“Next: corn. But here's the thing—” I lean in slightly. “You don’t want to just boil the hell out of it. Corn gets waterlogged fast. You want to steam it more than drown it. So you put it inclose to the top, let the steam from everything below hit it gently. Otherwise, it's sad corn. Nobody wants sad corn.”
Annie smirks. “Steam is good, here.”
I wink. “Steam will be good later, too.” I could be wrong but I think she shivers.
She smirks. “Go on.”
“Sausage next,” I croon.
She glances down at my lap. That’s right, baby?—
Annie is snapping her fingers in my face. “Focus, Nico,” she says, but her eyes have gone lazy.
I make an attempt. “Ideally Andouille,” I continue. “High fat content, firm casing. You drop it in just long enough for the fat to start rendering—adds richness to the broth, layers of smokiness and spice. But don’t overdo it or it goes rubbery.”
“You’re really selling me on this sausage technique,” she murmurs, a glint in her eye, licking her thumb again.
I raise an eyebrow. “You really wanna play this game, honey?”
“I do,” she sighs dreamily. “But preferably somewhere near a bed.”
I stand so violently the table rattles. A few shells drop onto the ground. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“No, Nico!” she laughs. “Sit. Finish telling me about the crawfish.”
“Fuck the crawfish.”
“And don’t you want dessert?”
“Depends,” I say. “Can I eat it off your asshole?”
Annie gapes at me, leaning over the side a bit.
“Is that a yes?”
“Who are you?”
“The dude who isn’t gonna let you disappear. The dude who wants you to have some fun. The dude who’s got you. The dude who wants to bang your motherfucking brains out.” I thinkthere’s a lot more that I can add but I need to unpack it at a later point in time. Preferably after I bang her motherfucking brains out.
“That was a rhetorical question, Nico,” she breathes, that dazed look back in her face.
I slap a hundred down on the table and round it to take her hand and draw her out of her chair. I suck the Old Bay off every single fingertip while she melts in my arms on the way to the door.
“Let’s go have some fun, Annie. I got you. And I’m gonna bang your motherfucking brains out.”
TWENTY-ONE
Annie
Nicoquite rudely and unceremoniously throws me over his shoulder and sprints through Savannah to get back to our house.
Just kidding.
I wish.
Instead, after dragging me out of the clatter of dinner and stepping into the thick, honey-slow air of Savannah at night, Nico takes one look around, gently takes my hand, and begins a romantic stroll.
I hate it.
