Catching feelings for your sleazy weed dealer isn't the smartest thing you've ever done. But hey, you never claimed to be bright!

Sitting in the front seat of his car and passing a spliff back and forth while he tries to coax you into buying one of the little white baggies in his glove compartment, you tell yourself it must just be the weed in your system. Patrick has always been attractive, sure, but it's never felt this bad. You're at the point where you're debating whether you're flexible enough to get up to some really nasty shit in the back seat. One glance at the amount of bottles back there and you're barely sober enough to tell yourself that's not a good idea.

But you could always invite him up to your dorm...

"Half off, just for you," his voice cuts through your haze of (not so innocent) thoughts. "My favourite client." He flashes you a dimpled smile, and it's almost enough to convince you to actually purchase some hard drugs from him. This was always supposed to be a stress reliever, but oh, he's so tempting...

"I don't know. I've never done anything like that before," you reply sheepishly, eyeing the powder a little warily.

"That's alright, baby." Oh God, the pet name. You're already weak in the knees. "You trust me, right? You can do it right here." He reaches past you into the glove box to pull out a business card. It takes you a moment to understand what it's for, and then... fuck, he really wants you to do lines with him right here in his car? "I'll walk you through it. S'easy, promise."

"Do you try to talk all your clients into this?" You laugh nervously. You hate the way your brain reacts, but it's almost Pavlovian how badly you want to please him.

"No. Told you were my favourite, didn't I?" He takes a final drag from the joint, then tosses it out the window. You almost protest because... well, you paid for that, but the cloud of smoke he blows in your direction distracts you from your irritation. Well, that and the fact he's trying to convince you to snort coke.