Page 191 of Hot Mess
I dropped my jaw in mock offense. “After everything I’ve endured tonight, Ashley… you’d walk out on me, just like that?”
“Yeah. You were nice to my granddad so this would be the last straw.”
I smiled. “Have you ever heard of Phoenix?”
“Which Phoenix are we talking about? The city? The mythological bird? I’ve got one tattooed on my side…”
“Which one? The city?” I teased.
Now his jaw dropped in mock shock. “Did you Google me? Have you been looking at my tattoos on your computer, you little perv?”
I frowned. “No.”Yes.“And I’m not talking about your tattoo. I saw it the other night. It’s great, but please get over yourself. I’m talking about the band. Phoenix. You want to know what music I listen to, they pretty much sum it up.”
“Never heard of them.”
“Foster the People, Panic! At the Disco, Awolnation… Duran Duran, if I can get away with admitting it because my sister’s not here… those are some of my faves,” I told him.
“Cool.”
“But Phoenix, they’re my biggest obsession. They’re from France. Kind of indie-synth-pop-rock. That’s my jam.”
“I’ll check them out.” He pulled out his phone, like he meant it.
“You should.”
“I will,” he said, typing something on his phone. “Sounds like something Summer would like…”
“What are you doing?”
“Sending a note to myself so I don’t forget.”
Okay. That was flattering. He was a rock star, and he was gonna check out my favorite band, just because I said I liked them?
“Also, you should make me a playlist,” he said.
“A playlist?”
“Yeah. Specifically, twenty songs.” He tucked his phone away. “Not just your favorite songs, or songs you think I’d want to hear. More like… deathbed songs.”
“What?”
“Wait. That sounded morbid.” He cracked a smile. “Uh… shit, how did Summer describe it?” He rubbed his forehead, thinking. “Like if you were stranded on a desert island and you were gonna die, and all you could leave behind were twenty songs to tell the world what you would’ve said through music… Does that make sense?”
“No.” I laughed.
“Imagine you’re a musician and you’re putting together a band and you want to show the other band members who you are, through twenty songs. That better?”
“Way better. You know I’m not a musician. But… I think I get what you’re saying.”
“Think of it as your beating heart,” he said. “Your blood and guts and soul, in twenty songs.”
“Hmm. Okay.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Make you a playlist of the twenty songs I would rock, heart and soul, if I actually knew how to rock?”
“Yeah. That.”
