Page 82 of Pucking Billionaire

She does the shotgun thing, again and again, until the joint is gone… which is when I realize that an invisible purple sausage is flying around my head and singing “Happy Birthday” in Estonian.

Wait, what?

That doesn’t make sense.

Today isn’t my birthday.

Chapter 28

Sophia

Whoa. Mason’s eyes turn bloodshot and watery, and his pupils dilate.

Huh.

“You know what would happen if you were a teacher who overfed his students fried sticks of butter?” I ask.

“They wouldn’t eat the flying sausages?” Mason gestures at empty air.

“No.” But a smoked sausage sounds really good. “Your pupils would dilate.”

Hmm. Fried sticks of butter also sound delicious all of a sudden.

Ah. Right. Despite my high tolerance, I’m high as a kite made out of cannabis.

Ha-ha. My high is high. That’s hilarious.

“I want to go swimming with dolphins,” Mason says, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Or manatees. Or giraffes.”

I grin. Even when his brain is jumbled by THC, he wants a nature show. “Let’s see if we can make one of those happen.” I grab his hand and lead him away.

I’m not sure if it’s the pot or the rough, callused texture of his palm, but my sex drive goes into overdrive by the time we find ourselves in a cab.

Sex drive into overdrive. I’m on a roll.

I giggle out loud.

It seems that Mason isn’t immune to my touch either, because in response to my giggle, he gives me the kiss of my life, one that lasts forever.

Panting, we pull apart as the cab comes to a stop in front of the dolphin joint.

Oh. A dolphin joint.

I snort-laugh at my own wittiness.

Mason is oblivious. Staring at my lips, he asks huskily, “Can we get some taranka?”

I blink at him. “Tarantula?”

There’s no way I’m swimming with one of those. Or kissing one.

Come to think of it, I wouldn’t even smoke a joint with one.

Mason frowns. “Tarantula? They’re not salty.”

I’m growing concerned. “Salty?”

“Taranka,” he says. “It’s a species of roach.”

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