“We’re both too young to get it,” I answered.
But apparently we’d both been bigSeinfeldrerun bingers. We spent the next half hour comparing notes on our fave episodes and lines(“No, I mentioned the bissssque”was a shared one).
I laid back on the floor, reaching my arms over my head for a better stretch, and setting my phone in the crook of my shoulder.
He did a great Bania impression that had tears of laughter rolling down the sides of my face.
“You’re funny,” I said, catching my breath.
“You seem surprised by that,” he said.
I thought about that. “I guess I am. I mean, you can be light in class, but, like, no impressions or anything.”
“Damn, and I was going to incorporate my Tolstoy impression into next semester.”
I laughed again, then said, “ButGangster’s Follywas so…”
“Not funny?”
I thought about the book. I had read it ten times easily, though no other time had been so important, so monumental, as the first.
“Well, I mean, there were funnypartsin it. Like the scene where he’s trying to get Stef into bed—”
“Based on actual events, I might add.”
I smiled to myself, but continued, “But on the whole, it’s so dark. A tragedy, really.”
“That’s your take? A tragedy?”
I shrugged and my phone slipped from my shoulder. I caught it and readjusted.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Phone slid off me. All’s well now.”
“Slidoffyou? How was itonyou?”
“I’m lying on the floor. It was on my shoulder.”
There was nothing from him and I checked my phone to make sure I hadn’t disconnected. Nope.
“So, back toFolly?” I said finally, after the silence. I figured he was doing something else, and now that we’d finished up theSeinfeldconversation, he was bored and wanted to end the conversation. Appealing to his inner preening artist, I tried to pull it back to him…or at least his book.
“Um, maybe I shouldn’t say this…” he said.
“What?” I asked. Was he going to tell me some secret aboutFollythat no one else knew? Like what Aidan whispered to Stef that made her say yes?
“All thoughts ofFollyrushed out of my head—perhaps forever—when you mentioned that you’re lying on the floor of my office.”
“Why? Is that bad? Did someone die on this floor or something? I mean, I know it’s not crazy clean, but believe me, I’ve—”
“Is your hair down? Loose?”
“Why? Is there something on the carpet?”
He chuckled, but this was a different sound. Deep and throaty, and it almost caught in his throat.
Ohhhhh.
