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I drew her hand to my lips and kissed the back of it. As a motion, it was simplistic, but it was fraught with meaning that I think we both wanted to avoid.
Some random song came on and I sub-consciously started singing along. I didn’t think I recognised it, but apparently I knewallthe words.
“How the hell do you know that song?” she asked me when it was over.
I looked at her out of the corner of my eye and shrugged. “Dunno. What is it?”
“Um, a song so obscure I can’t find it on YouTube, Soundcloud, iTunes, anywhere…”
“Spotify?”
“Nope.”
“Radio?”
“Yeah, no.”
I had no idea then. “Okay… So, I have a legitimate right to be embarrassed?”
“I think I found it in a box of CDs your mum gave me that used to be Paris’. She probably played it a lot?”
That made sense. Paris had played music at an unbearable level. It was inevitable some of them had wormed their way into the archives of my memory and I’d never forget them.
I nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Or now is the time you tell me you have a penchant for obscure love songs?”
One corner of my lips tipped up. “Maybe I’ve been inspired.”
She laughed. “Yeah, of course you have.”
The problem was, I kind of had. And not in the insinuation kind of way we’d joked about so many times. She inspired me. Songs like that weren’t just all bullshit and noise anymore. But there was no way I’d let her know that.
So, I looked at her and shared her amusement at the idea Roman Lombardi could possibly understand the concept of wanting to be someone’s boyfriend.
Huh.
Yep.
That was fucking ridiculous.
