Smoke and Memories
Kenji
Hiro lit the joint with a silver lighter.
The flame leapt toward the joint’s twisted end. The red paper glowed and then blackened.
Once fully lit, he snapped the lighter shut.
The flame died.
As he held in the smoke, all tension left his jaw. His shoulders dropped half an inch. His muscular chest expanded. His eyes went half-lidded and still.
When he finally exhaled, two slow gray columns of smoke spiraled from his nostrils and then dissolved into the air above him.
I smiled.
He shook his head slowly like he was clearing it. "This is good shit."
I quirked my brows. “Is it?”
“Yeah.” He looked at the joint with new respect. "Who knew Hiroko had a good connect?"
I thought of Hiroko in heaven watching us smoke this joint and my smile widened.
The scent of marijuana layered itself over everything. Over the cedar incense. Over my Tiger’s black amber and plum. It was earthy, sweet, and slightly floral.
Hiro turned toward Nyomi. "Come here, Tora."
Nyomi sat up and left my chest, taking away the warmth of her body.
I reached out and ran my finger along a braid that hung down her back.
Hiro eyed her. “Do you know what a shotgun is?”
“Of course.”
Hiro placed the joint to his lips and pulled from it again. The tip brightened. He held the smoke in his lungs and leaned toward her.
Nyomi turned her face to his.
He brought his mouth close to hers.
The distance between their mouths was nothing.
A few breaths away.
An almost kiss.
He exhaled slowly and lines of twisting, gray smoke moved from his lips into hers in a thin, warm current.
She received it—her chest rising, her lashes dropping—and for one suspended moment their faces stayed close.
His mouth nearly at hers.
The smoke the only thing passing between them.
My thumb stopped moving along her braid.
