Page 42 of The Game

“Cookies?”

He winks before his nimble fingers roll a blunt.

“Duh.”

“Okay, I’ll try it.”

Sleep does sound nice, and so does the thought of being happy, of my cares melting away. Brushing loose leaves that escaped into his garbage pail, he seats himself on the floor and leans against the tub, flicking his lighter and putting the brown paper between his lips. I hate admitting he looks fucking cool, like those boys in high school I was always secretly attracted to but also too scared to approach. Funny, how quickly life can change your perspective.

Taking a deep drag, he holds it in his lungs for what feels like too long, his chest expanded, the tattoo of the anatomy of a heart shrinking when he releases his breath and a cloud of smoke out the window. The longer I am around the scent, the more I begin to like it. As he leans his head back with a contented sigh, I know I’ll love the euphoria it brings.

“You ever smoked anything before?” he asks, eyes still closed.

“No,” I say softly. He opens his eyes without moving his head, coy smirk on his lips.

“C’mere,” he says, dropping his knees and spreading his legs, patting the space between them. My mouth runs dry yet again as my eyes widen. He was totally flirting with me earlier, and now that I am here, I want nothing more than to obey, to feel good, to feel a heart beating next to mine so I’m not alone anymore. On auto-pilot, I stand up before sinking to the ground as he takes another hit and blows it out the window.

“Face the sink. I’ll show you how.”

His voice has gone even huskier, deeper, and I situate myself between his thighs, crossing my legs and staying upright so we don’t touch more than necessary; I don’t want him to think I’m trying to get in his pants if that’s not what he’s been insinuating.

He leans forward, and we touch all the same.

“Take a baby hit. It’s gonna burn, and you’re gonna cough, but just tell yourself you’re okay and it’ll fade.”

Nodding, I take the blunt pinched in his fingers and hold the end to my lips, pausing in confusion.

“Wait…how do I inhale it?”

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around my middle and giving a soft yank, my body now pressed tightly to his.

“Like this, feel my chest,” he says, inhaling deeply, his muscles contracting and expanding against my shoulder blades. “Open your throat and take a deep breath into your lungs.”

A smirk forms on my lips, but I choose not to commentate on his innuendo, too skittish all of a sudden. I know Teddy would never hurt me, but he makes me nervous in a way that is different from my twins; dark in his own way, somehow more sinister, a man who’s walked through a kind of hell no one will ever understand.

He pinches the blunt from me and re-lights it, taking another hit before handing it back. “It’s ready.”

Trembling, I do exactly as he’s said, quickly inhaling a breath that is probably way too deep, and as soon as the smoke hits the back of my throat, my eyes water and I feel like I am suffocating. Spewing out a string of coughs as I double over and wonder if I am dying, he chuckles and wraps me up in his arms, lips at my ear.

“Calm your breathing. You’re still in control. Tell yourself that. Slow breaths through your nose. Good,” he says, coaching me through the burning and subsequent loopy feeling that hits me full force.

“Holy…fuck…” I rasp, already knowing I love this feeling. He laughs again, cheek pressed to the side of my head as he loosens his grip and I slowly calm down. “Woah.”

“Like it?”

“Too much,” I say before I cough again. He holds the blunt out to me, and I take it greedily, ensuring a much smaller inhalation this time. I still cough, but his warm palm rubs my side where my shirt has ridden up, the skin on skin contact made to feel so much better with the weed coursing through my bloodstream. Leaning all my weight back onto him with a blissed out smile on my face, he takes the blunt and gives it one last hit himself before he ashes it in the tub.

We sit in silence, listening to the now thunderous rain on the metal fire escape from the building next door, and I have to admit, I haven’t been this relaxed before in my entire life. At the same time, my skin feels everything—every scratch of fabric, every loop his fingers trace on my stomach, every expansion of his breath. My eyes pulse and thud, and I lay my head back on his shoulder while he rests his cheek on the side of my head.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he says softly. My eyes are glued shut, a permanent smile on my face.

“Thanks for putting up with me.”

“You’re not so bad anymore.”

The air grows heavy with a weighted pause.

“No?” I question hesitantly. He gives me another soft squeeze.

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