“Ooh,Silence of the Lambsis on here,” he says. “I love thatmovie.”
“‘It rubs the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again,’” Iquote.
“That suddenly sounds disturbingly appropriate for us.” He laughs. “Although, I’m not sure I’d mind getting the hose again.” He glances at mycrotch.
I laugh. “Well, at least I know you don’t have terrible movietastes.”
“‘Quid pro quo, I tell you things, you tell me things. Not about this case, though. About yourself. Quid pro quo. Yes or no,’” he says, impressing me with his ability to quote themovie.
“Yes,” I say, playingalong.
“Tell me…romcoms orthrillers?”
“Thrillers, forsure.”
“Sci-fi orhorror?”
I grit my teeth. “What would you classifyAlienas? Because I’m a huge fan of theAlienmovies.”
“Now you’re trying to be difficult,” he says with a chuckle. “English language or foreignfilms?”
“Foreign,always.”
“Really?” Jesse asks, soundingsurprised.
“Oh yeah. Casey always used to give me hell because he didn’t want to read the subtitles onfilms.”
“Whitney never wanted to watch foreign filmseither.”
“Then we’ve clearly been watching the wrong movie selections together. I sawThe Girl with the Dragon Tattootrilogy is on here. I haven’t seen the last one,The Girl Who Played withFire.”
“There’re three? I thought they’d only madeone.”
“Oh, Jesse. You’ve just seen the American one. You haven’t seen the original Swedishversions?”
He shakes hishead.
“Well, Jesse, I am about to rock yourworld.”
As I steal the remote from him, he says, “I certainly haven’t had any problems with how you’ve rocked my world so far, so you be myguest.”
I laugh as I find the originalThe Girl with the Dragon Tattooin themenu.
I’m waiting for him to say he’s not interested in watching some Swedish thriller in the middle of the day, but he doesn’t fight me on it, and I’m glad. I’m eager to share this with him, just like I’ve been eager to share other, more intimate experiences withhim.
I turn on the movie, and when it ends, he’s bouncing up and down with excitement, talking about how much better it was than the American version. I’m glad, because I’m not sure I could respect him if he didn’tagree.
“Speaking of tattoos,” Jesse says, studying my body as though he can see through my shirt. “What’s yours of? It’s fairlyelaborate.”
“More quid pro quo?” Iask.
“Naw. You just tell me this one,” he says with agrin.
“It’s tribal patterns. I designed it myself with the help of a friend who’s a tattoo artist.” I remove my shirt and explain the Mayan, Aztec, and Samoan origins of some of the artwork, but as I do, I notice the way Jesse’s looking at me, his gaze shifting around my body, away from thetattoo.
He makes eye contact quickly, his face turning red. “Sorry. I gotdistracted.”
“That’s not something you have to apologize for,” I say, practically growling after I speak thewords.
