Page 11 of Smoke After Hours

“If you’re asking are we dating, then no, we’re just friends.”

Santiago snorted. “I get it. She friend zoned you.”

This fuckin’ kid.I arched an eyebrow at him, nodding my head Nova’s way. “What about you two? She your girl?”

Santiago shuffled from one leg to the other, shaking his head. “Nah, we’re just friends.”

I was about to tease him like he had no problems mocking me, but that longing expression in his eyes was one I knew all too well.

“You want to be more?” I asked.

He shrugged, his arrogant smirk back in place. “Nah, man, it’s not even like that. We’re dating other people, but we have alot in common. We didn’t even think our membership into High Hoppers would be accepted, but we figured why not experience this together.”

“And the people you’re dating cool with that?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, they’re good. They know we’re best friends.”

“Maybe so, but the cigar lounge and this organic workshop were both part of the taste experience of Toasted. Each location focuses on a different cannabis encounter, and the tease portion is coming up. This smoke hop is about exploring your love of weed and your sexual desires, understanding that one may impact the other.”

Santiago visibly swallowed, his eyes going to Nova again. We didn’t say much after that, both of our eyes fixated on women who didn’t belong to us, yet they had our undivided attention regardless.

Once the workshop was finally over, we decided to add an impromptu stop to a movie theater that sat on Blaze University’s campus. The university was a cannabis forward college and the first of its kind to not only offer courses in studying cannabis, but spotlight and prioritize that course of study above all other subjects.

I was glad that shorties coming up in today’s society were able to major in a subject that once got their pops and other relatives locked up. It felt like we were finally able to give Uncle Sam our middle finger by making money the legal way now. Which in my opinion, weed should have never been illegal anyway. Although it was still a difficult journey for Black cannabis owners to be granted the same privileges as their counterparts, every step in the right direction was one we needed to celebrate and Blaze University was paving the way. To change the future, we had to change the mindset first.

When the university learned our event was on their stomping grounds, a couple students who heard about the Herbal Haze workshop opted to push back one of the student movie screenings that was originally taking place to show a special screening ofHow High, one of my favorite movies featuring Method Man and Redman. To me, it was a classic in comedy because it broke barriers and challenged societal views by having two Black men who smoke that good shit manage to ace their tests and get into Harvard.

I hadn’t said much to Bentley since the workshop ended, but she surprised me by coming to the back row of the theater to sit beside me instead of with everyone else.

“You looked like you could use some company,” she whispered, her eyes laced with mischief.

I knew her angle. Over the years, Bentley loved to push my buttons and she knew that nothing did that quicker than watching her blatantly flirt with another man.

When she crossed one leg over the other, her calf brushed over my left knee as her leg invaded my space. Despite the fact that we were both wearing jeans, I was so aware of her presence, that my body reacted at even the slightest touch. Yet, as always, I wasn’t the only one who had my eyes on Bentley.

This muthafucka.The organic instructor, Stryker, was a few rows ahead of us glancing over his shoulder at Bentley in a way I didn’t appreciate. And he wasn’t alone. He had one of those other tattooing assholes with him. I think he was the one they called Knox.

I didn’t miss the way all of those dudes that worked there were all up in Bentley’s grill, offering to take her around town or give her a tattoo. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they were into some freaky shit. According to Renay—one of the High Hoppers who talked way too damn much for my liking, but was like a walking encyclopedia—the men of Greek GawdsInk in Summerland were into sharing women. It was all about the woman’s needs and giving her their undivided attention sexually, mentally, and emotionally. And it was clear as hell that they had their eye on Bentley.

I didn’t focus on the tattoo artists too long as something else caught my eye. There was also someone standing in the shadows near the exit door. Someone I couldn’t make out and didn’t recall being there before the lights dimmed. On cue, the moment I recognized the figure was the exact instant they escaped out of the door.

A quick glance at Bentley proved she’d seen the same thing I did.

“You stay here,” I whispered. “I’m gonna check it out.”

I stood from my seat, trying not to draw too much attention to myself as I made my way to that same exit door and slipped through it.

Hand on the pistol in the inside of my jacket, I made my way down the darkened hallway that was only lit by a few red lights. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but ever since we’d arrived at this town, I’d felt uneasy.

The hallway was empty, but I knew what I saw. Someone had definitely opened the exit door. My steps were light as I cleared the storage closet to my right, not even needing to turn around when I heard the door open behind me.

“Go back to your seat,” I directed.

“Fuck that,” Bentley spat, always being so damned difficult. “No way was I gonna be able to watch the movie and not worry about you.”

“Behind me.” I motioned, waving two fingers in the air. “We may be friends, but this is kind of what I do. You didn’t have to come here.”

She rolled her eyes, keeping her voice low as she whispered, “I know you’re a fighter and great with a gun, but news flash, wehaven’t been faced with any real danger in a while and it can’t be a coincidence that a day after Jackie D tells us they’re delayed in getting my father to the States, someone is clearly watching our moves.”

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