I grip the door handle with a shaky hand and fling the door open. I climb out and curl the joint and lighter in my palm so they aren’t visible. My head swivels around the parking lot, but the few cars here peek from the back of the church, and I’m guessing they belong to the church’s staff. There’s a park behind the church, and one of those disgusting bathrooms looms at the far side of the grounds. Trees and a metal fence are all that’s behind it, so there’s plenty of privacy on the far side of the bathroom.
Perfect place for a stoner.
I kick off my heels, grab them with my free hand and head off in that direction. My eyes are drawn to the vehicles parked behind the church. A black Mercedes, a black Lincoln, and a red Jaguar are parked beside a hearse and on the other side is a Toyota Camry. I don’t see anyone inside any of the vehicles, but even if they saw me, what are they gonna do? Bust me for smoking pot? TellDaddy?
I look straight ahead and chuckle.
I slide the joint between my fingers and ease my grasp on the lighter. I’m just about to bring my hand to my lips when I round the corner of the bathroom and stop dead in my tracks.
The spot’s already claimed.
A man is sitting on top of a picnic table, his head hanging forward and a flask in his hand. He lifts his head, and our eyes meet. For a moment, we just stare at each other, his face emotionless while my eyes are wide and lips are parted.
He brings the flask to his mouth, never looking away. When he brings it down, he swallows and rests the flask on his knee.
His eyes dip and he tilts his chin. “You gonna light that?”
I dart my eyes to the blunt in my hand and then back to him.
He chuckles and shakes his head, his gaze moving forward as he brings the flask to his mouth again.
I glance over my shoulder and consider walking back to my car, but when I look toward the man again, he seems disinterested. My presence doesn’t appear to be getting in the way of his somber mood.
I step into the shadows of the awning, drop my heels, and press the joint between my lips. With a flick of the lighter, the tip of the joint blazes, and I puff to make it catch. I suck in the potent, wonderful toxins and hold it in my lungs. I pull the blunt from my mouth, balance it between my fingers, and lean my head back. Pressure builds in my lungs, and I slowly exhale, clouds of smoke fluffing the air.
I feel better almost immediately. The tension in my neck eases and my mind stops spinning. Anger at my dad no longer seems so important.
“You look like you’re having a rough day.”
I lower my head and take in the man, just as he’s doing to me. He has a smirk on his face that I bet he practices frequently, and his bloodshot eyes hold curiosity in them. He’s dressed in a suit that would be impeccable if it didn’t have a slight wrinkle, and his dark hair is slicked back over his head.
I take in his concrete jaw and defined cheekbones and think he might be one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen outside of Hollywood. Not in a starstruck way. It’s just a fact. He looks to be in his late thirties, so too old for my twenty-two years. Even older than my fiancé.
There is one defining feature that tells me everything I need to know about the man. His olive skin.
He’s Italian. At a mobster’s funeral. I smell a criminal.
“Yeah, well, I’m attending a funeral. It’d be odd if I was chipper, wouldn’t it?” I ask.
“You’re here a little early, don’t you think?”
I wave a hand toward him. “As are you.” I take another drag and prepare to put the blunt out, but the man holds out his hand, making me pause.
“Can I get a hit of that?”
I drop my gaze to the flask in his hand. “If I can get a taste of whatever that is, sure.”
He stretches the hand with the flask toward me, and I walk to the picnic table and climb on the bench, planting my ass on the wooden table top just as he has. I exchange the joint with the flask and bring it to my lips.
I’m not sure what it is, but it tastes expensive and burns my throat. I cough and pull the flask away, setting it on the table.
The man exhales smoke and hands the blunt back to me. I put it out on the table and turn toward him.
“So why are you here early?” I ask.
His lips purse and he shrugs. “Didn’t want to be late.”
I nod idly and rest my forearms on my knees. “Same. Well, mydaddidn’t want me to be late. He gave me the wrong time.”