He looks at me funny.
"But men aren't as primed to think about it."
"We're not."
"And so it's easier for women to fall for these guys who share their hearts. Or even… these guys who share their anger. Because it's honest."
"It's fucked up."
"But that makes it feel more honest."
"Don't convince me to respect those assholes." He shakes his head. "I have to hear them nonstop at Inked Love."
"Anything I'd know?"
"Nah. Old stuff. Chase and Forest are older."
"Anything I'd like?" I ask.
"It's no Fiona Apple."
My lips curl into a smile. "I like other artists."
He raises a brow.
"I do."
"Okay. After this, it's your turn."
"Okay, but only if it's your turn next time."
"My turn?"
I nod. "To play me something you love. Not your sisters or someone at the shop. You."
"Can it be something I hate instead?"
I laugh. "If you can't think of anything you love."
"Fair." He offers his hand.
I shake.
And we fall back into silence. For the rest of the album. Then the one I pick.
I go back to an old favorite, something I loved before I realized I wanted to self-destruct. A Michelle Branch album with the perfect mix of honesty and melodic piano.
He listens with me.
I explain how I discovered it. A friend's older sister. She had the best taste in music. She seemed to know everything about boys, clothes, movies, music.
And she did.
But she knew the world the same way I did. Went down her own path of self-destruction. High functioning alcoholism.
I don't mention that.
Or the music I fell for after this.