“Thanks.” I try to ignore the touch, but it’s useless. We click like two magnets and it terrifies me. “Some of these are very old. I’ve been collecting them since middle school. This one”—I gesture at the CD he’s holding—“was the very first album I bought with my own money.” The packaging is worn out and the edges of the booklet’s pages are all chewed up, but the memories the music gave me are irreplaceable and I can’t bring myself to get rid of these relics of my old life, even if these days, it’s all about streaming and no one has CD players anymore.
“Nice.” Zander pops the case open. “Classic.”
“I love this video. I still can’t get over the fact he’s gone.”
“He was a fucking genius.” A pause. “They made cool shit in the nineties.”
“They did. The aesthetic is beautiful with its blue and orange hues. The color scheme of the entire decade. I was glued to MTV when I was growing up,” I confess.
“When they still played videos.” He plucks the disk out with a chuckle.
“Exactly. Before reality shows about rich people who spend all day arguing about interior design and overpriced clothes took over.”
Zander shifts his gaze from the CD in his hand to me. “You do realize I’m the rich people?” His brow arches.
“Yeah, but at least you’ve got a job.”
“You remember MTV? How old were you anyway?”
“Are you implying I’m too young?”
“No, just haven’t met a woman under thirty with such eclectic music taste.”
“I never told you how old I am.”
“I never asked. Age is just a number. Your words.”
“Not mine. It’s actually from a book by Cecelia Ahern. But I believe Joan Collins said it first.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“See.” I smile coyly. “You learn something new every day.”
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