There is a prolonged beat before he slowly sits up, bringing the blanket with him. I’m blasted with fresh air cooling myfeverish, sweaty skin, sunlight and reality illuminating my shame. “Huh?” he asks.
I look up at Nico and regret it again, because a messy, sweaty, aroused,hardNico has to be the most devastatingly sexy things I’ve ever seen. There’s a wet spot on his shorts above his obvious erection,mywet spot.What the hell is wrong with me?I have to keep going, a runaway train. “Not gonna work, dude.” I sit up, too, relishing in the familiar waves of agitation now coming from my left. “Can take the kid out of Bensonhurst, but can’t take the Bensonhurst outta the kid.”
“You grew up two blocks away from me!”
“Yes, but I don’t sound like a dollar-slice dimwit.”
“I’m articulate asfuck.”
My mouth twitches.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demands to know.
“Would you like an itemized list or a brief summary?”
“Gimme a summary.”
I chew the inside of my mouth until I taste blood. Then I look him dead in the eye and say, “I’m a hurricane of serious issues.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Nico’s whole body tenses. Then—boom.
“Fuckin’ hell, Annie.” His voice explodes through the room. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m so fuckin’ sorry I said that, but I am trying to be polite and apologetic and helpful and you keep twisting it into somethin’ ugly!”
He shoots up from the bed, pacing, running a hand through his hair like he’s seconds from losing it. “I don’t know what you want from me! I’m trying here. I’m really, really trying. And we almost justfucked,” he snarls, with a twist in his face that pulls at my heart, pointing at the bed, at where we almost did, “and you immediately regret it, tell me it was a mistake, whenIwas the one who woke up toyougrinding on my dick, and then youimmediatelyinsult me?! Why the hell do you always wanna pick a fight for no fuckin’ reason at all?”
“There’s always a reason,” I mutter.
“Please,” he snaps. “Enlighten me.”
I stare at him, my chest rising and falling and hands clenched into fists. I could tell him. I could rip open every wound, every fear, tell him exactly why I can’t let him be nice to me.
Instead, I say nothing.
He watches me for a long second, then exhales hard, full of something like frustration, like disappointment.
“We’re leaving in thirty,” he mutters. “Get your shit together by then.”
I don’t know if he means my luggage or my entire fucking life. Probably both.
He storms into the bathroom, and I’m left alone with the dull roar of adrenaline in my veins. But this kind of high doesn’t feel good at all.
I blame the crying on a lot of things.
The book I’m reading is devastatingly sad—definitely not a light beach (or road trip) read. Especially not in a cramped replacement sedan with shitty A/C and nowhere to hide. I can’t stop thinking about my email to Chef. At the sudden reappearance of the kid who started the downward spiral of my life. I can’t stop thinking about my lack of impulse control, ashamed that I couldn’t even make it one full year of Sister Annieagain, rubbed on my worst enemy afterone dayof being around him because I was bored and horny and depressed. I’m also probably still coming down from this raging asshole yelling at me afterwards. And now I’m trapped in a four-dooremotional pressure cooker with the asshole—the guy who ruined everything.
And I’m only here as a fucked up way of saving May.Andshe still thinks I’m going to blow up her wedding, and she’sright.
And you know what else? I hate Sister Annie. What the hell has she actually done for me this year?
Because I’mfuckingmiserable.
I look out the window and surreptitiously try to wipe my eyes.
But it’s Fuckin’ Dr. Nico.
“Hey,” he says quietly. He puts his large bear paw on my knee. “You good, honey?” I close my eyes and enjoy the gooeyness of my insides and the weight of his hand for one second before lifting his hand and dropping it on his lap.
“I’m not your honey,” I warn.
