Pain And Pleasure 18+✓

Forty-eight

"Who's your first love?" I ask Adrian.

He chuckles lightly. "A hundred dollar bill that I first held when I was eight or nine. Ah, she looked lovely."

"Excuse me?" I erupt into laughter that echoes through the walls, mirroring my jolliness.

He laughs along, his mood smooth and contagious right now.

"It's true. I knew I had to do everything possible to have more of them, and it became my life's goal—to earn more money," he says plainly.

My laughter slowly dissipates. For some reason I get the feeling that his childhood was a bit rough, to put it mildly. Am I imagining things? The tone of melancholy in his voice and the light smile resembling a fainting star in the sky make me rather concerned about his life.

It's as if the past isn't his favorite place to visit, making me highly curious.

But I brush it off with another gentle laughter, grabbing the ice cream container for more. We're still in the living room, seated on the fluffy silver-gray rug, our backs against the couch, facing the fireplace warming the air. The flames dance and fuss smoothly, becharming us.

It's ethereal when we laugh over silly things while having a vanilla ice cream in the middle of the night. Barefoot, my legs brush against Adrian's from time to time, and he toys with my hair at every chance he gets, if not laying playful kisses when I laugh too hard over some of his remarks.

"Fine." I lick my spoon, the coldness in my mouth ever-refreshing. "What about your favorite color?" I look up at him expectantly.

I guess we're playing twenty-one questions or something, and it's so funny.

"Blue and black, I guess," he answers simply.

"Fair enough. You do those colors justice," I remark, considering the navy blue suit he's wearing tonight, with the jacket discarded on the couch by now. Hot! "Favorite city?" I go on.

"New York City."

"Why?"

"New York is a mass of dreams and activities," he replies simply. My eyes narrow carefully at him, thinking of his answer in depth. "It's where I first had a true taste of life—in a hard way, of course. The hustle, the pain, and the reward. It's home to me."

"Hmm, I see. Alicia Keys would be enthralled with your answer, sir," I murmur under my breath, taking another spoonful of ice cream.

Adrian laughs again and says, "That is surely unexpected."

"Well." I pull in a breath, chuckling. "Music! What kind of music do you like?"

I smile when his eyebrows knit together in a fleeting moment, thoughtful. What? He doesn't listen to music? That can't be. Everyone loves music.

"Jazz, soul, blues, and R&B. Preferably old school," he answers.

"Hey-yo, Grandpa!" I giggle. He scoffs. "Like... you probably snuck out to watch Lionel Richie performing live in the 90s. Or 80s? How old are you again?"

"Anything but an old man," he snaps with a playful tone in his voice. "But maybe I would have gone if I had such luxury in my teenage years."

"Grandpa is is!" I giggle again and he just lays his head back, smiling. "So you do love music?"

His smile widens; he shakes his head to the sides. "I listen when I can. But love country music more than any other."

"Oh, giddy up, cowboy! You're a fan of countries? Because I could listen to them all day long! I mean, every song is a story, that's why." I sit straighter, somehow feeling nostalgic as my dad would blast them in his player on most Sundays, from dawn to dusk, and they stuck in my head until today.