She takes a huge bite of her sandwich. “Holy shit,” she says around a mouthful of steak. “This is incredible.”
I nod, because it is. “The reaction happens when proteins and sugars react at high temperatures and create hundreds of tasty as fuck flavor compounds. I used the tenets of that to give him a bunch of tips for improving his sandwich.”
“Like what?”
I chew and swallow a bite. Damn, this really is incredible. “You gotta remember that browning is good. So I told him to use thin-sliced ribeye ‘cause its marbling allows for faster rendering of fat, which enhances browning. To heat his griddle real hot. Also to cook in small batches for a proper sear. Too much meat on the grill will make steam, and that’ll stop the reaction and browning from happening.”
“And you just strolled in here like Robin Hood and told him that?”
I shrug. “Kinda. I dated someone who lived nearby for a hot second. I came in here all the time when I came down to visit. We got to talkin’.”
“Nice of you.”
I eye her. “Despite this ridiculous image you have of me, I’m a nice fuckin’ person, Annie.”
“That courtesy seems to extend to everyone else but me,” she says cooly.
“Christ, Annie, I wanna apologize for what I said on the beach, but you won’t let me.”
“Because that’s not all of it, not even a fraction of what you need to be apologizing for, so I don’t want it, Nico,” she growls.
I stare at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Drop it,” she says dangerously. “I told you I don’t want it.”
“You’re giving me fuckin’ whiplash,” I tell her, running my hands through my hair. It’s already a disaster from the top down of our car. “This is too much.”
“Thenleave it.” She slams her hands down on the table. I half expect quills to shoot out of her skin like a cartoon porcupine. For the first time, I catch a clear glimpse of the tattoos she has across her knuckles. Her right hand spells out PLUM. On her left, the four suits of a deck are etched across each finger—spade on her index, heart on her middle, diamond on her ring, and club on her pinky.
“Fine,” I say.
Because she’s right. I do need to fuckin’ leave it. My life is already freakin’ ridiculous as it is. This porn star does not need to add Sexy Enemy Apologist to his CV.
Our car doesn’t start up again while parked at a rest stop in the Middle of Nowhere, Maryland, and Annie vibrates next to me with barely restrained glee.
“Just don’t, Annie.”
“Oh, but I must.”
“Just hold it in.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Try harder.”
“Told you,” she squeaks out.
I am unable to hold it in. “For the last fuckin’ time, Annie, I didn’t have a fuckin’ choice about this fuckin’ car so just fuckin’enough, okay?”
She tries to smother a grin and fails.
I pull out my phone and dial the rental company.
“I’m gonna go get some candy,” Annie says, hopping out of the car and leaving me in peace.
A few minutes later, I finally hang up and will my blood pressure to go down.
“Earliest we can get to you is 8:30 a.m.,” the rep chirped, like I won the car rental lottery. “But we’ve arranged accommodations for you about ten miles down the road. There’s a hotel we partner with. You’ll just need to get yourselves there.”
