The smoke curled lazily through the air, sinking into your lungs and settling heavy behind your ribs. Everything was warm, the edges of the world blurred like watercolors bleeding together. It was like a dream that hadn’t quite decided if it wanted to stay or slip away. Jennifer was beside you, her head tipped back against the couch, a slow, lazy grin tugging at her lips.

“You feel good?” she murmured, voice syrupy, thick with amusement and something else.

You did. Too good. Maybe that was the problem.

Jen turned her head toward you, half-lidded eyes trailing over your face, dipping lower. Then she reached out, fingers grazing your wrist before sliding up your arm, her touch featherlight but sure. God, her hands. Her fucking hands.

And then, she kissed you. Slow, deep, a little too eager, like she’d been waiting for an excuse. Maybe she had. You didn’t care. Her fingers curled at the nape of your neck, tilting your head just right as she kissed you harder. Her hand drifted lower. You shivered against her, your breath stuttering as she pressed closer, one leg draped lazily over yours. Jen laughed against your lips, her voice a breathy hum of satisfaction. “I should get high with you more often.”