Dante held up his bag. “Spaghetti hoops.”
“On toast?”
“Nope.”
“Just spaghetti hoops?”
“Yup.”
Sid felt himself start to frown. Then made himself stop. Stuffing himself with green shit was a recent thing. He’d grown up on so much tinned ravioli and Heinz tomato soup it was a wonder he didn’t bleed orange. Still. There was something painful about picturing Dante alone in his bungalow with a can of hoops and a spoon. Or maybe it was more that Sid wasn’t ready to let him go for the day. “Listen, this is probably a weird thing to say, and I’m totally not making an assumption here—or maybe I am and I’m a bit of a dick—but do you want to come and have a joint with me later? I’ve got some mellow skunk at home, and it’s too good to smoke on my own.”
Dante slowly lowered his shopping bag and treated Sid to a speculative once over. “So it’s you.”
“What is?”
“The reason smoking weed is okay around here.”
“What makes you think I’m the only one?”
“Nothing. But it’s you they changed the rules for.”
Sid couldn’t deny it. “It helps me, which helps them in the long run.”
“They need you, don’t they?”
“I’m cheap as far as master gardeners go, and there’s not as much spare cash around here as you might think.”
Dante laughed. “That’s funny, because they told me there was no spare cash lying around at all, in case I got any ideas.”
“Really?” Sid cringed. “Please tell me that wasn’t Benjamin?”
“I ain’t a rat, so I’m not telling you anything.”
Sid sighed. “You’d have told me if it wasn’t, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry he said that to you. He knows better than that.”
“It was a fair statement. I copped a seven-year stretch for slinging class As. It’s not a huge leap to think I’d be after the family silver.”
Seven years. Sid swayed a little and struggled to focus and gather the new information in Dante’s casual confession.
Class As.
He’s a drug dealer.
Multiple emotions hit Sid at once, too many and too fast to dissect. He took a breath, but it seemed to go nowhere as his foggy brain betrayed him. “Sorry.” He tapped his temple as Dante looked on, his expression as unreadable as it had been since that morning. “It’s taking me a minute to get my words out.”
“I have time,” Dante said. “You want to go home, though? Get inside where it’s warm? I can help you.”
“I don’t need help.” And warm was the last thing Sid wanted to be unless it involved being naked with—Nice. So you can’t think of a sensible thing to say back to him when he tells you what he went down for, but you can picture him in your bed? Stay classy, dude.
“Sid?”
“Hmm?” Sid blinked and shook his head, trying to clear it, but his wayward train of thought ran away, making its final escape. He stared at Dante, willing whatever they’d been talking about to return to him, but...
It didn’t.
Awesome.
“Which place is yours?” Dante was closer than Sid remembered, and he slid cool fingers over Sid’s locked elbow.