Kismet
Kismet Copyright © 2022 by Ashley James
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: Graphic Escapist
Editing: Nice Girl Naughty Edits
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Part Two
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Part Three
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Epilogue
To the believers, the moon babies, the ones who dance under the stars, and believe in the power of the universe.
But also, to the ones who’re jaded, the ones who’ve been scorned, hurt, torn apart, all in the name of love.
To all the Cash DeMarco’s of the world… this one’s for you..
“Timing. We give it many names: Destiny, Fate, Kismet, the will of God. Whatever we call it, lives are changed and molded by it, in small or drastic ways beyond our control. The precise, exquisite influence of timing moves people into new positions as surely as a spring flood rearranges the landscape. It is as unavoidable as life.”
-Helen Van Slyke
Playlist
For the full playlist, please click here.
“Contagious Chemistry” — You Me At Six
“Over You” — Daughtry
“Without Fear” — Dermot Kennedy
“Dreamer” — Dermot Kennedy
“Closer” — The Chainsmokers, Halsey
“Cover Me Up” — Morgan Wallen
“I Wanna Dance With Somebody” — Whitney Houston
“What You Do” — James Gillespie
“I Don’t Need You” — Asking Alexandria, Grace Grundy
“Selfish” — Jordan Davis
“Who Am I” — NEEDTOBREATHE
“Hole In My Heart” — Onlap, Autumn Kings, Thousand Foot Krutch, Trevor McNevan
“Breathe Again” — Pop Evil
“Sorry” — Buckcherry
“Can You Feel My Heart” — Bring Me The Horizon
“The Black and White” — The Band Camino
Prologue
Prologue
Cash DeMarco
September, Sophomore Year of College
“Can I get three Bud Light bottles, please?”
“Sure thing, cutie. Can I see your ID really quick?”
Reaching into my back pocket, I grab my wallet and pull out my fake ID. “Here you go.” I flash the cute bartender one of my signature pretty boy grins, making her cheeks pink as she takes the ID.
She examines it for all of four seconds, before handing it back to me and spinning on her heel to fetch the drinks. It’s Friday night in Pullman, meaning this place is packed wall to wall with drunk, horny college kids. I’m not the first fake ID of the night, and I certainly won’t be the last.
I’m here tonight with my buddies, Branson, Knox, and Weston. We all just finished our first week in our second year of college at Washington State University. The first week of each semester is usually chill, but we’re coming out tonight to let out some steam anyway.
“Here ya go, hun. Want me to start a tab?”
“Please. Thanks.” Handing me the beers, she winks at me before turning her attention to the next customer in line.
I make my way back to the table. We’re posted up in the back of the bar. The perfect spot for people watching—my favorite pastime in places like this. Weaving through the bodies littering the dance floor and walkway, I finally make it to the table without bumping into anyone or spilling the beers.
That’s a win in my book.
“Here.” I give Knox and Weston their beers. Branson is our designated driver for the night, so he’s nursing an ice water. We normally go to a bar closer to campus, but we felt like a change in scenery tonight, so we’re at a dive bar just outside of town called Reggie’s. There’s live music doing metal band covers right now, and they don’t sound half bad.
“Thanks, man,” Knox mumbles before tipping back the bottle and guzzling half of it in one go.
“Yeah, thanks,” Weston says, lifting his bottle in the air before taking a swig.
“No problem.” Bringing the bottle up to my lips, I take a long pull, loving the way the crisp, ice-cold beer feels going down my throat. “How’s everyone’s classes so far?”
“Not bad,” Knox replies, his attention turned toward the dance floor. Probably watching some chick.
“My professors seem much nicer than last year,” Weston murmurs. “So, that’s good. How about you, man?”
“Good! I was able to snag two different English classes this semester, English 201 and creative writing,” I state with a smile. “Pretty cool, I think.”
“You’re such a nerd.” Knox laughs. “How are you a fucking frat guy, but a nerd too?”
All my friends were shocked when I pledged. According to them, you can’t be smart and enjoy school, while also being in a frat. Who knew? “I don’t know, man. Guess I’m just special.” Flipping him off, I bring my attention back to the swarm of people dancing—more like grinding—in the center of the room.
One couple in particular catches my attention right away. A woman on the shorter side, with light brown hair, wearing tight denim cut-offs with a white tank top, is dancing with what looks to be an incredibly attractive man. I say looks to be, because his face is turned away from my view, but goddamn, he looks fine.
