Enzo (Jinx Tattoos 1)
They finished their meal, and she took the plates away, washing them by hand to give herself time to figure out how to best approach him.
“So what movie are we starting with?” she asked, wiping the kitchen island down. The horror movie marathon had grown legendary. People would show up with birthday offerings, popcorn, candy, and snacks. He celebrated the traditional way with family the day after his birthday. This day was just for them.
“The bloodier, the better,” he answered.
“Hmmm, classic or modern?”
He leaned in closer. “That depends on what you have in mind.”
“Dead Alive or Saw, the first film.”
“Hmmm. Dead Alive. I could use a bit of laughter with my gore.”
“Excellent choice. Morning margaritas?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow up.
He laughed. “Yeah right.”
She laughed with him and retrieved a bottle of scotch and two glass tumblers. Setting the personalized glasses onto the counter that she’d brought back from Ireland on a visit, she moved to the fridge for the ice. “You get the movie cued up, and I’ll be in a minute,” she said.
“On it.”
Aibhlinn then pulled out the plastic black ice tray and cracked the round ball of ice out of its mold. Setting one gently into a glass, she repeated the process, proud of the habits Enzo picked up from her. Her love of fine whiskey was another trait she’d inherited from her father. Back home, people took their drinks quite seriously. While her mother could drink with the best of them, she wasn’t as particular on her pick of poison.
She poured them both a healthy dollop and placed them—along with the bottle—onto a chocolate wood breakfast tray she’d bought. It was amazing how many of her touches she could see throughout his house. If she’d left it up to him, the place would still be a barren bachelor’s pad. The man could be his own worst enemy. It was like he didn’t believe he deserved happiness. She entered the room, set the tray on the black table in front of the couch, and sank onto the soft grey cushion.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Let the horrorathon begin,” she replied solemnly with a nod.
He snickered and pressed play.
As the movie began, she tucked her legs under her and leaned into his side. It was the only time she could get this close casually. His body exuded heat, and the scent of something dark and delicious seeped from his pores. She knew the brand of body wash he used, but it was something about his chemistry that turned the scent into an indescribable buffet for the senses. Content, she let herself get lost in the movie.
“The nineties gave us such great one liners,” Enzo noted as the priest showed off his ninja
assassin skills while claiming to kick ass for the Lord.
She laughed. “Well, yeah, but so did Peter Jackson. He’s a special kind of sick and twisted, though he hides it well these days. I mean, Meet the Feebles?”
“Truth. I’d like to see him do another horror movie.”
“It’ll never happen. He knows where his bread and butter lies,” she said.
“That’s the double edge sword of fame I suppose. When you’re just making a name, you’re not expected to do anything in particular. The world is your playground, and the only limitation is your imagination. Then you get recognition, get labeled, and wind up stuck in a box. He’s still making Lord of the Ring films how many years later?”
“I don’t know, he has a cult film following, too, though. That’s something to be proud of. Plus, there was District 9. That was a step back toward those movies where he really flexed his creative muscles and stepped ‘outside of the box’,” she said using air quotes.
“Yeah, that’s true. I forgot about that one. I actually liked it a lot.”
“I know. I did, too.” She smiled up at him.
“Well, you do tend to have pretty good taste.”
“Shut up, I’m awesome,” she retorted.
“Yeah, you are. Thanks for hanging with me.”
“Hey, traditions are meant to be kept,” she replied, careful to keep things light.