie decides for all of us, like we could argue with her if we tried. For a 5’3”, vertically challenged girl with light blue eyes and mousy brown hair, you would think she’d be less bossy. At 25 years old, she can persuade me to do almost anything, despite me being three years older.

Lanie, of course, picks Tequila because why not? We do the Tequila ritual; salt on the one hand holding the lime, shot glass in the other. “To a night of laughing, dancing, and maybe a little smashing,” she yells as we clink our shot glasses before licking the salt, downing the fiery liquid from hell and shoving the lime in our mouths. I don’t have time to recover from the fire ignited in my throat before she’s ordering another round, but this time she asks the bartender to make them doubles for each of us. I don’t know whether to be happy to let loose and have fun tonight or dread the hangover we will have tomorrow.

Thankfully, after the second round, Faith pulled us both out to the dance floor. I’m not the best dancer, but I can hold my own and at least I can get lost in the crowd where no one is paying attention.

The three of us must be a sight to see, wildly dancing like we don’t have a care in the world. The music is a perfect mix of songs from the early 2000s to current hits. One minute we’re dancing to ‘Work It’ by Missy, the next we’re jumping around to ‘Stay’ by The Kid Laroi.

It’s much easier when I can pretend it’s only us and the music. Until Lanie throws her head back and screeches, “Bathroooooom!” at the top of her lungs. We all head to the restrooms, Faith and Lanie holding hands through the crowd to not lose each other. There’s no line when they get to the ladies’ room.

I continue farther down the hall to the men’s room, glad to see no line here either. Walking in, I am surprised to see the long line of both urinals and stalls. No wonder we didn’t have to wait.

I finish breaking the seal and washing my hands quickly, hoping I didn’t miss Lanie and Faith leaving the ladies’ room. The last thing I want to do is wander around searching for them by myself.

Of course, I make it out there faster than them. I swear women have their own parties in the bathroom that it takes them double the time. I am only waiting a few minutes until they come barreling out the door, laughing and ready to head back to the bar.

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