Page 32 of I Knead You Tonight

I smile at him. “It’s no problem. I’ll be right back with some waters for you guys.”

“Hey, what about my order?” Foster asks.

“Please. I already know your dumb ass wants chicken strips.”

“Really, man? You order chicken strips at a pizzeria?” Porter chides. “Fine, Winston, you win. I don’t want his best friend status anymore.”

Winston fist-pumps the air. “Yes!”

* * *

“I am fucking beat,”I grumble as Winston pulls the station wagon into his driveaway. “Is it wrong if I want my child to be soundly sleeping when we walk inside?”

“Nah.”

He reaches across the front seat and I hear a loud crackle come from his shoulder that I’m sure can’t be normal. Again, I keep quiet as he pops open the glove compartment, grabbing a box.

“Matter of fact,” he says, clicking it open, “we’re going to pretend we aren’t even here yet.”

He rolls the window down and lights up a joint, puffing on it for several moments before saying anything.

“I can feel you judging me.”

“I’m not judging you,” I tell him. “I just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you smoke that.”

“Do you have a problem with it?”

“No. I used to smoke when I was a teen, but that was a long damn time ago.”

“Really?” He looks at me, brows raised with a mocking grin. “Now that bit of information is surprising.”

“If you think that’s surprising, I better never tell you about the rest of my childhood and teenage years.”

“What? Did you not get straight As because you smoked a little pot?”

“Straight As?” I scoff. “I barely graduated high school with how much we bounced around. I went to seven different schools in four years. We didn’t live anywhere long enough for me to ever settle in.”

He doesn’t say anything, just watches me and takes another hit.

“What? Did you think I grew up with a white picket fence? Think again, Winston.”

He accused me of judging him just moments ago, and now he’s the one judging me. I look away from him, because I can’t stand his curious eyes boring into me.

“I’ve just never seen anything good come from it with other people who use it like you do,” I say to him.

“People like me?”

“Yeah, the ones chasing something.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t smoke for fun, Winston. You use it as a way to chase your demons away. You smoke to feel nothing.”

He gives me a derisive laugh. “You’re wrong there.”

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