He’s got black, slightly shaggy hair, and he’s really tall. I’m over six feet, and he’s gotta be at least a few inches taller than me. He’s in light denim wranglers that do wonders for his tight ass, a well-worn leather jacket, with a plain white tee underneath, and a pair of combat boots.
Fuck me. He could step on me with those on, and I’d say thank you.
If I go up to the bar again, I’d be able to see his face better. “Hey, guys. Wanna do shots?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely!” Weston is always—and I mean always—down for shots.
“Okay, I’ll be right back.” With quick steps, I head toward the bar. It’s still just as busy as it was when I got the beers, but that’s okay. I can watch the hottie in leather while I wait.
With my back to the bar, my gaze easily finds him and the chick he’s dancing with. She’s grinding all up on him, and it’s doing things to me. My preference is men, but technically, I do swing both ways. However, it’s not her I’m looking at.
Leather Daddy’s face comes into view, and he looks so familiar. I can’t place where I know him from, but I swear I do.
“Back so soon, hun?”
Turning toward the voice, the flirty bartender from before is smiling at me. “Yes, ma’am. Can I please get three tequila shots? Patron, please.”
“Coming right up, sugar.”
My attention is pulled back toward the dance floor while I wait. The woman is now facing him, her arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders, their bodies pressed together. His hands are resting on her ass—which is almost hanging out with how short her shorts are. His full lips hover over her ear as he whispers something to her. Then his gaze lifts, landing on me.
I freeze, and like a moron, turn around as fast as possible, awkwardly bumping into the person beside me. Because that’s not fucking obvious. Thankfully, the bartender comes back with my shots, so it’s not too embarrassing if he’s still watching me.
“Here you go, hun.”
“Thanks so much!”
On my way back to the table, my eyes scan the room. Like there is a magnetic force between us, my gaze lands on him easily. He’s still watching me, but the look on his face is one I can’t read. His eyes look curious, but his brows are pinched. I force my gaze to return in front of me, so I don’t make an ass out of myself by bumping into someone else and bathing myself in tequila.
“Alright, boys.” Passing out the shots to Weston and Knox, we salt up our hands and raise our shot glasses in the air. “To making this the best year yet. Cheers!”
We toss our shots back, the strong, silken liquid sliding down my throat and warming my chest. Sticking the lemon slice between my lips, I suck the sour juices as my eyes once again gravitate toward the dance floor.
Leather Daddy and his woman are gone.
Returning my focus to my friends, we shoot the shit for the next half hour. Knox gets us another round of beers, while Branson continues to nurse his water. I haven’t seen that couple at all; they must’ve left. It’s getting late, I guess—a quarter to midnight.
“Hey, I’m gonna hit the bathroom. Be right back,” I shout over the music to the guys.
The bathroom in this place is on the far side of the bar, opposite to where our table is. If possible, this place is even more packed now than when we first got here. The band finished up; the DJ having now taken over. Punk rock music is thumping and pulsing through the speakers, sweaty bodies moving against one another seductively.
My ears ring from the sudden loss of noise as I walk into the bathroom. I take a spot at the far-right urinal, unzipping my jeans, and pulling myself out. As I’m pissing, the door opens, and someone takes the farthest urinal to my left. Glancing that way, my pulse speeds up when my gaze takes in Leather Daddy.
Holy shit.
I know it’s bad manners to look at another dude’s dick in the bathroom, but fuck, do I want to. I won’t. But I want to. Once I finish my business, I give myself a little shake before tucking myself back in and zipping my pants up. I spin on my heels and stand in front of the sinks that are right behind me, turning the hot water on and starting to wash my hands.
He comes up next to me while I’m scrubbing, our gaze meeting in the mirror. He smiles at me, a white, straight grin that lights up his whole face. His eyes are also a stunning hazelnut brown, rich and velvety.
“Cash, right?”
What the fuck? “Uh, yeah?”
He chuckles, the sound like music to my ears. “You’re in my English class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’m Stone—well, Professor Philips.”
Holy fucking shit. Leather Daddy is my fucking English professor!? How did I not put that together? “Shit, I didn’t even recognize you. My bad.”
“Nah, you’re good. I look different outside of class. It’s an easy miss.”
That’s an understatement. In class, he’s all professional—tailored suits, Oxfords, his black hair slicked back and tame, and he wears glasses. Right now, he is the opposite of tame, and it’s fucking sexy. Not that he isn’t sexy in class, because he is… I guess I just never noticed before now.
