“I have a sweet tooth, what can I say?” he replied, as he came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed my shoulder. “Pick your ice cream already.”
“There are so many choices,” I mused.
And the truth of the matter was that my reaction wasn’t unwarranted. Half of his freezer was stacked with every carton of ice cream that I could think of. They were all lined up perfectly as if we were at an ice cream parlor.
“Well, you can’t go wrong with chocolate,” he whispered, as he cupped one of my breasts through his shirt. I was always wearing his clothes now. Luckily, he didn't seem to mind.
“What?” he asked, as I stifled a laugh.
I reached in, grabbing a carton of vanilla instead, before wiggling out of his arms. “Nothing.”
“You're a horrible liar,” he said as he followed me into the living room. I jumped onto his grey couch… we had already broken it in at least four times.
“That comment you made about chocolate… it sounded like something out of an ‘80s porno.”
“Well excuse me! As a child of the ‘80s, I’m not sure what to say to that—”
“It’s alright,” I chided as I dipped my spoon into the carton, “but the ‘90s were so much better.”
He snorted, eating the ice cream off my spoon before I could. “Oh please! All that sex is messing with your head.”
“Are you kidding me? The cell phone—”
“There were cellphones in the ‘80s too, you know.”
“That giant rock that people carried around like cavemen does not count as a cellphone,” I informed him.
“My generation suffered so yours could have that nice flip phone,” he shot back. “In the ‘80s, Madonna was amazing, and so were New Kids on the Block. Plus, Will Smith became the fresh prince, and on top of that The Simpsons—”
“The Simpsons came out in 1989, that belongs to the ‘90s.”
“What come after the 19?” he tilted his ear to me.
“It’s called rounding up.”
He rolled his eyes at me. “The ‘80s had The Breakfast Club.”
Damn it.
“The ‘90s had The Breakfast Club 2.”
He paused for a moment, looking shocked— “Did you just compare the original Breakfast Club to its sequel?”
“Well you can’t just throw the Breakfast Club card on the table like that, at least wait until I list a few more ‘90s classics, you jerk.” I sulked, knowing I was beat.
“And I still had my Michael Jackson card to play, because Thriller was the shit.”
For some reason, I felt as though I’d let my whole generation down. Scowling, I stuffed my mouth full of ice cream. He looked at me, awaiting my comeback, but my brain was as frozen as the ice cream I was consuming.
“It doesn’t matter what you say, I’m not saying the ‘80s win—”
He kissed me before I could finish.
Falling back against the arm of the couch, I wrapped my hand around his neck as he hovered on top of me.
“The ‘90s had you,” he said, his voice softer now.
“You’re buttering me up,” I pouted, as he undid the buttons of my shirt. “Smart move, Mr. Black.”