An Angel Amongst Devils (An enemies to lovers, slow burn romance)

Chapter 26

  "Favorite song, go." Arlo asks. We have been at this game for ten minutes already and I have already learned more than Arlo that I have in the whole five days.

His favourite colour is brown, when I asked him why his favourite colour is that, considering in my opinion it's the ugliest colour of all of them. He went on to say that he agrees but there is only one shade - a very particular shade - that he likes, and that is the colour of my eyes. It was so cliche and cheesy, I couldn't help but laugh. Luckily Arlo thought the same and joined me.

His favourite band is The Red Hot Chili Peppers, when I told them that I had not a single clue who they were, he looks utterly shocked and demanded that as soon as we get back, he would make me listen to there albums on repeat for the next year to make up for all the 'magic' I was missing out on.

His favourite movie is Mamma Mia, but I already knew that.

The rest had a common answer:

Favourite smell: Me.

Favourite taste: Me.

Favourite food: Me. To that one I told him that It made no sense, to which he gave me a cheeky expression and said 'it will.'

I am still confused.

"Favourite song?... uh, any song by One Direction, specifically the songs they made in 2014, they were the best."

He scrunches his face again, I expect him to have protests against my song choice and my particular taste in one direction, to which I had many cases lined up as to why they are such a good band. But instead he says this:

"2014? Really, no 2013 was the best, 'Story Of My Life?'"

"Ok, you have a point." I say, "Next question... Favourite dessert."

He goes to open his mouth and I am way ahead of him, "Don't say me, I actually want to know what those italian genes of yours have to say about your taste."

"Fine. I'll tell you my second favourite dessert." I roll my eyes, "Aperitivo." He says he laces the Italian accent into the pronunciation. I love it when he speaks in italian.

"Mind telling me what it is?"

"It's a drink. Alcoholic," he adds, cutting me a look, "It has a citrusy flavour and it's traditionally served in Italy as an entree for drinks. But I've always loved it like a dessert. I'll make it for you."

I sent him a look this time, "I'm 18 Arlo."

"So?"

"So. I can't drink alcohol."

"You're saying that you haven't ever tried it before?"

"Nope."

"What a good girl you are. Legal drinking age in Morocco: 18."

"Really?" I was shocked.

"Really. Don't worry, I won't allow you to get drunk."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Exactly and when have I ever let you down before?" He waits for me to say, "Exactly."

I haven't ever taken a particular interest in trying or drinking alcohol, I mean the idea of it sound utterly horrible, well maybe I am being a bit dramatic, but from the stories I had heard at school - of people getting black out drunk and waking up in sketchy places, having no recollection of the memories from the night before- the sound of alcohol doesn't really please me. But at the same time, those people that were trying alcohol were the same people who got pregnant and had to drop out of school. So I guess I can't really take their word for it.