It’s silly and immature, but itwouldbe nice…
We settle in the living room with the pizza box propped open on the coffee table. Pepperoni and mushroom still hot enough that cheese stretches when I grab a slice.
I’m not even that hungry, but I need something to focus on besides how handsome and sexy he looks in his plain black t-shirt and dark denim.
I glance at the hockey game playing on his TV and smirk. “Do men ever watch anything other than sports?”
“Some men? Yes. Me? Not usually,” he answers. “I don’t have the best attention span to follow the long, drawn-out plots in most movies and TV shows. I’m too impatient. I’d rather see people competing to win something.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” I admit, reaching for a napkin. “So what you’re really saying is I can’t ever use your Hulu password?”
The corner of his mouth stretches into half of a grin. “Hate to disappoint you, but you’ll live.”
“You have to have at least one favorite movie or TV show though. Everybody does.”
He thinks on the question, swallowing his bite of pizza and washing it down with some Coke. He shrugs as he decides and says, “If I had to choose, probablyFight Club.”
“Fight Club? Never seen it.”
“You don’t knowFight Club? Brad Pitt? Edward Norton? ‘First rule of fight club is you don’t talk about fight club’?”
“Then what are you doing right now?”
He chuckles, then shakes his head. “Jesus Christ, I’m old. Guess it’s more of a Gen X movie.”
“I like vintage movies!” I protest, and he nearly chokes on his pizza, coughing while laughing.
“Vintage?Fight Clubis considered vintage now? It came out in ’99!”
“Silver, the ’90s werethirtyyears ago.”
“Don’t remind me,” he answers. “I became a Steel King in ’96. Back when grunge was a still popular and people were still mourning Kurt Cobain from Nirvana.”
“‘Smells like Teen Spirit’! See, there’s a ’90s reference I get.”
“Don’t sound so proud of yourself. Not ’til you tell me what ‘vintage’ movies you like then, ifFight Clubcounts as ancient history.”
I think on it a second and blurt out the first one that comes to mind. “Poetic Justiceis amazing. That scene where Janet Jackson reads her poem? Incredible.”
He stares at me like he’s amused but in disbelief. “Janet Jackson? Tupac? That came out in what, ’93? You literally weren’t even acellin this world yet. Your parents probably hadn’t even met.”
“Joke’s on you, they had! Moses is a decade older than me, remember? I was an oops baby.” I pick up my pizza crust and playfully toss it at him.
It bounces off his chest. He catches it as he stands to get another Coke from the fridge. But as he passes me, he retaliates and taps it against my nose.
“Behave yourself,” he warns, his voice warm and teasing.
This is Silver relaxed. Silver without the weight of the club or his kids or his responsibilities.
I crave more of this version of him; more time to put his mind at ease and enjoy each other’s company.
“When Dad and Uncle Eddie were out on club business, I used to park myself in front of the TV all summer,” I tell him, wiping pizza grease on my napkin. “Just me and old movies all afternoon.Breakfast at Tiffany’sis probably my favorite. Audrey Hepburn in that black dress? Iconic.”
“Never seen it.”
The actress in me can’t resist. I adopt Holly Golightly’s playful mid-Atlantic accent, channeling Audrey.
“‘Never love a wild thing, Mr. Bell. That is what you’ve got to remember.’”
