He was no stranger to drugs – he’d trained himself to keep a level head while under the influence, especially when paranoid customers demanded he try some of the product before they bought it. The trick was to fake being sober. Just do what you thought a sober person should do. Then, when you finally did sober up, you found that those actions were nearly always the right ones.

Of course, faking it took a lot of energy when your body felt like a galloping horse and your brain felt ten times smarter and fifty times chattier than normal.

But perhaps his subconscious knew enough to be worried. A voice chattered in the back of his mind, spewing facts that had been drummed into him during his drug rehabilitation course in prison.

. . . mirrors the natural neurotransmitter for pleasure so completely, your brain can’t tell the difference. It both imitates dopamine and stimulates your brain to release more of its own, flooding your brain, overloading you with pleasure . . .

‘Take this off me,’ he said, handing over the wineglass. Acting how a sober person would act. ‘Before I take another hit. We have all the proof we need.’

Shelby mutely took the glass off him and dropped it into the bin.

Mackenzie heard that other voice still chattering away:

. . . causes damage to the production of natural dopamine, until you rely on the substance just to feel normal. It’s like a nightmare you can’t wake up from. You’ll never get that same feeling as the first rush. And yet, you’ll never stop chasing exactly that . . .

Shelby busied herself breaking up the crystallised ice and weighing it out into ziplocked bags.

‘It needs a name,’ said Mackenzie. He still had his hands over his groin. Was that what a sober person did?

‘What does?’

‘The ice,’ said Mackenzie. ‘You said it yourself, it’s a brand. Marketing is everything. What do you want to call your creation?’

‘Is now really the time to be talking about this?’

‘Yeah. Great time to talk about it. Do you need help bagging that?’

‘No!’ said Shelby, but she didn’t move as he came to help. He pressed up against her. ‘Hell, Mack – you’re sweating like crazy. Is that normal?’

‘I’m okay,’ said Mackenzie. He was too close. He stepped back and wrapped his arms around himself as he watched her work. ‘But when you finish that, can you take us home?’

‘You want to go home?’ she said. ‘What if Kane sees you like this?’

‘I think the safest place for me right now is in the rumpus room, playing Xbox,’ he said. ‘Please.’ He was aware that his eyes were darting all over the place and he couldn’t stop them. He was fidgeting with his hands, his clothes, his hair, his . . .

He yanked his hands away from his crotch. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and arousal in equal measure.