“Yes,that.”
“Can’t.” He looks back down at his computer, still tapping.
I groan. “What the hell does that mean?” I ask. “Can’t,” I scoff, mocking his tone.
“I mean, I can. I just don’t want to. It helps me concentrate,” he replies, shrugging. He stops bouncing his knee but continues hitting his pencil on the table in a practised motion.
“Tell you what helps me concentrate?” I ask. He looks up at me now, his shoulders relaxing as if he wants me to continue. “Less of the tapping and more weed.”
He rolls his eyes. “Weed does nothing for concentration, you idiot.”
“It does for me,” I retort. “You’re telling me you’ve never completed two weeks’ worth of homework in one night when you’re high as fuck? It usually ends up as a mess, but it works.” I watch as his eyes try to dart away from mine, and he doesn’t say no. Sometimes I swear I can see right through him. “I’ve got a good plug. Obviously, I’m not going to pressure you, but if I’m going to smoke and you don’t want to be around me, that’s cool.”
He thinks on it for a second as he keeps his eyes on the table. When he’s made his decision, he looks up at me, sighing loudly. “Fuck it. Let's do it. It’s four-twenty somewhere, right?”
I beam, laughing as I say, “That’s the spirit, Branson.”
* * *
Less than an hour later, we’re sitting on the grey sticky concrete outside my apartment complex and Evan is coughing his lungs up.
We’ve each had maybe three good hits and I feel chilled out like I always do. Evan, on the other hand, looks like he’s been eating spicy noodles, as well as smoking every day for the past two years. I’ve occasionally seen him smoke cigarettes, so I don’t know why he’s reacting so badly to this.
Our legs are outstretched in front of us, our heads leaning against the wall as we blow clouds of smoke into the air. When I make a good circle, I giggle a little, thinking about how strange it is that I’m smoking with Evan. I look over to him and he’s leaning forwards a little, clutching his chest as he barks out another cough.
“Oh my God!” I exclaim, laughing, a knowing grin creeping up my face. He turns to me now as his coughing fit dies down. “Branson, have you never smoked weed before?”
He leans back against the wall, tilting his head up and I get a very good look at his throat. It’s long and thick and wholly masculine, constricting as he swallows. “Of course, I have. I just haven’t felt like this…Fuck,”he breathes, rubbing at his eyes. He turns to me now, his eyes heavy and red. “Scarlett, I think I’m having a heart attack.”
I laugh again. “You’re fine.”
He shakes his head, scooting further toward me so our thighs are touching. He grabs the hand in my lap, his huge hand basically swallowing mine as he drags it to his chest, placing it right over his heart before dropping his hand.
“Can you feel my heart right now?” he asks.
“You have a heart?” I gasp dramatically.
“Scarlett.”
“Evan.”
“Can you feel my heart for one fucking second or I’m going to die,” he demands. I look for the joke in his face or his voice, but it never arrives. He remains dead serious.
“You’re not going to die,” I whisper. He doesn’t say anything as his eyes suddenly become sad, a little child-like, like he’s begging me to do this one thing for him. I brought him into this mess, so it’s out of my pure morality that I lay my palm flat against his heart.
Oh my fucking god.
His heart might actually fall out of his chest. With every beat, it feels like my hand lifts up a few inches as I keep my eyes focused on the dark blue button down he’s wearing.
Da dum. Da dum. Da dum.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. The words barely pass through my mouth before I clamp my mouth shut, not needing to freak him out anymore.
“What is it?” Evan asks, worried. He places his large hand over mine, seamlessly linking his fingers into mine as if it doesn’t set every part of my body on fire. He presses my hand -ourhands - deeper into his chest and I feel like I’m breathing as fast as him. “Can you tell if something is wrong? Because itfeelslike something’s wrong.”
“Can you breathe for just one fucking second,” I seethe. Honestly, I can’t tell which one of us needs to breathe more right now because everything about Evan’s hand on mine feels so natural. So safe. Justgood. Then he does the strangest thing. He licks his lips, looks down at our hands and looks back up at me and he nods. I watch him force himself to breathe. Our eyes connect and I whisper, “Your heart is beating really fast, Ev.”
“Iknow.I’ve been trying to tell you,” he says back, defensively. I don’t know why we’re whispering now, but it feels right. His expression changes, the lines in his forehead softening as he realises something. Shit. I realise it too. “You just called me ‘Ev.’”
