Covet Thy Neighbor

slurred, “but it definitely doesn’t work.”
    “So you’ve tried it?”
    “Obviously.”
    “And? What happened?”
    “The first time, nothing happened.” He snickered. “The second time . . .” Trailing off, he shook his head and laughed. “Well, for starters, we were drunk.”
    “That couldn’t have ended well.”
    “No, definitely not.” He leaned back and gazed up at the night sky. “And we were drunk enough we apparently couldn’t tell the difference between a cow and a bull.”
    My jaw dropped. “No shit?”
    Chuckling, he nodded. “If you can imagine the running of the bulls, but with five idiots and one bull in a cow pasture.”
    “Oh, Jesus. Anybody get hurt?”
    “Not seriously,” he said. “But I think it traumatized one of my friends.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    Darren laughed, the sound edging toward that baked giggle that always followed a couple of tokes. “To this day, if you take him into a country bar with a mechanical bull, the poor boy breaks out in a sweat.”
    I burst out laughing, probably as much from the weed as the comment. “Really? A mechanical bull?”
    “Yep. Poor guy.” Darren could barely speak, he was laughing so hard. “He’s in for it when he inherits his dad’s cattle ranch.”
    We looked at each other and doubled over laughing.
    It was hard to say how long we spent up there. Weed and time did weird things to each other, so keeping track was difficult. But eventually, after sharing a second joint and telling random stories that were probably not nearly as funny as we both thought they were, we called it a night. I put the mint tin and lighter in my pocket, and we stacked the chairs under the tarp. Then we headed downstairs to our respective apartments.
    In the hallway, we stopped. Keys in hands, but not yet in doors.
    After almost a full minute, he broke the silence. “Well, thanks for the, um . . .”
    “Weed, Darren. It’s called weed.”
    He laughed. “Yes, I’m aware of that. Thank you.” He met my eyes, and I very nearly dropped my keys.
    We held each other’s gazes. My mind, of course, picked that moment to remind me of the first and second nights when a moment like this had led to a kiss that led us into his apartment.
    And Darren picked that moment, when I’d spaced out for a few seconds, to step closer, and then he had my attention, and he didn’t kiss me, and I didn’t kiss him, the kiss just fucking happened. Slow, lazy, downright sensual, and hot as hell, lighting up my nerve endings and bringing hundreds of goose bumps to life beneath my clothes.
    Through the haze came a single, jarring stroke of clarity: did weed have the same effect on him as it did me?
    And even if it didn’t have that effect on him, the fact was, it did have that effect on me. Which meant there was no way to know where the high ended and the legitimate desire for Darren began. Or if it even fucking mattered, because I wanted him whether I was high or not.
    And remember how weird it was after the first time? When there wasn’t weed involved?
    Wouldn’t be any better this time. Worse, in fact. One of us taking advantage of the other after the weed lowered our inhibitions. Though who was taking advantage of whom? Fuck if I knew.
    I pulled back. “We shouldn’t do this,” I whispered. “The . . . the weed. I don’t want . . .”
    Darren loosened his grasp on my jacket. “You’re probably right.”
    “I know I’m right, but goddamn it, I . . .” I leaned in again.
    “Me too,” he said, and didn’t resist at all when I kissed him. And about the time I convinced myself I should pull away, his fingers ran through my hair, nails grazing my scalp, and I was a lost cause. I pushed him up against the wall. He gripped my hair and the back of my neck. Even over the lingering smoke, I could smell his all-too-familiar scent, and my mind went straight back to that first night. And the second one. The second one that had started when he’d given me a blowjob right out here in the hallway. Fuck . . .
    You’re high, Seth. And so is he.
    Somehow, I found the restraint to push myself off him. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”
    Darren swept his tongue across his lips. “For what?”
    “We shouldn’t do this. Not after we’ve, um, been smoking.” We shouldn’t do this at all .
    He exhaled, his shoulders dropping a little. “You’re right.”
    I swallowed. “I should go.”
    “Yeah. I should . . . I . . .” He gestured at his door. “I should turn in for the