Page 99 of Fight or Flight
“How’re you feeling now?” he asks, and his lips brush against mine with every word.
“Good,” I say, my voice hoarse and rough. “Tingly.”
He grins and sits back. “Tingly is good.”
“How do you feel?” I ask.
“Good. Also tingly.”
“You fucked me,” I blurt out.
His grin goes dark. “I did.”
I shake my head. “How strong is this stuff? I can usually handle more than half a joint before the truth bombs start dropping and I lose control of my mouth.”
“Pretty strong, almost forty percent.”
“Yeah, that would do it.” I let out a weird giggle as it feels like bubbles rise up and fill my head. “Shit. It’s a good thing we didn’t spark up that second one. I’m a lightweight tonight.”
“And what would happen if we sparked it up?” he asks with a grin.
There’s something about his smile. It’s softer, like the weed has softened him around the edges, and I’m seeing his real smile for maybe the first time.
“I’d lose control of my mouth and start spilling all sorts of tea.” I shake my head ruefully as more little bubbles seem to fill my head like champagne bubbles in a glass. “This shit is like a truth serum for me. Booze? No problem, I’m a vault. Molly or MDMA? Bring on the waterboarding because I ain’t spilling shit. A single strong joint and fuck, it’s game over.”
He laughs and pats the bed next to him.
I plop down, then pull the cigarette case out from under my butt.
“Do you smoke?” I ask. “Cigarettes, not the good stuff.”
“Nope.”
“Me either. Well, that’s not true. I don’t usually smoke, but I sometimes do when I’m drinking.”
“Why?”
“Dunno.” I lean back on my hands. “’Cause everyone else usually is.”
“Do you like it?”
“Not at all, but drunk me is all about bad decisions and treating my body like an amusement park instead of the temple it apparently is.”
He laughs and takes the case from me. “Want to spark up the second one?”
“Definitely.” I grin. “Hello, bad decisions, goodbye, common sense.”
I watch as he shakes the joint out and uses the lighter built into the case to light it. He takes a few quick drags to get it started, then hands it to me.
“I meant what I said,” I tell him as I take a hit. “I kinda hate that you have layers. You’re like an onion. A sexy onion who fucks like a damn sex god, but still an onion.”
“Can’t I be a cake or maybe a lasagna?” he asks, taking the joint from me. “They have layers too.”
“Nah, onion fits because they should be icky but are actually amazing if prepared right.”
“And I’m icky unless I’m prepared right?”
“Pretty much.” I take a long drag off the joint. “I never wanted to be leader,” I say as I blow out the smoke.
