A pause.
“Which is, frankly, my worst fuckin’ nightmare. But impressive and terrifying as hell.”
She laughs, choked and surprised.
Annie stands suddenly, like she can’t help it, like she needs to move, like she’s finally uncomfortable in this costume she’s wearing. I stand with her. We both keep looking out, the wind the only sound besides the steady rhythm of our breathing and the quiet, unspoken understanding that something is happening here. Something bigger than the road, bigger than the mountains, bigger than our hatred for one another. Bigger than high school. Something is different. Something is complicated. Something has unlocked. It’s right now—it’s Annie Li, the beautiful, grouchy writer, and Nico Giannuzzi, the pornstar chemist, a coupla smart, weirdo kids from Bensonhurst who only sort of hate each other.
She hugs herself against the breeze, and without thinking, I shrug off my hoodie and jam it over her head, my hands brushing over the soft silk of her ponytail. She looks up at me, surprised, and for a moment, neither of us says anything.
We stand side by side, the silence between us thick with that weird unspoken thing. The wind tugs at her hair, and I look down. I hear her breath catch. I search her eyes. She doesn’t move. I don’t either. The world seems to narrow, the vastness of the mountains disappearing into the space between us, the only sound being the rustling leaves and the distant chirp of crickets.
Then, she exhales—a soft, shaky breath—and looks away, breaking the spell. It’s for the best, but it kills me to do it, and I step back just slightly, enough for the moment to slip away. She smiles, small and knowing, her shoulders loose and languid. The sky darkens, the first stars flickering to life, and without a word, we turn back toward the car.
Complex? Or complicated? Too much of either is not what I need right now, anyway. But I get it now, I do, after this drive. Something so beautifully complex that it makes me want to cry.
TEN
Nico
I pullthe car right into the lot, won’t take no for an answer. Because for some insane reason I want to hang out with Annie “My Worst Fuckin’ Nightmare But Also My Wettest Fuckin’ Dream” Li.
She pulls herself out of her book-hole as I turn the car off. We haven’t said much since turning off the Blue Ridge Parkway. I think both of us were afraid of popping that bubble of an unspoken truce.
“Where are we?”
I look over.
She’s blinking a lot.
“Asheville. We gotta eat, so we’re at the restaurant that wanted me to visit.”
Her eyes dart around, reminding me of a terrified baby rabbit. There’s a subtle shift in her demeanor, and I can’t pin a new adjective to it. She suddenly shuts it away, and I can almost hear the clang of her walls smashing down as she seems to come to a decision. She looks at me. “Cool,” she says, and that’s all I get.
We both get out of the car and meet at the front of it. She’s still swimming in the ratty Duke hoodie I pulled over her head at the overlook, the tattoos on her hands and fingers peeking out of the frayed sleeves, the soft, heather gray a stark contrast to the dark tattoos all over her exposed legs. She pulls her hair out of its elastic, the silk curtain of it spilling into the hood.
The whole thing makes me stop dead in my tracks.
“You want it?” she asks.
I squint at her and attempt to decipher her meaning. The legs? Yes, I want it. Wrapped around my head. Or waist. Again. But maybe without clothes this time. Maybe. But I’m not picky. The hair, though? Twisted in my fist.
“The hoodie,” she thankfully clarifies.
“Absolutely not,” I tell her.
With this, Annie seems to burrow further into it, tucking her chin into the collar and shoving her hands in the front pocket. This makes me want to take her hand out and hold it, rub my thumb over the tattoos on her fingers, but I’m not going to disturb the new armor she’s created for herself withmyfreakin’ sweatshirt. I shove my hands into my own pockets. “Let’s go.”
“Sorry, our kitchen is closing in five minutes,” the hostess tells us when we walk in.
“I’m Nico Giannuzzi from NYU,” I tell her. “Claire’s expecting me.” Claire is the head chef of this fine establishment. I’m proud of her. We crossed paths a million years ago when she was a sous-chef at a restaurant in the city. Hooked up once. She and I had been chatting earlier this month while I was planning the trip, and our texting hinted at a… reunion when I came down here. But honestly, I hadn’t thought of her once until right now, and that likely has to do with the woman standing right next to me.
This has been a grave miscalculation.
“Oh. In that case, you can go sit by the bar. I’ll let her know you’re here,” the hostess tells us.
I let Annie walk ahead of me, and she slides onto a bar stool with practiced ease. I watch her put on a costume. It’s a little scary. That soft Annie Li has transformed into something else. She’s armed herself and is ready for battle.
The bartender walks over, a tall, good-looking guy covered in as many tattoos as Annie, maybe more. That feeling comes back, the urge to bare my teeth and pound on my chest like a gorilla.
