Afterwards, they shared a smoke and the rest of Trevor’s beer. “I thought you said you quit,” Trevor said as he passed the lit cigarette to Zack.
Taking a deep drag, Zack breathed out a perfectly shaped smoke ring. “I’m easily addicted,” he teased. “You’ve got me hooked.”
By the time they untangled from each other and got up off the sofa, it was well after eight o’clock. The only light filtering through the blinds came from the street lamps in the parking lot outside. Zack, unsteady on his feet after the alcohol, kept bumping into Trevor as they dressed, giggling for no real reason and kissing Trevor in odd places—his elbow, his stomach, his knee through the material of his pants once, when Zack bent down to retrieve his sandals. Somehow they had gotten pushed up under the sofa, and when
