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“My mother's doing.” He laughs lightly. “My uncle Tony used to play the saxophone and my mom would drag me to all these little Jazz clubs he used to play at when I was a child. Some of my fondest memories.” He says, my heart kicking up a notch at the personal information he just so willingly volunteered without me having to ask.
“Does he still play?” I ask, desperate to keep the conversation going. I don't know what it is but I want to know everything there is to know about the mysterious man next to me. Up to this point, he has shared very little about his personal life and while I understand him wanting to keep his private life private, I still long to be someone he feels like he can open up to.
“No.” He says, his eyes touching mine for a fraction of a second before refocusing on the road. “He died when I was fifteen.” He says, his face expressionless.
“I'm so sorry.” I start, but he silences me by resting his hand on mine and squeezing my fingers gently.
“Don't be. It was a long time ago and he had been sick for a couple years prior to that. Cancer.” He answers the question before I can even ask it.
“And your mom, does she still go to Jazz clubs?” I ask.
“Not since Tony died. But if you stop by and visit her, during the day I mean.” He throws me a teasing smile. “Then it is very likely she will have it playing on the old record player.”
“Record player?” I question.
“Woman is obsessed with vinyls.” He laughs like he doesn't understand it. “She says nothing sounds as clear and crisp as it does by putting the record on and letting it spin.” He laughs again.
“She seems lovely.” I add, trying to hide my embarrassment over the fact that I have already met her and how that whole situation came to be.
“She is.” He glances my way again. “Maybe one day you can meet her properly.” He looks back at the road just in time to miss the shocked expression that crosses my face.
“I... I would love that.” I stutter through my response trying to process his words. Did he really just invite me to officially meet his mom or am I seriously reading way too much into this? Taking a deep breath, I turn my attention out the window.
“What about you?” He asks, pulling my attention back to him. “What kind of music do you like?” He clarifies, catching my confused expression.
“A little bit of everything.” I shrug. “Though I will admit, I have a severe weakness for Opera.” I laugh when he wrinkles his nose in dislike. “Trust me, if you ever actually listened to it, you would probably be surprised. There is something so beautifully painful about the way it's portrayed with so much power and emotion.”
“Okay, I'll bite. What's your favorite opera?” He asks, grinning sweetly at me.
“La Traviataby Giuseppe Verdi.” I answer without hesitation. “The Wandering One.” I can't help but laugh at the confused expression that crosses his face. “It's about a man and woman and their love for one another. It goes back and forth with the woman eventually dying in the man's arms.” I say on a shrug, not able to contain my smile at the look of disgust that pulls at his handsome face.
“That sounds horrible.” He laughs. “Why on earth would anyone want to experience something like that?”
“It's not about the tragedy. It's about the emotion. It's about the realization that no matter how much you love someone, life happens, love doesn't always prevail. Again, beautifully painful.” I pause, not sure if he cares enough for me to keep going. When he doesn't say anything, I continue. “Not that I have ever seen it live or anything. But it's one of my favorites to listen to.”
“Well you clearly don't have the best taste in restaurants.” He laughs when I shoot him a confused look. “And your musical tastes leave a bit to be desired.”
“Hey.” I protest, laughing at the goofy smile lighting up his face.
“Any other flaws I should know about before we move forward?” He asks, throwing me a playful wink when I stick my tongue out at him.
“I would hardly classify either of those things as flaws.” I retort. “I happen to like my musical tastes, thank you very much. And as for my choice in restaurants, you don't know what I like.” I cross my arms in front of my chest, playfully pouting over his insults.
“Well I know you go to the same hole in the wall diner almost every night.” He says, once again crinkling his nose. I can literally feel by heart pick up speed at his words.
“And you know that how?” I ask, pinning my gaze on him.
“I have my ways.” He smiles, focusing on the road as he veers onto the freeway that leads into the heart of the city.
“Stalker much?” I tease, but can't help question the truth behind it. If this was any other man, I would be completely creeped out by how much he seems to know about me and how he just shows up where I am. But with Bentley, it's the furthest thing from creepy. In fact, in sends a thrill through me that even I am having trouble grasping.
“I make it a habit to know everything I can about the people in my life.” His tone drops slightly and I know he means it seriously.
“So does that mean I amin your life?” I put an emphasis on the words but keep my tone light and playful.
“Whether you want to be or not.” He smiles at me wickedly, but his words hold more promise than I think even he realizes.
