Page 9 of Smoke After Hours

When we reached the back of the basement, I was blown away by how it wasn’t just a dispensary with glass shelves spotlighting their product like I assumed it would be. But rather, there was also fruits, veggies, and plants in the place as well.

“Wow, I didn’t expect all this,” I stated, unable to keep my eyes from bouncing around the entire room.

“We get that a lot,” Stryker explained with a laugh. “Everything we produce here is organic and healthier for you. We grow our own fruits and veggies, and of course you already know that we specialize in organic weed. Our products are free of pesticides, and at no point during the cultivation process are harmful synthetic fertilizers, genetically modified organisms, or heavy metals introduced to our weed.”

And he has an accent.It only made him sexier, not that he needed to add to it. I looked to Volley excitedly, eager to try their organic weed, but Volley was paying me no mind as his eyes were shooting daggers at Stryker.

“Where are you from?” Volley asked.

“Trinidad,” he answered. “You?”

“Kenya.”

And I’m from Ethiopia.Everyone assumed I was born in Toronto, Canada and raised in New York, and due to my situation, I kept it that way. Instead of saying anything, I watched the dick measuring contest Volley and Stryker were currently having with each other. Yet, whereas Volley seemed annoyed by Stryker’s presence, Stryker seemed to be amused by Volley’s irritation.

Stryker continued with the tour, taking me to the room where the workshop would be held and a few other bonus spaces in the back part of the basement. After that, Stryker grinded what he called the healthiest and most potent strand of cannabis they had. Then he filled the bowl of a brown marble smoke pipe that was shaped a bit like a banana and placed it in front of my face, prompting me to wrap my lips around the mouthpiece.

Without question, I wrapped my mouth around the pipe, eager for my sample as Stryker flicked his lighter and put the flame to the ground weed so that I could inhale and fill myself with the organic goodness.

“Heaven,” I whispered, exhaling slowly, letting it linger in me a bit.

“Good, right?” Stryker asked knowingly.

“I’ve never tasted anything like it,” I admitted. “I’m so glad we’re partnering with Herbal Haze because I can’t wait to get our order and deliver it to our weekly customers when we get back to New York.”

Stryker smiled. “Yeah, this shit is addictive.”

“Sinful,” I added, taking another puff.

“Do you want to try some?” Stryker asked Volley, who didn’t say anything in return.

“He’s good,” I answered for him. “He doesn’t smoke on the job.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but I knew Volley and he only smoked when he was comfortable with the environment. If shit didn’t feel good to him, he wasn’t participating. In this case, he wasn’t feeling Stryker, and Volley was pissed that I was flirting with him back.

“More for us then,” Stryker stated, taking a puff from the pipe I’d just had in my mouth, his eyes on me when he did so. “Maybe after the workshop, you and I could grab something to eat.” I opened my mouth to decline him, but he wasn’t finished yet. “Orwe can forgo dinner and you can let me have the pleasure of inking that beautiful body of yours.”

“Um, I didn’t plan on getting more tattoos than what I already have,” I told him, unsure of how to answer. “And with the smoke hop, I don’t have time even if I wanted another one.”

“We can convince you otherwise,” Stryker muttered suggestively.

“Who’s we?” I asked.

“The other tattoo artists.” He took another puff of the pipe, leaning closer when he said, “We like to share.”

My eyes widened, sure I heard him wrong. “What?”

“Clients,” he added. “We share clients if they want a particular design that requires more hands because they are short of time.”

I definitely heard the underlining meaning of his words, but I didn’t push for clarification. I didn’t see Volley stand, but I felt him creep up behind me, no doubt giving Stryker a stern warning without words.

“Change your mind?” Stryker asked Volley, seemingly unfazed.

“Nah,” Volley stated.

Stryker laughed. “You really don’t talk much, do you?”

Volley crossed his arms over his chest. “Only when I need to tell muthafuckas they stepped outta line.”

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