Chet rolled his eyes, then signaled me with an annoyed twitch of two fingers. I leaned again. Opened my mouth again. And waited. This time he didn’t flip the joint around but instead drew a deep inhale that he held as he leaned toward me, fingertips dusting lightly over my shoulder to brace himself. His lashes lowered and smoke moved in a lazy stream between our mouths, blooming warm and humid on my tongue. As I sipped it into my lungs, Chet’s eyes fluttered open, gaze fastening to mine. For one brief second, we held like that, lips so close I was certain even blinking might cause them to
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