“We’ve already got snacks,” I point out. “What could go wrong?”
I let my nose lead me to a group of teenagers down the path, and five minutes later, I return to Alexander with one thin joint and a lighter. It’s been a couple of months since I smoked weed myself, and I pull it under my nose, appreciating the earthy smell.
Alexander is standing, turning a slow circle and squinting into the trees. “What are you doing?” I laugh.
“Looking for cops. Or children. If we’re doing this, I’m not going to get in trouble.”
I take his hand. “Here,” I say, then lead us to the tree. “Relax. No one can see us here.”
It’s cooler in the direct shade, and Alexander steps close to me. “Do you remember when you got me drunk for the first time?” he asks.
I chuckle. “We got home, and you alphabetized your bookshelf.”
“You helped.”
We both laugh as I light the joint. I take in a long drag, then another, letting it burn, then hand it to him. “You know what to do?”
Alexander watches it smoke. “Oh god,” he says. “Here goes.” He takes a long drag, then coughs. I hurry over and grab him the water bottle, which he gulps from.
I take another hit. “You’re doing great,” I say, then release the smoke.
Alexander laughs. He takes a second to recover, and we move closer to each other. I can hear the river running, and cars honking in the distance. As the weed hits my brain, I realize I’m pressed back against the tree, the bark rough against my skin.
“My dads will be happy to hear about this,” he says, then laughs as he takes the joint for another puff, coughing again. “Pop thinks weed would help me relax.”
I chuckle. His dads are sweethearts. They’re a couple of gay hippies, and while I’ve never seen either of them so much as sip a glass of wine, they do love to chill with a joint from time to time.
“I’m glad to score some brownie points with them.”
Alexander laughs. “Brownie points,” he says, and then we both laugh, giggling like kids.
Somehow, we get even closer, our bodies only an inch apart. I have the joint in one hand, and with the other, I stroke Alexander’s cheek. He twitches in response. Our knees touch, and I hand the joint back to him, the silence stretching out. He takes one more hit, and as he exhales the smoke, we kiss.
It starts off slow. I’m just starting to feel high, and the softness of his touch is electrifying. Our lips caress, our hands dance, and I feel warmth swirling up from the core of me, humming across my nerves.
Still kissing him, I stub the joint out against the tree. Alexander takes my lip between his teeth, bites down lightly, and then laughs and steps back. “Sorry,” he chuckles.
I fix my glasses. “Don’t apologize,” I say. “How do you feel?”
Alexander smiles wide. “Good,” he says, and we both laugh loudly.
Okay, the weed definitely works. Alexander looks as goofy as I feel. All I want to do is keep kissing him and feeling the tree.
Holy crap. He’s my best friend, and I’m having sex with him. This is so weird.
And now he looks like he’s glowing, too, the way the light shines behind him.
I shake my head, then take his hand. “Let’s sit in the sun. It will feel nice.”
“Okay,” he says, slightly dazed.
We walk back over to our snacks, bumping our shoulders while we do. “My dads have always liked you,” Alexander says out of nowhere.
We drop down to the grass. “I’m glad. I’ve always liked them.”
“And your parents have always liked me,” he says. “We’re lucky.”
I smile. He’s looking at the grass, studying it really intently while he talks. The intelligence in his eyes is sexy to me, and I can practically see his big brain working through the fog of marijuana.
