“For cancer patients!”
“And plenty of other things.”
I roll my eyes when Knox pulls out a rectangular shaped, red plastic case and inside it is a pre-rolled joint and a lighter, but then I watch with rapt attention as he slides the joint in between his perfectly shaped lips, tilts his head to the side, and lights the end of paper with one eye shut.
There’s something about his smoking ritual which is so badass that I can’t look away, so I try deflecting this absurd attraction to him by changing the subject.
“Where’d you end up parking your truck and the bike?”
“In some overpriced lot around the corner. I’m going to give the night manager an extra hundred a month to keep a special eye on them.”
“Did you build the bike?”
“Me and Uncle Stone built it before I left for Miami.”
“And you used to ride it before you left?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, I didn’t recognize it.”
“You were doing things that seniors in high school do at the time. Getting ready for prom, college, and staring in that musical you were in. I doubt you ever even noticed when I switched from riding a ten-speed Schwinn to a Ducati.”
“You’re right about that. It was my best year of high school ever without you hovering around me all the time.”
I gape at the size of Knox’s chest as it expands from laughing so hard at my admission.
“I imagine it was, but guess what? It was a great year for me too. I didn’t have to babysit you anymore.”
“Hallelujah, we agree on something.”
I can’t help but admire the colorful ink designs on Knox’s powerfully built arms as he takes another long pull of the joint. His tattoos are beautiful and complex and I especially like the intricate one of the falcon with wings that wrap around his bicep like a cuff.
I watch as the smoke wafts in slow ocean waves out of his mouth and up his nose. It’s obvious he’s done this many times before.
“Don’t worry, I’m not a pothead,” he explains after noticing the look on my face. “I only smoke when I need to think.”
He thinks I’m judging him when really I’m undressing the idiot with my eyes. I’ve never objectified Knox like this before and it’s not the kind of habit I want to get into, so I try the same deflection strategy again, talking about anything else.
“What do you need to think about?” I ask, as I try clearing my mind of lustful images like those lips wrapped around the nipple of one of my breasts as I play with myself.
Damn, that was very specific.
“A plan.”
“A plan for what?”
“For progress.”
“You’re a lot different from the last time I saw you,” I tell him. “You even talk differently.”
“That makes sense. We were kids then and now we’re adults. You’re different too.”
“What happened to you in Miami? You’re gone a few years and now you smoke weed, do our parents’ bidding, and have a body covered in tats.”
“That feels very judgmental, Gigi, but don’t worry. Nothing’s happened to me that needs to ever touch your world.”
“What does that mean, touch my world?”
