“Yep. Cinematic genius, that one.”
His mouth hangs open limply as he stares at me like I’ve sprouted horns. “I’ll drop you off in Philly as we pass. I hope you’re good with a parachute.”
I laugh outright. I’ve never even seen Judge Dredd, but now I’m pretty sure I never will. “Fine. How about Gremlins?”
“Philly.”
“Pretty in Pink?”
“Philly.”
“Blade Runner?”
“Good God, when were you born?”
“All right, all right,” I say dropping my gaze. “I guess The Man Without a Face would be my all-time favorite.” When Rogan says nothing for several seconds, I sneak a peek up at him. He’s watching me with a sad smile.
“What’s your second favorite movie?”
I don’t hesitate. “Phenomenon.”
Rogan drops his forehead onto my hand where he still holds it inside his. “You’re killing me! Don’t you like any movies that won’t make me want to flush my head down the airplane toilet?”
I giggle. “You should’ve specified and asked what my favorite movie that you might like would be. Because in that case, I’d probably say World War Z. Rocky. Iron Man. Shall I go on?”
Rogan smiles broadly. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He releases my hand to reach for a bag that rests on one of the two deep swivel chairs that face us. The plane is laid out with four captain’s chairs facing a central table and, toward the back, two small sofas on either side of the aisle. Kurt is behind us, stretched out on one of those listening to music, with his wheelchair parked beside him.
Unzipping the bag, Rogan produces nearly every movie I mentioned, except for Pretty in Pink. I wouldn’t expect a guy to have that one, but the fact that he has this many tells me there’s a spy involved. Even though I was joking about them being my absolute favorites, they are the movies that come to mind most often. Well, except for Dredd.
“You cheated,” I tell him, not the least bit angry, but rather touched instead.
“Blame Mona. That girl’s tongue is loose at both ends.”
“This was her idea?”
“No, this was my idea. She loved it, though. At least I guess she did. She acted like she was about to cry when I explained to her why I wanted to know.”
“Yep. That sounds about right.”
“So, what’ll it be?”
I notice that the bag isn’t empty. “What else do you have in there?” I ask, now curious as to what he brought that had nothing to do with me and my loud-mouthed friend.
I reach for the bag and Rogan’s hand flinches, almost as though he was going to prevent me from looking inside, but then changed his mind.
I flip through several war movies. I don’t even have to ask about those. They have Kurt written all over them. It’s the one that rests on the bottom of the pile that intrigues me.
“Who’s this for?” I ask, removing the DVD of Beastly and holding it up for him to see.
Rogan actually looks sheepish, an expression I’ve never seen him wear, which only further piques my curiosity. He clears his throat before he answers. “I, uh, I saw that one night on cable a few weeks back and thought it was a pretty decent romance. I mean, a guy needs to keep on top of shit like this, too, right?” His little grin tells me that he doesn’t expect an answer. “But then when I got to know you . . . especially when you showed me all of you, I went and bought it. I’ve watched it more times than I care to count.”
His eyes flicker to mine and dart away, flicker to mine and dart away.
I swallow hard, not knowing what to make of this association. It’s plain who the beast is in our situation, but I’m trying not to jump to conclusions. I just want our last time together to be perfect, not . . . something less.
I could kick myself for being so nosey.
“Is . . . is this what you think of me?” I try to sound unconcerned, I try to be unconcerned.