“It’s digital isn’t it, or a CD player?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“Nope, they’re all genuine cassette tapes.” He leans back as he studies my disbelief. “I can show you, if you’d like?”
“Let me guess, you want to show me, but it’s in your room?”
“Well, I was going to say we could go out for dinner tomorrow night and I’d show you then.”
“Smooth.” I fight hard to hide the smile. “I gotta say, as pick up lines go, this was inventive.”
“It’s not a pickup line. It’s a heartfelt, genuine request for you to join me for an evening of good food, interesting conversation, and a private viewing of my Walkman.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Admit it, there is a little part of you that wants to unravel the mystery of a modern-day music man listening to a prehistoric music device.”
This time it’s harder to hide the smile. He’s not wearing me down. Not this easy. This man could get any woman at this wedding to go up to his room right now, even the ones here with a date. I’m not that girl.
“It is up in my room. If you want to see it now?”
“Okay, I’m not going up to your room. And I’m undecided about dinner.”
His brow creases when I pause. He knows he’s got me on the hook, I’m just not biting. Not yet.
“Damn, Cora.” He smirks again. “How come I’ve only just met you, and I find myself wanting to know every little thing you’re thinking?”
“That sounds like ayouproblem.”
“It definitely is. So, you don’t want to come to my room, have dinner, or tell me why you have very strong negativity toward my sister-in-law. Whatcanyou tell me?”
“Ask me something and maybe I’ll answer.”
A server walks by the table and Ronan stops him, taking two glasses of champagne from him. He hands one to me and holds his up. I clink the glass and watch as he drinks. His nose wrinkles and he sets the glass down, pushing it away.
"What’s wrong? Too cheap for your tastes?”
He fake gags. “Too gross for my tastes.” He rubs his lips as if he could brush the taste away. “I thought I was being cool, then remembered I hate that shit.” He flags down another server and asks for a beer.
I would have expected him to ask for something stronger, more…rockstar-y. Is that a word? No, and it’s also a sweeping generalization and borderline stereotyping. Just because he plays drums doesn’t mean he drinks vodka straight from a bottle.
Although that is a pretty vision.
“What do you do?”
“Huh?”
“You said I could ask you anything. I’m asking. What do you do?”
“I’m a photographer,” I tell him.
“Interesting. What do you photograph?”
“All kinds of things. I have a studio in Venice.”
“Nice. I knew someone once who lived there.” Ronan makes a face like he smelled something bad.
“A woman,” I laugh. It’s not a question. From his expression it’s clear. He lifts both hands out as if to say I caught him. “There are a lot of beautiful women around Venice.”
“There are a lot of beautiful women right here, Cora.”
