Morgan Is The Bomb (The M' s Series #1)

A Little Party Never Killed Nobody

"So where are you from?" I lean my head against the back of the couch.

He takes his time. "That depends. What do you see as where I come from? Where I was born? Where I spent the start of my childhood? Where I have to live?" 

My ears prick at 'where I have to live'. "Let's have it as the latter."

"Okay. That would be the north side of town." He throws my question back at me. 

"I was born in the suburbs. Then I moved around a bit -- all within the city--- and now my address states the east side of town." 

"Okay..." he thinks for a moment, "favourite colour?" 

"That ones easy," I say, pointing it my eyes. 

"Blue?"

I nod. "Yours?" 

"Black like my soul."

I chuckle. "Isn't that a little depressing?" 

"Black is not depressing," he tells me, "it's misjuged."

"Black is also the abscence of colour. Which means it can't be an answer." I point out. 

A goofy grin graces Silas' face. It makes him look younger. "No. It's the exception to the rule." 

I roll my eyes. "Okay fine then." 

"Favourite movie?" He angles his body toward me with a bent elbow against the couch.

"Hmmmm..."

"Please," he stops me, "don't say the Notebook or some shit like that."

"Brooklyn." I finally decide on.

"Don't know that one, but it sounds soppy. Mine's The Departed."

I ask," Leonardo DiCaprio, yeah? Okay. Favourite book."

He laughs at me. He laughs uncontrolably.  

"You serious?" 

I gape. "As a heartattack."

"I'm sorry." He still hasn't recovered from his fit of laughter. "It's just that I don't read. Everyone knows that."

I pull my legs up onto the couch and cross them. "Well, obviously everyone doesn't because, then I'd know, now wouldn't I? Mine's The Great Gatsby, by the way." 

"You aren't 'everyone," Silas says softly. "I'll tell you a secret: a long time ago I had a prescribed book for English Lit. Something about pirates and black spots. The boy's name was Jim Hawkins, I think. That'd be my favourite book if I had to choose one."

"Treasure Island," I tell him, "that's the book's name."

We stare at each other intently for a few more seconds than most would and the electricity sparks again. It bubbles up in me. I'm so nervous that I do something wrong or put him off somehow. He glances over his shoulder at the dancing crowd. 

"Wanna go dancing again?"

I smile at him. "Sure." 

He gets up and offers me a hand. I gladly place mine in his. My earlier weariness has been totally forgotten. He pulls me with a force right into him. 

I giggle. 

He spins me around the has me right back in his face. Stormy gray eyes bore into me. Mischief swims around with in the storm. 

"Dork." I tease. 

He tugs at my hand. "Let's go."

The music stays on the club stuff for another two songs before switching to some of the current stuff. Silas watches in amusement as I sing along to 'Sick Boy' by Chainsmokers on full blast. I sing along so well to IDGAF by Dua Lipa that I don't notice the quick glance at Silas that seem to follow him everywhere. Nor do I see him whisper something to a scrawny kid with bloodshot eyes who runs to the DJ.