Like Bookends

9:16 P.M.

There's at least 100 bodies swaying and grinding to the thunderous bass blasting from the speakers in this cramped nightclub. He doesn't even know why he's still here.

Yes, he does.

He's Best Man to his friend, Stetson Porter, and tonight is Porter's bachelor party.

Though he wants his friend to have the night of his dreams, he'd much rather be at home with the Himalayan pink salt lamp that the familiar lady at Prior Engagement talked him into buying.
It's a boutique/bookstore he frequents, but the clerk caught his eye wandering on the boutique side just two days ago and seized an opportunity to make a sale with the boy she sees at least twice a week.

With an unassuming smile, she said, "They say it's supposed to purify the air in your room, you know. Since all you ever do is sit and read all these books, wouldn't it be nice to breathe some fresh air? Kind of like being outside." Her eyes shone on the last part, like she wanted to let out a chuckle, but instead waited for his reaction.

He smiled, keeping his mouth closed, but revealing the deep dimple in his left cheek. Asymmetrical, but perfect. "I'll take it."

But he wasn't at the boutique/bookstore, and he wasn't in bed at home rereading A Farewell to Arms as he so desperately wished.
He was in this roaring nightclub surrounded by sweaty strangers and the rest of the groomsmen a part of his friend's bachelor party. Twenty-two is too young to get married, he thought, but there are definitely much younger kids getting hitched.

"What's guy gotta do to get laid around here?!" exclaims Kent: aspiring playboy, pathological liar, and burning matchstick. His soft-spoken twin, Kota, rolls his eyes at his brother's usual vulgarity.

"Facial reconstructive surgery?" Alex smirked. A cheeky grin spread over his face revealing his perfect, pearlesque teeth. Ironic, considering he's from London.
"Unless you miraculously stumble across a girl willing to play connect-the-dots with that constellation of moles on your chest," he continues, eyeing Kent's royal blue button-down with too few buttons buttoned and the collar too popped.

"What do you think, J? Should he get that paint splatter removed?" Alex tosses his head and cocks an eyebrow towards the boy lost in his thoughts of a salt lamp paradise.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, a busty waitress interrupts with a shrill, "Heyyy can I get you boys anything?" Though the blonde before them is making unsubtle eyes at Kent, it's the groom-to-be who speaks first.

"Whadduya think fellas, how 'bout in honor of my best man Jaeger here, we start this night out right with a round of Jägerbombs!" Porter expresses, his arm wound strongly around the dimpled boy's shoulders, playfully shaking him.
A laugh escapes Jaeger's ruby lips, and suddenly the waitress rips her eyes from Kent's tanned and perfect profile, now captivated by the boy with an endless dimple and an exquisite smile.

"Jaeger, you bastard, always making it about you," Alex comments with a sly smile, sarcasm lacing every word. The waitress raises her thin, overly-waxed eyebrows when she hears the English accent which makes Jaeger's name sound even more foreign when Alex extends the '-er'.Yay-gah.
It's similar to how he pronounces his own full name when he introduces himself to women he deems too classy to only receive the short form. Alexan-dah. But to the waitress, he would surely just be Alex.

"Five Jägerbombs it is," she replies, her high-pitched squeal cutting through the pulsating sounds. Before she turns to leave, her eyes scan the men sitting round the dimly-lit corner booth one more time and seductively winks at Kent.

"Looks like tonight's your lucky night, Kent. We'll know for sure if she brings back a crayon." Jaeger remarks, speaking for the first time since stepping foot in this godforsaken place.