Page 2 of Smoke After Hours

Ryan frowned. “Oh nah, I hated his character in that movie. Carlos was an asshole. We don’t talk about that one.”

Ryan went through several more underrated actors and actresses in his opinion, successfully getting Messiah to loosenup as Messiah argued that Morgan Freeman was better than Samuel L. Jackson, while Ryan debated that the two were different actors and shouldn’t be compared.

The four of us lounged lazily on the oversized sofa for over an hour, passing blunts between us as we got lost in a haze of smoke and laughter.

Soon, the gentle hum of conversation echoed around us since it was around eight p.m., when most of the residents were all home or arriving home.

The housing co-op was a sanctuary of relaxation, always filled with the sweet aroma of burning incense and the delicious smell of weed. It wasn’t surprising that smoking or getting high was most of the residents’ favorite pastime.

As a co-op, we all shared the responsibilities and communal bills of our shared kitchen, living facilities, gym, and bathrooms together. We didn’t own our units, but each of us were shareholders in the co-op with Maverick Enterprises being the corporation that owned the building.

At the sound of the freight elevator that lead to Pot Palace creaking open, my attention was drawn away from the guys like a moth to a flame.She’s here.I couldn’t see her, but I felt her. Unlike the other residents who had arrived before her and barely earned a nod from me when they passed, she had my undivided attention before she came into view.

“There you go again,” Jake teased. “Doing that creepy silent shit whenever your bestie walks into the place.”

I ignored his teasing because, honestly, he was right. Bentley Blackwood was not only my best friend, but we also worked together and had in some capacity for the past decade.

After hanging up her coat, she made her way to us.

“Hey, fellas,” she greeted, coming around the corner. Her eyes skimmed over everyone else and landed on me, her vibrant smile doing the same shit it did every time I saw her.

Making my dick jump.

Today, she’d worn her usual tight jeans, combat boots, and graphic tee that hung off her shoulders, displaying her butterfly tattoo. On Bentley, the outfit looked sinful as always. She was the kind of woman who commanded attention with every step she took.

She’d just gotten her hair done at the beauty salon a couple days ago. I knew because I’d gotten my dreads lined up at my barbershop across the street at the same time.

Her shoulder-length curls framed her face like a halo of ebony silk, each strand seemingly infused with a life of its own, bouncing with every movement of her body. Her dark brown eyes were like pools of mystery that drew you in, ensnaring your gaze with their magnetic intensity.

They also sparkled with a hint of flirty mischief. Like one conversation with her would have you ready to kill any muthafucka who dared to make her shed a tear.

And it wasn’t the weed talking. Anyone who hurt her had to answer to me and trust me, they ain’t want that shit.

“What are y’all up to?” she asked, her lips full and luscious as they curved into a knowing smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts.

Hearts like mine.

If I hadn’t met Bentley, I wouldn’t have any friends. Real talk, I used to be a recluse, not talking to anyone but my brother, LaCross, and his girlfriend at the time, Deluxe, who was now his wife.

“Nothing much,” Messiah answered, the bite in his voice unmistakable. “Except for wondering why you ever introduced me to yo’ girl when you knew she was triflin’ as hell”

Bentley shook her head. “Nah, fam. In my opinion, y’all are both toxic in relationships. Besides, I told you not to date Sadie just to avoid this conversation, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“Because I love that woman,” he argued. “You know that shit.”

Bentley snorted. “What I know is that you and Sadie are a train wreck, taking turns to see who can hurt the other person more. I love you both, but I’m not getting in the middle of this shit.”

Messiah groaned, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I hate that I miss that woman.”

“It’s only been a week,” Ryan pointed out. “How can you miss her already when she had another man’s dick in her mouth?”

Messiah took a few more puffs, before crying out, “Lawd, why didn’t you stop me from turning a ho into a housewife? Hoes don’t act right.”

“Damn,” Ryan huffed. “Now he’s spittin’ Luda’s lyrics.”

“Who?” Noah asked, straightening up his tie as he plopped down in an empty chair. He was one of the newbies to Pot Palace. A blue-eyed Wall Street guy who didn’t seem to fit the vibe of the rest of us, but he was cool.

“Luda is Ludacris, baby,” Ryan explained. “He’s a popular rapper and actor.”

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