He clears his throat, and I realize I’m staring. “Well, have a good night, Cash. I’ll see you in class Tuesday.”
“Yeah, you too, Professor Philips.”
“Please. Outside of school, you can just call me Stone. Not that we’ll probably run into each other much outside of class, but still.”
“Stone. Okay, have a great night.”
He pulls open the door, the booming music filling the bathroom as he leaves. Shit. Of course, the hottie at the bar is my fucking professor… and off fucking limits.
Fuck me all the way to hell.
Part One
“I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.”
-Edgar Allen Poe
Theme Song:
Contagious Chemistry by You Me At Six
Chapter One
Chapter One
Cash DeMarco
October, Senior Year of College
In books and movies, having a crush on your professor is cute. It’s all butterflies, stolen glances, and shy smiles. In the real world, it’s not like that at all. Sure, it’s stolen glances, but it’s also boners in the middle of class, jacking off in the bathroom after he smirked at you during his lecture—because of course that means he wants you—and wet dreams like a fucking teenager.
This is my life, or at least it has been for the last two years. When I was offered the opportunity to be a professor aide last year, I was pumped. Everyone who’s around me academically for any amount of time knows my goal is to become an English professor, so this was an amazing opportunity. Even more so, when I learned the class I was aiding for was with Professor Hottie.
The icing on the salacious cake was learning I get to be his aide for a second year; this year. Stone Philips is hands down, the hottest fucking man I’ve ever laid eyes on. He’s tall, fills out a suit nicely, has the richest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, with jet black hair. He’s also incredibly fucking smart, an amazing conversationalist, has the whole mysterious older man thing going for him.
And he’s my fucking professor.
Gotta love the jokes the universe throws at you.
I’ve been in his classes since sophomore year, which was also when this incessant schoolboy crush started. Specifically, when I saw him outside of school for the first time. If I thought his professor look was hot, it’s got nothing on his out-of-office look. Christ Almighty.
He’s night and day. Light and dark. Yin and fucking yang.
Outside of school, he’s all leather, tight jeans, combat boots, and badassery. And it fucking works for him. Watching him dance with his wife or girlfriend, or whoever the fuck that woman was, was enthralling. The way his hips moved effortlessly with hers. The way his large man hands groped her in a way that was innocent yet walked the line to inappropriate. And hell, the way his jeans fit to every curvature of his thighs and ass.
That fucking ass…
What I wouldn’t give to see him stripped down, completely naked, miles of golden tan and muscular skin on display for me. Every divot, every groove, every wide plain, just waiting—begging—for my tongue and touch.
“Mr. DeMarco?”
Shit. I didn’t even realize I had zoned out. Stone—err, I mean Professor Philips—is standing over me, a perturbed look on his face, and a stack of papers in his hand.
“Sorry about that. What’s up?”
His lip curls into a crooked grin. “No worries. I wanted to see if you could work on grading these for me?”
“Yeah. Of course. I’ll get started on them right away.”
“Thanks, Cash.” He walks back to his desk as I shamelessly check out his tight ass wrapped up in his navy-blue tailored slacks. My lip is sucked between my teeth as I envision sinking my teeth into that ass instead.
Stop. I fucking refuse to get another boner in class.
Bringing my attention back to the classroom, my gaze lands on a set of eyes already watching me. My face heats and a smile splits on my face as my buddy, Weston, pins me with a knowing look. He most definitely caught me checking out the professor. My attraction to Stone is no secret amongst our friends, and they all enjoy giving me shit about it.
He picks up his phone. Seconds later, mine is buzzing in my pocket.
Weston: You’re so obvious.
Me: Fuck off. Only to you, because you know.
Weston: No. Anyone with a working set of eyes.
Me: Fuck off. And get back to work.
Weston: *eye roll emoji*
This is our senior year, which for most of my friends—no, all of them, actually—means they’re almost done entirely with college. Not me, though. Next fall, I’ll start my graduate program. I don’t want to take any extra time off between undergrad graduation and starting that journey. I’m trying to get my PhD as quickly as possible, so I can start teaching.
English and writing have always been passions of mine, and sometime between the start of college and this year, I realized I have the potential to be a really great teacher too. I’m told I have an easygoing, optimistic, extroverted personality that shines in a role such as teaching, and Stone has mentioned my patience and adaptability are impressive… not like I’ve memorized every word he’s ever said to me or anything.
