"The great weed heist," I agree, feeling my laughter bubbling up. "Complete with dramatic confrontation."
"And unexpected kissing," she adds, then immediately looks away out the passenger window.
Right. The kiss. The completely-for-show, totally-not-real kiss that's still burning on my lips.
"Yeah, sorry about that," I say, focusing intently on the road. "Seemed like a good distraction."
"It worked."
"Right. Good."
We lapse into silence for the rest of the drive, the wooden box of stolen weed sitting between us like a promise.
Gordie is vibrating with delight at our return. His enthusiasm breaks whatever awkwardness had settled between us in the car.
"Yes, we missed you too, sir,” Lena laughs, scratching behind his ears. "Even though we were only gone for an hour."
"Want me to help bring the rest of your stuff in?" I offer.
"Could you? I'll take this little monster outside."
We work in tandem—me carrying in baskets, her walking Gordie—until all her belongings are stacked neatly in her room. It already feels like hers, no longer the “guest room.”
"We can deal with unpacking tomorrow," I say, eyeing the stuff I've set by her dresser. "Right now, I think we've earned a celebration."
Lena follows my gaze, a small smile playing on her lips. "Are we really doing this?"
I open the box, revealing several neatly rolled joints and a small bag of loose marijuana. "Unless you've changed your mind?"
"No, but..." She looks at me curiously. "Have you ever actually done this before?"
"Nope.” I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. "Hockey's been my life since I was three. Never wanted to risk it."
"But now you do?"
"Now I'm off-season, recently humiliated, and living with a gorgeous woman who steals drugs from her ex. So yeah, my risk assessment has shifted slightly."
She laughs, reaching for the box. "Well, fortunately for you, I know what I'm doing. More or less."
I watch, fascinated, as she selects a joint and examines it critically. "Brad's dealer must have rolled these. They're decent."
"How do we, you know...?" I make a vague gesture.
"We need a lighter. Or matches."
"Hmm." I tap my chin, thinking. "Oh! The safe and satisfied basket."
"Seriously?"
"You thought I was joking about it? There's probably matches in there for the massage candles."
Lena raises an eyebrow. "Massage candles?"
“Those would be for the satisfied portion of the basket,” I explain, reaching for the wicker basket. Sure enough, buried among the condoms and lube packets are tinned candles and a book of matches. I hold it up triumphantly.
"Perfect." Lena grabs a throw blanket from the couch. "Let's go outside. It's a nice night."
We settle on to the patio furniture, the river a dark ribbon below us, the city lights shimmering across its surface. For Pride month, the bridges spanning the Allegheny are lit up in rainbow colors, casting multicolored reflections on the water.
