5. THE ONE WITH THE BROODY BRIT
CHAPTER FIVE
THE ONE WITH THE brOODY brIT
WestParkerComedy: Boston, you put me under your spell tonight. I’ll see you again soon. Promise
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“Are you going to sit here on your phone all night, or are you going to come hang out since you were the one who was so adamant about not leaving tonight?” Enzo’s voice drags my gaze away from my phone, the sound of the dance club our friends picked for our outing tonight returning.
“Yeah, sorry.” I lock the screen, watching as it goes black.
I can’t sit here and fixate on the fact that I never made Joey laugh.
“Is this because of that girl from the show?” he asks, raising a brow.
That girl from the show, who I instantly stalked on social media as soon as my set was over.
“Her name’s Jo,” I correct too abruptly.
Online she’s known as Hex, with no information to corroborate if her name is actually Jo or not, and she seems to be the internet’s favorite account to get dark and spooky book recommendations from.
I don’t need any more proof that she’s actually the woman behind the mask though. I’d remember her green eyes anywhere.
Blue used to be my go-to, but it’s second to the color of Joey’s eyes now.
Enzo puffs a laugh through his nose, uncrossing his heavily tattooed arms. “What’s gotten into you?”
Enzo and I met my freshman year of college at The University of Michigan, where he was still living in the dorms as a junior with very little money as a student athlete on scholarship. He played lacrosse, and I made fun of him for playing grass-hockey. We’ve been best friends ever since.
After finishing his undergrad, he moved back to the U.K to intern for a tech company while getting his masters, and then I followed about a year later. London became my home after the injury, giving me a place to start something new—to become a person outside the life I thought I’d live.
Enzo knows me better than I know myself sometimes.
I take a breath and shake my head. “Nothing. I just thought maybe a fun night in Boston would make up for the last time we were here.”
If she comes, she comes. Maybe she’s not even as hot as the dim club lights made me think… That’s at least what I tell myself as I cross the club and rejoin Enzo in the VIP booth where our friends who’d come to the show tonight are mingling.
“Nothing will ever make up for the shit your dumb ass gets us into.” Enzo claps me on the back, and I chuckle.
I’ve gotten us into some pretty wacky situations over the years, but Enzo talking the Boston PD out of hauling me to jail the night the mother/daughter combo kicked me out takes the cake!
We rejoin our group, and no matter how hard I try to focus on the conversation, the text from Joey burns a hole in my pocket, reminding me she never responded after I sent her my location.
Hey Hotshot.
Those two words haunt me.
I glance over my shoulder at the club’s entrance, sighing when a group of guys are being let in through the front door.
I sigh and signal the cocktail waitress over with a forced dimpled smile. If I blackout, maybe I won’t remember Joey when I wake up. Might make tomorrow night’s show harder with a hangover, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
“Another beer?” Her tits spill out of her top when she leans in to talk to me… and I don’t even stare.
“I’ll do a Tito’s Redbull this time,” I say, followed by a quick thank you.
Enzo waves his hand. “Nothing for me, love.”
His accent catches her attention. The amount of times girls have suddenly lost interest in me the second my scary, broody English best friend opens his mouth is not a number I’d like to admit.
She nods and sashays away, her ass jiggling in her barely-there bottoms.
I know it is without looking, because Enzo’s eyes are trained on her swaying hips as she walks away. “Hello?” I wave my hand in front of his face and laugh as he pretends to wipe drool off his lip.
The both of us are complete gentlemen and would never do anything to a woman they didn’t want. Consent Kings, the two of us are! But when a girl makes it clear they’re interested—game on.
We’re a couple of good looking, single, mid-twenties dudes living life on the road! Sex is everywhere, and I could be well on my way to pleasuring a beautiful woman tonight, but she won’t text me back.
I know because I pulled my phone out and checked. Again.
“Did she respond?” Enzo leans in, asking over the music.
He only knew I sent my number when I noticed she’d followed me back—or rather, that’s what her friend must have been doing with the phone in her hand while I scrolled through Joey’s videos.
“She texted me,” I say.
His eyes grow wide in surprise. I turn my phone around to show him the extremely short text thread. “Well, it’s only been thirty minutes. Maybe she’ll show up.” Enzo shrugs as the waitress returns with my drink.
A group of girls wanders by, catcalling our booth as they make their way to the dance floor.
The youngest at the table jumps to his feet. “And that’s my cue. You coming?” Kell asks me, raising his brow. I shake my head, which makes him pause. “Uh, okay. Suit yourself.” A few of our friends join him in following the girls to the crowded dance floor.
Kell’s having the time of his fucking life, and I’ve never been happier to see the wide grin on his face. After graduating college this summer, he begged to take a year off and travel instead of going to grad school in the fall like his parents wanted.
He grew up on the same long, secluded road my family has lived on my whole life. He showed up one day after school and just never stopped coming over. We couldn’t get rid of him if we tried, and I guess I wouldn’t want to at this point anyway.
We were positive his parents wouldn’t agree with his idea—coming on my first U.S tour with me to run merch and help with the driving. They absolutely knew what would be happening on this tour, and for whatever reason, they trusted me to take care of him.
It seems to me that he’s in very, very good hands right now.
Enzo and I share a laugh until I notice him still, eyes going wide with recognition. I twist in my seat and follow his stare to the bar on the other end of the room.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea, giving us a clear view of Joey and her best friend, Frankie.
Joey’s leaning over the bar talking to the bartender. Her oversized T-shirt barely covers her ass, one leg bearing more weight than the other. Her shiny Doc Martens reflect the dance floor lights, and the fishnet tights do nothing to hide the ink covering her skin.
Frankie bops along to the music, grabbing the shot Joey hands her when she turns from the bar.
“My God,” I breathe.
She came.
Now that I can see her face again, I know 100 percent I was wrong—she’s hotter than the comedy club’s dim lighting made her out to be.
I jump from my seat, and on my way to Joey, I’m stopped by one of the waitresses. “Hey, so sorry to stop you.” She laughs, twirling her ponytail.
I do not have time for this right now.
“I was hoping you could help me settle a bet?” she asks, but doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “My coworker said she thinks you’re West—”
I usually wouldn’t do this, but I do not have time for someone’s bet. “Listen, sorry. I uh—I gotta.” I point in both directions, glancing down to see my hands crossed and roll my eyes. I don’t owe this girl an explanation.
The only person on my mind is Joey.
She looks up and catches my gaze from across the room as I make my way to her. For a split second, I see the corner of her mouth tick into a smile like maybe her attitude was all an act.
It falls the second I smile back.