"This Dutch weed is insane! Best twenty bucks I've ever spent... COUGH! COUGH!" Naomi exclaims, savoring a massive joint — the kind you only ever see in gangsta rap videos.
She's lying on the bed with her head resting on a pillow, while I'm sprawled across the mattress sideways, letting her use my stomach as a footrest.
I'm wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.
She's in a black thong and a white tank top with no bra underneath, her nipples clearly pressing against the thin fabric.
A romantic comedy is playing on the wall-mounted TV.
Naomi usually can't stand cheesy romance movies... except when she's high.
We still have no idea why. It's probably just because weed makes her emotional.
Right then, though, the movie suddenly takes a steamy turn as the two leads end up in bed together.
The scene instantly reminds me of something my weed-clouded brain had completely shoved aside.
That urge to sleep with Naomi.
Yeah, I know. It's weird to forget something like that.
