Ranger had an answer to most things. But not for this. His bloodshot eyes hazed out, another absent laugh all he had to say.
We were still working through our combined music collection. Somehow, the beats followed the moods that waxed and waned between us. Or maybe it was the other way round. Dubstep gave way to downtempo psychedelia, haunting French lyrics tipping me into my own daze.
Ranger rolled off me but didn’t go far. We hadn’t moved from the rug since the MDMA had kicked in—strange for a party drug, but I supposed this wasourparty. Skin. Music. Sensation.
So much sensation.
I opened my eyes.
Ranger was rolling a single-paper joint, brow furrowed in concentration, his fingers trembling.
Goosebumps littered his inked arms.
I sat up, ignoring the lights that danced in my vision. “You are not warm enough?”
“Hmm?”
I repeated the question, rubbing his forearm.
Ranger slowly shook his head, raising his gaze from the joint. “With you? In this furnace you call home? Trust me, Vik, I’m warm enough.”
I felt like he was trying to tell me more, but rubbing his arm preoccupied me, until two calloused fingers tipped my chin up, those vintage leather eyes waiting for mine. “You look amused.”
Ranger’s grin expanded. “I was about to make a really bad joke aboutpowderrangers, but I forgot it.”
“It cannot have been that bad then.”
“It was fucking terrible.”
“You sound proud.”
Ranger lit the joint he’d wedged between his lips. “I like bad jokes.”
“Why?”
“My dad liked them too.”
His gaze flickered, smile gone, and I knew I had to distract him fromwhy. Grief had its place, but no good would come from confronting it now. It would still be there when he was sober.
I stole the joint, letting my fingers brush his lips, easing onto my back again. “Your music is not better than mine.”
It took Ranger a moment to catch up. Then a droll frown creased his face. “All right. It’s not. And I like this.” He gestured vaguely to the wall speakers. “What is it?”
“I do not know. It is yours.”
“No, it ain’t—those fuckers.”
He sat up, snatching the tablet from the shelf, reminding me that he’d emptied his flash drive intomymusic collection. “Fucking Rubi. Unless it was Nash...”
“Sabotage?”
“Nah. They didn’t take anything off.”
“A donation then?”
“Hmm?”
It was the second time Ranger had answered me with a sound that did not constitute actual words. I laughed and persuaded him to lie down with me again. “You want to smoke?”
