Wolf (Filthy Rich Alphas)

Leather walls? Who would have thought that it could work?

“I’m sorry, but. . .” I continued to follow the guy up the stairs. “What is your name again?”

“Pierre.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I’m usually better with names, but right now I’m a bit. . .”

“High,” Pierre finished for me. “I understand. That tends to be what people do at 420 parties.”

“Have you been to others?” I asked.

“Dr. Sheep has had these parties every year since I’ve been working with him.”

“How long has that been?”

“A long time.”

Is it me or is Pierre acting suspicious?

After I smoked and dealt with situations, it was always unclear of whether I swam in a paranoia high or if something dubious was actually going on.

Weed was funny that way. One had to battle with maintaining mental balance while suspended in a state of intense euphoria.

I’m too high to talk business. I should have said no. That joint packed some powerful stuff. I should’ve listened to Coco.

When we’d entered the penthouse, a golden joint arrived to us as if delivered by God himself. Coco didn’t try it. After dating so many Jamaican smokers in her youth, she’d adopted some fuzzy doctrine about the do’s and don’ts of marijuana.

She never inhaled a joint that she didn’t make herself, never used a bong unless cleaned by her own hands, and never touched a pipe, unless she’d bought it.

In the past, Mary and I agreed with her thought process.

And then the golden joint came. The paper encased the leaves and shined in a bright, metallic glow.

The server than proceeded to explain the quality of the joint to us. “The paper is 24 karat gold.”

Coco put her hand up as if to say stop. “Let’s just quit the dialogue right now. I don’t think you can even smoke gold.”

He continued, “The paper burns slowly for a calming effect that—”

“The paper also fills up your lungs with gold, apparently,” Coco snapped. “Am I the only one who thinks that smoking gold is dangerous?”

I put her hand down. “Would you just let him finish, please?”

“I’m asking the questions that need to be asked,” Coco argued. “The man is telling us to smoke gold. That can’t be healthy.”

“There’s no way to truly smoke healthy,” the server offered.

“That’s your response?” Coco widened her eyes. “Really? Hey, smoking is already unhealthy, let’s add gold, and then later let’s pour on some ammonia—”

“Coco, please,” Mary begged.

“Fine,” Coco said.

“I do know that the papers are made with edible gold,” the server offered as Coco loudly snorted. “And that the gold doesn’t go to your lungs.”

“Then, where does it go?” I asked.

“The gold sits on the ashes after the joint is done. I had your same concerns too and then I researched it.”

Coco tossed him a skeptical look. “You researched it?”

I shook my head. “Chill out.”

“I’m just saying.” Coco shrugged. “Well, then, let’s hear your research.”

“I read that rats were tested and there was no gold inhalation.”

“So someone got poor rats high for the purpose of testing out gold rolling paper?” Coco rolled her eyes. “With all the things happening in the world, unarmed black boys getting shot by police, the economy raping everyone, the government playing toddler games in DC, and here we have rats now being forced to get high.”

“Perhaps, you would feel better if I provide you with your own rolling paper and leaves,” he said.

“No, thank you.” She pulled out her vape pen that looked just like a normal e-cigarette, but held high-grade hash oil. “I’m about clean inhalation. With this, at least the smoke to my lungs is eliminated, and instead I get lovely THC vapors.”

“Hash oil is the crack of marijuana,” Mary smirked and took the joint from the server. “That stuff is too strong.”

“Better than getting gold in your lungs.” Coco pressed the button on her vape pen. A blue light glowed. She sucked. A fruity-scented steam escaped her nostrils. “And joints are so ten years ago.”

Mary smirked. “This from someone who used to roll their joints with bible paper in college, when she was out of money.”

The server handed me my own golden joint.

“Ignore them, please.” I studied the crisp paper. It shined between my two fingers and smoothed against my skin. “What marijuana is this rolled with?”

“Oracle,” he said.

I brought it to my nose and inhaled. A fruity fragrance hit my nostrils—sort of a citrus mixture of squeezed oranges and lemons. “God, that smells good. What are Oracle’s strains?”

Coco rolled her eyes again. “Red always turns into a botanist, when the weed comes out.”

“Oh, shut it.” I stuck out my tongue.

The server cleared his throat. “Oracle bud has a forty-five percent THC level and is a three way stable cross between Euphoria Unlimited bud, Elephant Bud, and Ultra-Fast. Euphoria makes the high long. Some have reported an eight-hour high from just one joint—”