“My what?” Ash chuckled.
“Real art takes time to appreciate. It has to grow on you.”
“Like fungus?”
“No!” I slapped him on the chest playfully. “DonotcallBuffya fungus.”
“I didn’t.” He grinned and rubbed the spot I’d hit. “You said it would grow on me. That’s what fungus does.”
“You just don’t appreciate greatness.”
“I appreciate a lot of things.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“Fight Club. Yours?”
“You likeFight Club?” I perked up.
“It’s a classic. Like that scene where the dude is riding that tricycle and ends up going over the handlebars? Perfection.”
“I think that was a blooper that ended up in the final version.”
“Makes sense. I bet a lot of that movie was improvised,” he mused. “It’s way different than the book.”
“Youread the book?” I gaped at him.
“I did. And a bunch of others.”
“I didn’t know you like to read.”
“You don’t know a lot about me.”
He was right. But the same went for him. There was a lot about me that he didn’t know either.
“Favorite movie?” Ash asked again.
“Inception.”
“That was a good one.”
“Favorite TV show?” I asked.
“Brooklyn 99.”
“Love that one.”
“Yeah?” He smiled, the TV forgotten.
“Yeah. Andy Samberg is comedy gold. The whole cast is—”
“Amazeballs?” he teased.
“I was going to sayawesomesauce, thank you very much.”
He chuckled and turned his attention back to the TV. “DC or Marvel?”
“DC.”