Aston comes into view, smiling when he sees me. “Cash! Hey, bud.”

“Hi, Aston. I hear you got some extensive plans between the sheets with your obnoxious ass husband, but it was good to see you!”

He laughs a deep belly laugh at that. “Yeah, you too. Let’s FaceTime soon and catch up.”

“For sure. Talk to y’all later.” With a smile plastered on my face, I hang up and grab another beer before parking my ass in front of the TV, with Houston curled up beside me, for the rest of the night.

******

My plane lands at the Miami International Airport at nearly ten at night. Two hours later than I should’ve landed. I fucking hate airports and flying. It’s always a clusterfuck. People always behave as if they’ve never been in an airport before, never flown. And who knows… maybe they haven’t ever flown before, but shit. Then you have everyone who packs around the baggage claim. Everything takes way fucking longer than it should.

It takes me almost an hour to finally get out front where Weston is waiting. He’s wearing a big ridiculous smile when he sees me, and our bodies hurl toward the other in a big, giant bear hug. It’s been too fucking long since we’ve hung out. It feels so good to see him in the flesh.

“Dude, that flight was ridiculous. Sorry you were stuck waiting so long,” I grumble as we pull apart.

“Ah, no big deal. Had nothing else to do with my night. It’s all good. Glad you made it.”

“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.”