Page 83 of Pucking Billionaire

I shudder. “That’s even worse.”

He cocks his head. “It is? You catch them, salt them, and let them air dry. They’re the best beer snack.”

I almost throw up. “Cockroaches as snacks?”

Maybe Mason was right not to want to smoke weed with me. There’re munchies, and then there’s this.

“Roach,” Mason says again. “It’s a type of fish. Rutilus heckelii.”

Oh. “You want fish jerky?”

He nods.

That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. “Let’s check that store.”

I lead him into a shop, but the closest thing we find to what he craves is something called Jamaican Jerk, a brand of potato chips.

Then again, who knew potatoes could be such a good replacement for a roach… I mean, a fish. Mason devours his bag with such enthusiasm that I feel a little jealous. But then when I bite into my chosen snack—tamarind balls—I forget where I am because they’re so good.

We consume everything we bought and return to raid the store for more.

After a few more snack trips, I manage to recall what we’re here for and drag Mason over to the seaquarium.

As we gear up, I get to enjoy the sight of Mason’s naked torso, but then, sadly, he covers it with a flotation device. Soon, we’re in the water and face to face with a pod of dolphins.

My heartbeat speeds up as a look of childlike wonder comes over Mason’s face, and for some strange reason, I picture a little boy with my and Mason’s features wearing that exact expression.

No. Hold up. That’s insane, and a great reason to say no to drugs from here on out.

“You really can?” Mason says to the more smiley of the dolphins.

“He can what?” I ask.

Mason turns my way. “Flop, here, can read my thoughts.” Turning back to his new friend, he adds, “And I his.”

Wow. Can he really?

No. That’s the weed talking… I think.

Flop gives me a squinty stare and chirps, as if to say, “Bitch, you doubt my mighty powers?”

“Kiss his nose,” the excursion guide tells Mason. “And I’ll take a picture.”

Mason reverently kisses Flop—if that really is his name—and I feel the greenest jealousy of my life.

Flop chirps excitedly, the smiling bastard.

“Now you go,” the guide tells me.

I point at a different dolphin. “Can I kiss her?”

“That’s a him,” the guide says. “But go for it.”

“No,” Mason states. “The only male she can kiss is me.”

With an eyeroll, I ask which dolphin is female and give that one a peck on her wet, rubbery nose for the camera.

“How was that?” I ask Mason sarcastically. “Did you feel like you were watching two girls making out?”

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