Razor's Edge (Afflictions) by Racquel Reck Page B

next to him. My nerves are shot. I need a joint. No, nix that. I need a big fat blunt. My body has never wanted THC so bad. I eye his beer—like that’ll help. Sighing, I lean back and put my hands behind my head. It doesn’t calm me. My knee bobs up and down like I caught Wiley’s ADHD complex.
    Wiley reaches into his pocket and throws a quarter bag down on the coffee table in front of me. "You need to smoke."
    Fuck. You don’t need it. It’s not worth it. You promised Bryan.
    Not working.
    Eyeballing the bag, all I want to do is spark up. Want the high to settle my nerves. My palms are sweaty. It’s hot in here. Granted, I’m still wearing my snow pants. I stand up and begin pulling them off. "No, I don’t need to smoke."
    "Yes. You do. You’ve been different, man. Ever since you lost the bet, you’ve been quiet." He takes a swig of his beer. "Don’t like it."
    Chucking the pants, I sit down on the couch, bent over, with my arms on my knees. I press my forearms against the denim of my jeans, hoping the friction will calm the craving. Not working, it’s too strong. I stare at the bag. "Put it away."
    "No one’s gonna know if you slip out back and take a puff or two. I’ll cover for you with Tryst, and I’m not gonna say anything. I always got your back, but I don’t like this new you. You need the pot, man. Take it."
    Wiley’s the devil on my shoulder, urging me to fall just so he can laugh. He thinks he knows me. Thinks I’ll slip up. I snare the bag and crack the seal.
    He’s right. No one would know . Putting a finger into the bag, sticky leaves attach themselves to me. It’s perfect bud, and the high it promises would calm my nerves enough for me to think straight. Bringing the bag up, I sniff. As the strong scent hits, my body buzzes with the anticipation of getting high.
    A hand swipes the bag from me and I glance up to find Tryst scowling at me. "I see what you’re about now."
    I hold up my hands. "I was just testing the consistency."
    "Uh-huh." His brow quirks and he looks over at Wiley. "You cheated."
    Tryst thinks I'm shady. "I know how it looks. But I swear I wasn’t–"
    "I’m talking to Wiley."
    "Huh?" I look over at him.
    Wiley tips his beer toward me and looks at Tryst. "I just provided him with the means to smoke it. I didn’t push him to."
    He did. He knows how much I rely on pot to calm my nerves.
    "I overheard you." Tryst spears him with a glare, then looks at me. "Wiley and Bryan made a bet. Bryan thinks you won’t. Wiley thinks you will. One of the conditions was that Wiley couldn’t prompt you, and Bryan couldn’t stop you. But I’m not Bryan."
    Wiley shoots off the couch. "That’s not fair. You can’t stop him."
    "I wouldn’t have done it anyway. I lost the bet. I always hold up my end." I’m a little hurt that my best friend, since we were in preschool, thinks I’m going to renege on my end of the bargain. He knows me better, or I thought he knew me better. Or maybe he does. For a minute there I thought about taking Wiley’s bad advice—packing a bowl and slipping outside. If Tryst hadn’t caught us, I might have done it. I curse under my breath. "Wiley, what did you say to Shay?"
    "What?" Wiley plops back down on the couch.
    The anger I felt in the car returns as I look at the man I thought was my friend. He thinks I'm ignorant, that I didn't catch the thing that passed between them when I came in. "I saw her face. She was looking at me differently. You said something to her. What was it?”
    Wiley takes another swig of his beer and pins me with a glare. "I just let her know what you’re about."
    My stomach sinks. He just ruined my chance with her. "You cock-blocked me?"
    Tryst growls. His brown eyes are glaring at me.
    I shouldn’t have put it that way. But shit, I’m not ready for a relationship. I’m attracted to her, yeah, but I’m not ready to go there . My mind is telling me to back off. The kiss was some deep shit. I felt a connection. The best thing to