“What?” I muttered, still staring ahead.
“This whole plane smells like weed,” she scoffed.
“How you know that? You ain’t been everywhere on the plane to know that,” I tittered.
She shoved me playfully, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “Nigga, you know what I mean.”
I grinned and shifted to face her. “You sleep good.” I reached over to wipe the drool from the side of her face. “Look at you, droolin’ and shit.”
“I wasn’t drooling.”
“Look.” I pointed to the wet glob staining my grey Nike tech jacket. “What you think that is, motherfucka? The plane ain’t leaking.”
“I didn’t expect that melatonin to hit that hard,” she admitted.
“Should’ve hit the blunt then,” I retorted.
Her head shot to the window, and she gasped. “We’re still in the fucking air?”
“We should be landing in a minute. Don’t you see the tarmac and clouds descending?” I pointed. “Calm yo shaky ass down.”
“I was about to pop a few more melatonin,” she chuckled, turning back to face me and settling into her seat.
Her hands ran along the side of my face, and I caught a hint of something sweet—caramel and vanilla. Not her usual peachyscent, but it smelled good nonetheless, making my mouth water and my cock stir.
“Keep doin’ that, and you gon’ get my dick hard. I’ma fuck you,” I warned.
She scoffed and cackled. “Romelo, I can walk by you, and your dick gets hard.”
“Is that a bad thing? When I get old and gray, I’on think it gon’ work no more. Old niggas still fuck. My pops still be fuckin’ the socks off my mama—I just can’t prove it.”
“I don’t have to tell you you’re sick in the head. I’m sure you already know that,” she teased.
“So, I guess I’m the only freaky-ass nigga who thinks about shit like that,” I chuckled, shaking my head.
“No, people think about it, but they don’t talk. It’s the controversy—they don’t bathe every day, whatever. Some do it, but they don’t talk about it,” she countered.
“It’s all about living in your truth,” I shrugged.
“So you randomly think about if old men’s dicks still get hard, and if your dad still fucks on your mom?” There was humor in her voice.
“Sometimes,” I nodded.
“You’re sick as fuck,” she spat, giggling.
“You know that by now,” I replied.
A few moments of silence stretched between us before I finally spoke.
“I love you.”
“How much?” she smiled.
“Past the moon, beyond the stars—corny shit like that.”
Her smile turned into a giggle. “I got your ass turning soft.”
“The first one to ever do it,” I shot back.
