Met at The Met - Pete Davidson

Part 6. Wanna Trade?

Pete smiled, took out a joint and lit it with a neon pink zippo lighter. It brought back memories of going out in college. My roommate Samantha used to have one just like it.

"I like your lighter, "I said genuinely.

I noticed that his fingernails were painted black. I was practically drooling on the inside. There was something so sexy about a guy who didn't care about conforming gender norms. Thoughts of his big hands and slender fingers with his painted nails running down my back and unzipping my dress flashed through my mind.

"Thanks!" he laughed and interrupted my fantasy while exhaling smoke and handing me the joint.

Ah, yes, I was about to show him I was a pro. I took a small hit to make sure I didn't cough up a lung and embarrass myself. I managed to look pretty smooth for being rusty.

"So what made you decide you wanted to do stuff like this?" he asked while I passed him the joint back. Our fingers brushed and my body pulsated.

"It kind of feels like I didn't decide, you know?" I took a drag and slowly breathed it out. "It just kind of happened. There's been a lot of downsides, but the upsides have been worth it so far."

"I feel that." he nodded with a pensive expression. I could tell he was really listening to me.

"How about you?" I asked.

"Well. Part of it was loneliness, I guess. I had a lot to say and no one to listen for long enough." He took another hit of the joint and thought for a moment. "I would be alone in my room on a Friday or Saturday night and be like 'Fuck it. MOM! I'M GOING TO THE CITY.' and hop on the ferry to Staten Island to here. The comedy clubs felt like a second home. Then blah, blah, blah, and here I am now." he reached into one of his coat pockets and pulled out a pair of tortoise Prada sunglasses. With a huge smile he said "don't tell the stylist I brought Prada. I'm so stoned."

Giggling I asked, "How stoned?!"

"I've been smoking all day. Want another champagne?" he asked while putting out the last of the joint in an ashtray stand near the door. They thought of everything.

"Sure! But wait." I reached into my Greek evil eye clutch Amaya picked out and pulled out my own pair of Prada sunglasses. Mine were tortoise and cat eye. I put them on and gave him my best model pout.

"Hell yeah" he nodded and grinned. "Wait. I like yours better. Wanna trade?"

Without answering, I took off my sunglasses and reached out my hand for his. We slid on our pretentious designer eyewear and struck some goofy poses for each other.

Pete opened the door, and the chatter of the guests inside filled my ears but this time slower and more vibrant now that I was high too. He seized another welcomed opportunity to gently place his hand on my low back as he led me through the door...