Page 4 of Those Eyes, That Mouth

The song ended.

He turned from the window, that dreamy expression shifting back to a grin, and he said, "Holy shit."

“It’s amazing, isn't it?"

"It’s unreal."

I grinned. "This next track wasn't on the original UK release."

The second song started. It was more like an underwater waltz, full of sweet, woozy guitars.

I returned my attention to the cigarette, fumbling with the paper. My hands were shaking slightly—too much coffee, or maybe I was just excited. I managed to finish it, but when I held it up, it was a lumpy mess.

I groaned. "This looks like shit."

Nathan winced at my attempt and shook his head like he was mortified by what he'd just witnessed.

He fell out of the window position and sat down quickly and heavily beside me on the bed.

His weight made the mattress bounce. I fell against him for a second—shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip—and then we were sitting too close, the sides of our thighs pressed together.

He snatched up the tobacco and papers and started rolling on his knee, his wrist resting lightly on my leg. Unselfconscious. It could have been purely innocent.

I watched his hands.

His fingers were calloused and too big for the delicate paper, but they were steady. Confident. No trembling. His tongue came out to wet the edge of the paper, and then he twisted the end with a little flourish.

Quick and precise. No struggle. Like someone who'd rolled hundreds of the damn things.

He had a smug expression. Proud of himself.

I felt shown up. This clean-cut guy who rarely smoked could roll better than anybody I’d ever seen.

He held up the perfectly beautiful cigarette—the end pinched tight like a joint—and presented it to me.

I took it carefully. Our fingers touched.

The music faded. The arm lifted with a soft mechanical click and settled back into its cradle.

Side A was over. The sudden silence made the room feel smaller.

"Hey, now." I was trying to tease, keep it light. "You’re either gonna need to slow down and teach me how to do that, or else you're gonna have to roll all my cigarettes from now on.”

Nathan shrugged, blushing slightly. "I've always liked rolling joints."

Damn. I wondered how many joints he’d actually rolled to get that good. It was a side of him I hadn't expected.

I pushed further. "You wanna just follow me around and roll one for me whenever I snap my fingers?"

He shrugged again and softly said, "If you want me to."

I stared at him. I cleared my throat. "Where'd you learn that, anyway?"

He paused and looked at the floor. “Well, for as long as I can remember, my dad’s always grown a shit ton of weed. So…” He said it fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

I blinked. “Shit."

“Yeah. He's in prison now."