the splutters of a man who’d forgotten to take a breath before he leapt blindly into a lake. Russia grinned even wider, narrowing her eyes and nodding her head slowly. “Well, I think that says a lot for my sexual aptitude. Anyone want another drag?” She gestured toward Sam with the glowing remains of the spliff.
“Oh God, I’m the worst med student ever,” Sam laughed, accepting the offer. “You know”—he inhaled deeply, barely disguising the violent cough he clearly needed to release—“I think I like weed after all. Maybe I’m more of a bad-ass than you all thought. Next thing you know I’ll be injecting heroin into my arms, gagging for my next hit.”
They all laughed.
T H E G U E S T H O U S E W H E R E they were staying in Sangkhlaburi was a tiny tin shack with a corrugated roof and a worn veranda out front. The plot it stood on was part faded grass, part overgrown plants with a wild floral border, and because the building was a bungalow, the flora seemed to dwarf the structure.
When they returned from Saphan Mon, dazed and sleepy and altogether a happy bunch of people, the owner was sitting in a grubby plastic chair on the veranda, smoking a roll-up and blowing lazy smoke rings into the warm evening air. There was no sign of the rest of the Escaping Grey group, who had left for a dinner reservation at a local restaurant a couple of hours ago.
As they were walking up the dusty path, Kayla felt a big hand gently close around hers. It was more fumbly than romantic, but it still gave her goose bumps. She turned to face its owner.
Sam was smiling at her, half coy, half relaxed. “Fancy going for a walk?” he asked, just quietly enough so the others couldn’t hear him. “It’s still so warm. Maybe we can catch the sunset if we hurry.”
“Sure,” Kayla said, returning his grin.
Shouting their excuses to the other three, she and Sam took off back down the path, trying desperately hard not to trip on the dusty, stone-studded ground. The others looked totally bewildered.
After slowing their pace to a canter and trying to catch their breath, they walked side by side for a few minutes. Sam chitchatted in disjointed half sentences, losing his train of thought and jumping straight onto another. A lingering effect of the two puffs of weed he’d smoked. Kayla couldn’t help but grin as he erupted into borderline hysteria at the sight of a butterfly.
Eventually they found themselves down by a river. They’d had to navigate some rickety wooden steps and overgrown shrubbery to get to the banks, where Sam promptly flopped to the ground and lay back, sighing. Kayla sat down next to him with only a fraction more grace.
The gushing water, hazy evening light, and scent of frangipani made Kayla want to curl up and nap, but the sight of Sam’s toned stomach poking out from beneath his gray cotton T-shirt as he stretched was enough to make her heart pound through her pot-induced haze. She turned on her side to face him, propping herself up on an elbow.
“Doesn’t home seem like thousands of miles away?” she said dreamily, drawing out her words in a relaxed drawl.
“Kayla . . . home is thousands of miles away,” Sam said, and laughed so hard that Kayla worried he’d rupture his spleen. “Five thousand, eight hundred and forty-seven miles, to be precise.”
She shoved his shoulder playfully. His giant frame barely moved. He clutched his side, almost breathless with laughter. “Smart-ass. You know what I mean.”
He shoved her back just as playfully, except Sam was much stronger than she was, and the push sent her rolling down the bank, laughing too hard to steady herself. He rolled after her—an inelegant log roll Kayla’s sixth grade gymnastics teacher would have abhorred.
Sam ended up lying on his chest next to Kayla, their arms pressed against each other. He made a pillow with his hands, palms flat against the ground, and rested his temple sleepily on top of them.
“Oh God, I’m the worst med student ever,” Sam laughed, accepting the offer. “You know”—he inhaled deeply, barely disguising the violent cough he clearly needed to release—“I think I like weed after all. Maybe I’m more of a bad-ass than you all thought. Next thing you know I’ll be injecting heroin into my arms, gagging for my next hit.”
They all laughed.
T H E G U E S T H O U S E W H E R E they were staying in Sangkhlaburi was a tiny tin shack with a corrugated roof and a worn veranda out front. The plot it stood on was part faded grass, part overgrown plants with a wild floral border, and because the building was a bungalow, the flora seemed to dwarf the structure.
When they returned from Saphan Mon, dazed and sleepy and altogether a happy bunch of people, the owner was sitting in a grubby plastic chair on the veranda, smoking a roll-up and blowing lazy smoke rings into the warm evening air. There was no sign of the rest of the Escaping Grey group, who had left for a dinner reservation at a local restaurant a couple of hours ago.
As they were walking up the dusty path, Kayla felt a big hand gently close around hers. It was more fumbly than romantic, but it still gave her goose bumps. She turned to face its owner.
Sam was smiling at her, half coy, half relaxed. “Fancy going for a walk?” he asked, just quietly enough so the others couldn’t hear him. “It’s still so warm. Maybe we can catch the sunset if we hurry.”
“Sure,” Kayla said, returning his grin.
Shouting their excuses to the other three, she and Sam took off back down the path, trying desperately hard not to trip on the dusty, stone-studded ground. The others looked totally bewildered.
After slowing their pace to a canter and trying to catch their breath, they walked side by side for a few minutes. Sam chitchatted in disjointed half sentences, losing his train of thought and jumping straight onto another. A lingering effect of the two puffs of weed he’d smoked. Kayla couldn’t help but grin as he erupted into borderline hysteria at the sight of a butterfly.
Eventually they found themselves down by a river. They’d had to navigate some rickety wooden steps and overgrown shrubbery to get to the banks, where Sam promptly flopped to the ground and lay back, sighing. Kayla sat down next to him with only a fraction more grace.
The gushing water, hazy evening light, and scent of frangipani made Kayla want to curl up and nap, but the sight of Sam’s toned stomach poking out from beneath his gray cotton T-shirt as he stretched was enough to make her heart pound through her pot-induced haze. She turned on her side to face him, propping herself up on an elbow.
“Doesn’t home seem like thousands of miles away?” she said dreamily, drawing out her words in a relaxed drawl.
“Kayla . . . home is thousands of miles away,” Sam said, and laughed so hard that Kayla worried he’d rupture his spleen. “Five thousand, eight hundred and forty-seven miles, to be precise.”
She shoved his shoulder playfully. His giant frame barely moved. He clutched his side, almost breathless with laughter. “Smart-ass. You know what I mean.”
He shoved her back just as playfully, except Sam was much stronger than she was, and the push sent her rolling down the bank, laughing too hard to steady herself. He rolled after her—an inelegant log roll Kayla’s sixth grade gymnastics teacher would have abhorred.
Sam ended up lying on his chest next to Kayla, their arms pressed against each other. He made a pillow with his hands, palms flat against the ground, and rested his temple sleepily on top of them.
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