Page 16 of Kismet

Picking up another slice of pizza, Stone takes a huge bite. Once he swallows, he asks, “So, are you from around here?”

“Nah, was born in Dallas. Moved to western Washington in middle school, where I grew up.”

His eyes go wide. “Knew I picked up on a subtle accent from you.”

“Yup. Southern boy at heart,” I reply with a wink.

Biting the inside of his cheek in what can only be an attempt to hide a smile, he asks, “What made you come here for school?”

“No reason, really. Out of the schools I was accepted to, this one just looked the nicest. Plus, all my friends were coming here too. Seemed like the most logical choice.” Finishing the rest of my pizza, I wash it down with my IPA. “What about you? You from around here?”

“I am, actually. Well, sort of. I grew up in Spokane. Moved to Pullman for college and just never left.”

“No shit. You’re an alumnus?”

He smiles wide. “Sure am.”

“That’s dope. Did you know you wanted to teach here, or did it just happen?”

“No. It wasn’t until my last year of undergrad that I decided to stick around. Are you doing your masters and your PhD here?”

“Yup, that’s the plan. Getting it all done in one place seems to make the most sense.”

Lindsey pads over to our table, removing the dirty plates and empty shot glasses. “You two need another round?”

Stone glances at me, lifting an eyebrow at me in question.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” I reply, smiling at him.

“Perfect. Whiskey and beer?”

“Yes, please. Thank you!”

“Anyone ever told you that your manners are superior?” Stone leans back in his chair, arms clasped behind his head.

Laughter bubbles out of me at his question. “Actually, yes, they have.

He bites his lip, and of course, my gaze drops to his mouth. “I like that. A lot of kids your age lack basic manners. It’s refreshing.”

“For one, I’m not akid. I’m a twenty-two-year-old, soon-to-be graduate. And two, when you grow up in a southern, Italian household, you learn quickly to find some manners. My mom would have my ass if she knew I was ever disrespectful.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, holding his hands up. “Not a kid. My bad.”

“Damn right.” I laugh. “Hey, I’m gonna run to the bathroom. Be right back.” Pushing my chair back, I get to my feet, heading toward the back hallway. My head turns fuzzy, and my body warms as I start walking—ahh, there’s the alcohol.

The bathroom has four urinals, all open, so I stop at the one on the end, unzip, and do my business. By the time I’m washing my hands, the buzz in my head has intensified. I’ll definitely be closer to drunk than tipsy after we take that next shot.

Fuck it.

I dry my hands and make my way back to the table. Our new beers and shots are waiting for me when I arrive. Stone is messing around on his phone and doesn’t see me approach until I’m sitting down.

“Hey, you’re back! Here.” He pushes one of the shot glasses to my side of the table.

“Alright, alright. Here’s to letting loose in a new city. Cheers!” We both toss the whiskey back, slamming the glasses on the table.

We continue to shoot the shit for the next few hours, eating some more pizza, having another shot, and finishing our beers. It’s close to eleven by the time we close out our tab—Stone pays, refusing to accept any money from me, despite my insistence.

Stepping out into the cool night, the sidewalks are busy with people coming and going out of the various bars and clubs on the block. I’ve never been to Portland before, but I do know the nightlife here is vibrant and wild.

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