“As a faithful Saturnian, I’d hope so.”
“The stars would be foolish not to help me out.”
My heart flutters, only slightly, but I feel the quick movement. To hide my blush, not like my dark skin doesn’t already do so, I bury my face in the menu. Soon after, Jan comes by to take our orders.
For my drink, I choose “The Campfire Killer,” a s’mores milkshake with mezcal and marshmallow vodka. Maxwell chooses “Grown-ups’ Table,” a Baileys-dominant drink with birthday-cake flavored vanilla vodka. We also get a side of crinkle-cut fries to start.
“Sure you don’t want anything else?” Maxwell asks after Jan leaves.
“I ate not too long ago,” I say. Anjie made me taste-test desserts before driving up here. After my firstCupid’s Bowdate, I welcomed the pre-dinner dessert. But sitting here with Maxwell makes me regret that decision.
“No worries,” he says, with a calming smile. “So, are you excited for the movie?”
“I’ve never seen it, but I’ve always wanted to.”
“Neither have I, but it’s a pioneer in the genre—” he begins, but he’s cut off by the arrival of two hefty milkshakes and a basket of salty, aromatic fries.
The smoky mezcal of “The Campfire Killer” warms my insides, and I quickly take another sip.
Fuck. This is good.
Maxwell takes a sip of his drink topped with whipped cream. He also goes back for seconds and shakes his head fervently. “This is too good.”
“I know, right?” I say, my lips never leaving the straw.
He slides his drink towards me. “Want a taste?”
“Oh, no,” I protest. “Please enjoy your drink. I’m happy with mine.”
Maxwell raises a brow, and the change in his body language brings Niyi to mind.
“You sure?” he asks, his hand already poised to take the drink back.
I promptly take Niyi out of my mind. Not the time or place. “I’m sure.”
We spend the next couple of minutes conversing about the slasher subgenre of horror, which tonight’s movie birthed.
As my spirit-forward milkshake glass reaches empty, my uncontrollable chatterbox—or as it’s commonly known, my mouth—comes to life to discuss one of my favorite topics—Scream.
“What’s your favorite one?” I ask.
Maxwell leans back into the scarlet booth and throws his napkin onto the table. He folds his arms, flexing his biceps. My eyes are drawn to the movement. I know it’s cold, and that’s why he has on long sleeves, but I wish I could see his arms. He and Niyi have roughly the same build. Do they have similar musculature? I wonder what Niyi would look like in a turtl—
“Moyo.” Maxwell’s husky tone snaps me out of it.
“Sorry, spaced out. What were you saying?” I’m slightly annoyed with myself. I can handle my liquor. There’s no reason for me to be disassociating like this.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s cool. I saidScream 2is my favorite.”
“And here I thought things were going well.”
Maxwell laughs, and it’s a hearty sound.
“What isyourfavorite, then?” He leans in.
I do the same. “It’s the originalScream, and let me tell you why…”
I go on, mentioning the major talking points I’ve shared with the girls, and anyone who’d listen. I touch on the brilliance of the opening scene, the homoeroticism of our dual killers, having the killer be someone we meet before the final reveal, the humor, the party scene! The party scene!! And so much more.
