"You smoke like a girl," she teased.
I don't smoke. I'm sure I'm doing it right, though. I'm holding it right. I'm taking just enough of a suck at the filter to not choke myself. It doesn't taste too bad; slightly burnt, homemade fruitcake.
"I'm smoking like a man."
"You're a... good lover. Better than you are a smoker."
"Only 'good?' And you thought for a bit before saying 'good.'"
"Oh, there's technique to fill you in on, but I can't fault your enthusiasm."
Maybe I should have been more enthusiastic about the cigarette.
That tobacco smell's going to linger.