And those compliments mean even more coming from him, since he’s such a phenomenal teacher. He saw potential in me that I never saw and pushed for me to go after my goal. He helped me land this aide position last year, which admittingly doesn’t help my stupid fucking crush at all.
We, surprisingly—or not so surprisingly—work well together. I’ve heard horror stories from other aides, and how their teachers are monsters. Either giving them way too much work or not enough. I’ve been lucky enough to get to spend some nice one-on-one time with him as he shows me the ropes and how he likes things done… in the classroom, of course.
For the remainder of class, I force myself to focus on the essays I’m supposed to be grading, and for the most part, it goes well. The class is excused, and I get up from my desk as soon as most of the students have filtered out, sauntering over to Stone’s.
“Here’re the ones I’ve done. I’ll work on the rest tonight and have them back to you by next class.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Cash.” Mostly, he calls me Mr. DeMarco, especially when it’s my professor aide days, but when he calls me by my first name, my stomach flutters every fucking time. It’s maddening, and probably means nothing to him or anyone else.
“No problem. Have a good night.”
“Hey, actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.” He gets out of his chair and rounds the desk, perching that perfect fucking ass right on the corner. “Have a minute?”
My eyes flit to the closed door and then back to him. “Uh, yeah. I don’t have a class after this, so I’m good. What’s up?”
“There’s this literary convention next month that I go to every year. It’s for professors, mostly, but sometimes graduate students go. They always have interesting speakers, and I learn something new every time. I spoke with the dean about it. Even though you aren’t in your graduate program yet, if you want, you can join me.”
I have to work to keep my eyebrows from shooting up at his offer. Take a breath, Cash. “Oh, cool. Yeah, I’d love to. Where is it? At the convention center?”
“No, it’s in Portland this year. We would drive down on a Friday morning, or if you have class that day, we could leave after.”
“Drive down together?” I can’t help the way my eyes widen.
“Yup! If that’s okay? Just makes sense.”
Holy shit. Hours in a car with Professor Hottie. “No, yeah. That’s perfect. Where would we stay?”
“The school pays for a hotel. I’ll let the dean know you’re interested, and he’ll make sure they book another room for you.”
“Dope. That sounds cool. Thanks for thinking to invite me.”
“Of course. It’s a good learning experience, and they’re surprisingly kind of fun. I think you’ll enjoy yourself.”
Yeah. Bet I will. “Right on. I’ll talk to you later. Let me know the dates.”
“You bet. Have a great rest of your day, Cash.” He flashes me a toothy grin before returning to his chair and bringing his attention back to his laptop.
An entire weekend with Stone, outside of school?! What kind of fuckery is this, and how did I deserve it?! And then, to top it off, we will be riding in a fucking car together. Alone!
Hell fucking yes. Next month couldn’t come soon enough.
With a pep in my step and a goofy ass grin on my face, I begin the trek home. At the start of my sophomore year, I pledged with Alpha Tau Omega and have been a part of it since, so home is really the frat house.
It’s made for some killer memories over the last few years. The parties are insane and the amount of ass that comes with being a frat brother is comical. When you think of the stereotypical frat guy, though, it’s a much different image than me. Preppy bro-dudes, misogyny dripping from their personalities, heads filled with more air and beer than actual brains. And can’t forget the bright-colored polo shirts and khaki shorts.
Then there’s me, with a much more laid back, edgy vibe to my style, that always has me standing out amongst the group. I’m also not sleeping with a different girl every night. Not to mention, I’m actually quite intelligent and enjoy more than just binge drinking, which goes against the stereotype. Don’t get me wrong, I love my frat brothers, and we get along well, but I won’t miss the frat house one bit once I’m gone. This is my last year here. When I start my first year of the master’s program, I’m getting my own house off campus. I’ll have a roommate, but it’ll be nice to have a less crowded, quieter space to come home to.
It takes me about fifteen minutes to walk home, and as I’m crossing the lawn, my frat brother, Brody, is exiting the house. He notices me, lifting his hand to wave. “’Sup, bro!”
“Hey, hey. Where ya headed?”
“Stassia’s house. I won’t be home tonight.”
The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!
Enjoyed this preview? ❤️ Do not stop here!
Read the complete book free online → 🔗
Continue reading now on BooksBarbecue and discover every page!
Love reading? Bookmark BooksBarbecue.com for more amazing books!
Happy Reading!