Page 77 of Bad Words

The door swung open.

There he stood, two feet away. He’d clearly just pulled off a black beanie, which was snow-speckled in one hand, the other sunk in his dark hair. A triangle of wool scarf peeked out from the neck of his coat.

He looked at me for a startled moment. I didn’t move, abruptly hyperaware of how much we’d been speaking this past week, how jarring it was to be opposite him, no longer imagining his facial expressions.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi. Come in.” I stood back.

“This place is…”

“Yes. Jacob’s parents are real estate moguls, so.”

“Right, got it.” Parker took off his coat. The man had an apparently endless supply of good sweaters. This one was goldenrod. His neck was faintly reddened where his scarf had rubbed the skin. “Where can I—”

“Here.” I opened the closet. As he hung his coat, I asked, “Do you drink sake?”

“Not regularly.” Parker shut the closet door. Faced me.

I realized I had no idea what to say. He felt different in person than over email, so much more obviously the man who’d looked me over with raw dislike at the bar, who’d snarled out his hatred for me at Cipriani. My body seemed to remember those encounters, my palms prickling, my pulse rushing, as though at any moment one of us would snap.

I knew he felt it, too. I could sense something wavering in him from the quick motions of his eyes. I’d seen him with other people. I knew how quick he was to fill space, to pour out meaningless niceties, to smile and agree and smile and agree. But that instinct was caught somewhere in his body.

His eyes traveled down to my dress, my heels. “You walk from the train in those?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How’d that work?”

“Are you familiar with how ice climbers use pickaxes?”

One corner of his mouth twitched. We both looked away. The confused heat in my body quivered, like the air above a bonfire disturbed by wind.

He held up a bottle of wine. “Where should I put this?”

“This way,” I said, waving him toward the kitchen island. “How drunk are you, by the way?”

“Not very. Maybe four out of ten.”

“Okay. So I don’t need to warn Jacob and Cassie.”

“I don’t think so.”

We wove between two strangers. I poured him a glass of sake and refilled my own and didn’t suggest a toast.

As he took the glass, Parker’s eyes strayed down to my dress again. Some band of muscles in my torso tightened.

“So,” I said.

But his eyes had landed over my shoulder, and behind me, Jacob said, “Selina?”

I turned quickly. “Jacob. Cassie. I invited—I mean, Parker didn’t have anywhere to go tonight.”

“Thank you guys for having me,” Parker said. His voice had changed, higher and clearer and flavored with a bright new smile. “Your apartment is gorgeous.”

“Thanks!” said Cassie. Her facial expression could not more clearly have asked what the fuck was going on.

“I’ll be honest,” said Jacob to Parker, “I didn’t realize you and Selina were on speaking terms.”