“But it wasbad. For you.” His lips curl up again. “I’m proud of you. Taking something back. Takes guts to do something like that. Especially to someone like Caden.”
I squeeze my legs together, the phantom sensation of him between them floating back to me and causing heat to travel through my middle.
“Yeah well, I think I’m still owed a lot more that I won’t ever get, apparently.”
“Ah…” he drags from the joint, “you mean the whole ‘no coming’ problem.”
I nod.
His heavy-lidded eyes travel lazily down my body, lingering on my middle. He stubs the butt out and then grabs a small wooden box beside him. “Come here.”
I frown. “I’m good.”
“I’ll show you how to roll a joint. If you ever fancy one, you can help yourself.”
I arch a brow. “At what cost?”
He chuckles, bringing out some papers and a plastic bag. “Weed’s like the cheapest thing we’ll ever own. It’s pennies, girl, don’t worry about it. Get over here.” He beckons me over.
I get up sheepishly as “Wait For U” by Future comes on. “Is this High Fiz saying this and when I get Sober Fiz back tomorrow, I’ll get a whipping for smoking his weed?”
He grins at me. “We’re the same person, baby.”
I scoff, dropping next to him. “There’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told me.”
His grin grows wider, and he props up a hand, extending his pinky. “Promise.”
I arch a brow at him. “Really?”
“I told you, I take these very seriously.”
I purse my lips, then hook my little finger around his. A current of something warm and tingly shoots through me.
I drop my hand and he offers me a long white rizla paper. “Sticky side facing you.” I hold it out. “Pop the roach in.” He rips a bit of card and rolls it up, drops it in one end of the paper. “You put some tobacco in first. I wouldn’t recommend smoking pure, it’ll fuck you up.” He rips a cigarette and sprinkles the tobacco in. “How much is up to you. We’ll start small.” He grabs the bag next, pulling out a nugget of weed. He breaks it up into smaller bits and places it in a grinder. “Grind it up nice and small…”
I’m supposed to be paying attention to what he’s doing, but all I can focus on is the long column of his neck. How smooth his dark skin looks when it’s this relaxed. Or the swoop of his body laid out on the couch like this, butt nearly off the edge of the seat, so comfortable, so at ease. I catch the twist of cords of muscle in his forearms as he grinds the weed up and I shove away the burst of flutters that strikes deep in my belly.
“And then sprinkle it in.” He opens the grinder and taps the side of it, the weed sprinkling into the rizla.
He has nice fingers. Nice hands. Veiny, strong.
“And Bob’s your uncle.”
“And Fanny’s your aunt.” I must be getting high off the fucking smoke.
He coughs a laugh. “Exactly.” He pinches the paper from me and holds it up to my mouth. “Now lick the shiny strip.”
I rear my neck back. “No, you do it.”
“Come on, baby, give me that pretty tongue.”
The amount of seduction that rolled off his words just then has sent my stomach into overdrive. Butterflies everywhere.
My tongue pokes out between my lips as my eyes lock onto his. I can no longer tell if those heavy eyelids are from the weed or from lust.
He guides the paper along my tongue from left to right. He breaks the gaze to look down at the paper. I see his Adam’s apple bob heavily from a thick swallow. Is his throat as dry as mine?
“Then you just roll it up.” He tucks in one end of the paper and rolls it up. It’s definitely harder than he’s just made it look. He uses the butt of the torn cigarette to poke down the contents and then twists the top, holding it out to me, as “Do You Mind” by DJ Khaled starts playing. “Takes some practice, but once you got it, you got it.”
