Pucked Love (Pucked, #6)(75)

Darren curves his palm around the side of my neck and presses his lips to mine. When his tongue sweeps out I part my lips, allowing him inside. He strokes against my tongue a few times before he pulls back, still frowning. He repositions us so we’re sitting up. “Stick your tongue out for me.”

“What?”

“Your tongue, stick it out.”

“They’re an acquired taste,” I mumble, but I do as he asks, the candy sitting on the end of my tongue.

He pops it in his mouth, rolling it around, which could be kind of gross since it’s been in my mouth, but then again, he does put his tongue in there, among other places.

After a few seconds he spits it into the wrapper. “How often do you eat these?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Usually a few a day.”

His eyes go wide. “A few a day? How long have you been eating these?”

I don’t understand why he’s so shocked. “I don’t know. My mom has been making them as long as I can remember.”

I didn’t think it was possible for his eyes to be any wider. “You ate these as a kid?”

“They’re calming.” Now I’m defensive about it. I love these candies.

“Uh, yeah, they would be since I think they’re made from weed.”

“No they’re not,” I scoff.

“I’m pretty sure they are. How do you think they get that green tinge to them?”

“They’re herbal.”

“And the herb they’re made with is weed.”

“How would you know that? You’re not allowed to use recreational drugs,” I point out.

“Correct, but I’ve spent enough time around Alex’s dad to know what weed smells like, since he’s a chronic pothead.” He doesn’t say anything else, possibly waiting for me to process this information.

I have to cover my mouth with my palm since I’m incapable of closing it. The greenhouses at The Harvest Co-op, aka The Ranch, flash through my mind—endless rows of gorgeous green plants, the smell of skunks, the barbed-wire fence, how we were located out in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere. All of it suddenly makes sense.

“Holy fuck,” I say from behind my hand as the truth settles in. “Oh my God. My mother turned me into a pothead.”

“Maybe there isn’t any THC in them,” Darren offers.

I think about how I’ve been this week—all the candies I’ve eaten and how much I’ve been zoned out and napping like it’s my job. How many donuts I’ve consumed.

I consider how I’m relaxed for hours after I eat those candies, and how they always seem to heighten that tingly feeling in my body, particularly the one between my thighs when I’m nervous. I have to wonder if they’re somehow related.

I almost always have one with my tea right before I go to bed when I’m at home. I can still sleep like the dead—the flaily dead—even with all my afternoon naps.

I drop my hand from my mouth. “I’m a pothead.”

“There are a lot worse things to be.”

“I’ve been carrying those around with me everywhere. I’ve taken them on planes, Darren! Oh my God, what if I’d been arrested? My mother is my dealer!”

Then it dawns on me that Darren had one in his mouth. “Shit. Now you have weed in your system! What if you test positive at the next drug test?”

“It’s off season. There aren’t any mandatory tests anytime soon, and I had, like, three sucks of a candy.”

A little of the unease dissipates, but it fires right back up. “What if I’d offered them to Sunny and Violet? They’re both pregnant!”

“You haven’t given them any, have you? Or any of the guys?”

“Well, no, my mom said it was best not to share them, but I could’ve ignored her, and then I’d be feeding a baby weed, or ruining NHL careers!” I’m starting to feel lightheaded even though I’m sitting down. “I need to get rid of them!”

“Whoa.” Darren grabs my arm before I can reach the bowl of candies. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to throw those out.”

“Well, I can’t keep them now that I know what they are!”

Darren pulls me back into his lap. “Calm down, firefly.”

“I don’t think I can.” Shit. I’m at risk of hyperventilating. And all I want to do is simultaneously eat all of those candies and flush them down the toilet.

He kisses me softly. “Take a deep breath and listen to me, okay, Charlene?”

I nod and do as he asks, sucking in as much oxygen as my lungs will allow, then breathing my weed-candy breath in his face.

“You said you’ve been eating those as long as you can remember?”

“Since I was a teenager, I guess?”

He tucks a few hairs behind my ear, tracing the shell with his fingertips. They’re softer than usual because he’s not training as hard.

“So you’ve been eating these every single day for the past decade?”

He picks up the discarded candy from the coffee table. Peeling it off the wrapper, he holds it to my lips. “I think you should eat this.”

My mouth waters in anticipation. “Oh, God. I’m an addict.”

“It’s just weed, Charlene. It’s not like you’ve been shooting heroin your entire life, but I wouldn’t suggest quitting cold turkey. It might be a good idea to cut down a little, though.” He taps my lips, and I open my mouth, allowing him to pop the candy back in.