minutes pointing her camera at the fire itself, even walking around it to get different angles. I watch her like that, transfixed at the way she seems to disappear in it, hair hanging around the camera like a veil as she presses the shutter in random intervals that make me wonder what she’s seeing. Jealousy flares again as she points it at the others. Ben, in the middle of a story that involves way too many lewd gestures. Emory as he and Vandy share a whispered discussion across the fire. Reynolds, as he watches them. Afton and Elana as they play a game of rock, paper, scissors for designated driver.
When her lens finally gravitates to me, she’s on the opposite side of the fire. Her figure is distorted with the heat of the flames, but I can see her freeze, surprised that I’m looking back at her.
The way she presses the shutter just then is slow, full of intent.
She returns to my side and puts the camera away. “Do you do that?” she asks, nodding to the blunt being passed from Caroline to Tyson.
I shrug. “Yeah. Why?”
“Just curious.” Her dark eyes spark with the reflection of the fire when she turns them on me. “I’m kind of different when I’m high.”
I reach over to sweep her hair away from her neck, delighting in her responding shiver when I scoot closer. “Different how?”
“Looser, I guess. Less anxious.” She gives me a meaningful look. “Touchable.”
I search her eyes, finally catching on. “Really?” At her nod, I raise a hand, snapping my fingers. “Ty, puff puff pass!” Everyone bitches about me fucking with rotation, but he hands it over, because he knows what’s good for him. I take a long drag from the blunt before nudging Sugar’s chin with a gentle knuckle.
She rolls her eyes when she realizes why I’m holding it in. “I know how to hit a blunt, you giant dork.” Despite that, she purses her lips, sucking in the smoke as I exhale it. She’s such a trooper too, doesn’t even cough. I guess girls in the Briar Cliffs aren’t exactly sheltered little princesses.
On the third shotgun, Carlton must give up on the blunt, because he starts rolling another one. Sugar and I are happy to share what’s left of this one, and I can tell when it hits her, because she starts to get really floppy, head lolled back on her shoulders.
“That’s some good shit,” she says. Luckily Carlton doesn’t overhear, otherwise we’d be subjected to his Ted Talk on why loud is overrated. “Back home, we don’t usually get the good stuff until all you rich fuckers show up for the summer.”
I take one last drag of the blunt, throwing the roach into the fire. “At least we share.”
“Mmm,” she moans. “You know what would be sweet as fuck? A back rub.” When she finally opens her eyes, bloodshot and glazed, she bats her lashes at me, mouth curling into a wicked grin.
I gesture at the space between my legs. “Your wish is my inevitable blue balls.”
She snorts a laugh, but clumsily scoots herself in front of me, settling between my bent knees. Even though I’d caught her drift about weed making her all touchable, I still wait a moment after resting my hands on her shoulders, anticipating her going stiff.
I knead my thumbs into the muscles, thankful for Carlton’s personal stash more than ever when she melts back into me instead. The curve of her jaw is loose and I can just barely make out the silhouette of her lips parting as I work the muscle. She’s got a lot of knots back here, carrying way more tension than she should. I take to the task just like I might to working on the Mustang. Methodical. Careful. Uncaring of time or space, just setting out to make something better.
She sinks back, her head finally falling on my shoulder, eyes dropping closed. “Oh my god, that feels good.” She makes this little moan that, as predicted, makes me hard as a rock. The others aren’t really paying attention beyond the occasional glance when something funny happens, gauging our reaction, so I start moving lower, digging my fingertips into her middle back. She writhes with the motion, feeling soft and serpentine against the cradle of my body. It’s reminding me of that night in the backseat of my car, and without really thinking about it, I move to her lower back, dipping beneath her jacket and shirt.
The fire is