Tuesday
They sat with their shoulders propped up companionably on the headboard, the sheets tangled around their legs, the s*x-sweat drying on their skin, and sipped whiskey whilst they shared a joint. She sighed on the exhalation and rested her head on his shoulder, perfectly content in the moment.
“Heath would tell me off,” Rhett said, as he took the joint. “He disapproves of the smoking, nicotine or otherwise, especially inside.” He blew out the smoke, returning it to her.
“Of course, he does,” she laughed. “Mr. Responsible.”
“Hmm,” he leaned his face into her hair to deliver a kiss to her curls. “Five years,” he said.
“Five years?” She frowned in confusion and regarded the joint in her fingers in accusation for her slow comprehension. Then realization dawned. “Ah, Rhett, let’s j
