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I gave him a smirk. “See, that’s the same as Luther and Barry.”
“No, Barry is the clear winner in that one, and it was an even field—two R&B crooners. Anita is all soul, Sade’s got this little jazz thing going on. Too different.”
I leaned back on my hands. “Or…you just can’t choose. Well, I can. And it’s Anita Baker.”
“Whatever. There’s really no comparison.”
“You mocking me?”
“Naaaw, never that, Angela.”
“Mm-hmm. Your turn again, and please choose a sensible match-up.”
He grinned at me as he took a swig of his soda. “I got your sensible. How about this? Earth, Wind & Fire or The Isley Brothers?”
“You cannot be serious! Really, Ryan? Those two groups are nothing alike!”
“Damn, you just don’t know music, do you? Well, allow me to school your young ass.”
“We’re the same age.”
“So. Anyway, Isley Brothers win this hands down—longevity, catalog, signature sound.”
“And Earth, Wind & Fire doesn’t possess those things?”
“Not like the Isleys. So you know my choice. What’s yours, and you gotta choose this time.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. The elements.”
He shook his head and stared at me for a second. Then he grabbed his cell phone from the floor and held up a finger. “Hold up.”
A few seconds later, Groove with You began streaming from the phone’s tiny speakers, and it sounded good, too, since Ryan owned the latest version of an obscenely expensive smartphone.
“See, Earth, Wind & Fire makes you want to pick up the phone and tell your woman you love her. But the Isleys? They make you wanna drive to her house in the pouring rain, beat on her door, climb in her bed, and fuck her soul out.”
I squinted my eyes at him. “Really? That song does all that to you?”
“Yeah.”
“So right now you wanna drive somewhere and fuck somebody’s soul out?”
He smiled at me as he crawled from his spot on the other side of the coffee table, leaned in, and kissed me. “Nah, I actually want to fuck your soul out right here on this floor. Right now.”
“Why don’t you, then?”
He backed away from me, a look of surprise on his face as he said, “I haven’t been given permission.”
“Since when have you needed permission?” I scooted closer to him and pressed a soft kiss to his Adam’s apple. “I mean, did you ask for permission that time in your kitchen when you made me damn near fall off that table?”
He stared into my eyes. “No.”
This time I kissed his lips. “And did you ask for my permission that night at Coda’s when you made me lose it in front of that waiter?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“I do appreciate you requesting my permission, though. So let me give it to you right now.”
“For real?”
