station for someone to save him from Chuck.
“Let me give you a ride.” Chuck rattled the ice in the plastic cup of chilled mocha latte that he’d drained. “It’s a hundred degrees out and you look like you’ve been through hell. I don’t want to imagine how you’ll look after riding all the way back to Georgica Pond on that bike.”
Nate weighed his options: half an hour sweating versus ten minutes alone with Chuck Bass?
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
“Let’s go.” Nate sighed. The thought of Chuck’s air-conditioned dove gray Jag was too hard to resist.
Chuck unlocked the car’s trunk and Nate stuffed the bike into it—he wasn’t sure it would fit, but the trunk was surprisingly big and they were able to rig it so only the tip of the tire poked through. Nate slid onto the white leather seat and slammed the heavy door, fastening his seat belt and gearing up for the ride.
Chuck turned on the ignition and the car immediately flooded with cold air and blared Zeppelin’s “Houses of the Holy.”
“I’ve been lying on the beach in Sag Harbor all day, feeling retro,” Chuck explained, turning the volume down. “So . . . let’s catch up.”
“Catch up,” echoed Nate blankly. He could tell from Chuck’s tone of voice that he was going to launch into a barrage of questions. Talking with Chuck was like having a job interview.
“I assume you heard about Blair.” Chuck fiddled with the air conditioner, even though it was already freezing. He pulled out onto the road connecting Hampton Bays to East Hampton, which Nate had practically memorized by now. Wine-grape fields alternated with tasteful Colonial-style, gray-shingled houses, and occasionally he caught a glimpse of the dark blue ocean behind someone’s backyard.
“Blair?” Nate asked as they passed the Oyster Shack on the left. He’d been so preoccupied with Tawny, even saying Blair’s name aloud felt weird. She was off in England for the summer with her new British boyfriend as far as he knew. She seemed far away when he thought about her, even though their paths would soon cross again. She might be madly in love with that new English dude, but there was no way Blair Waldorf was going to abandon her lifelong dream of going to Yale in the fall. A September reunion on campus was inevitable.
“She’s ba-a-a-a-a-ck.” Chuck drew it out like that creepy little girl in the movie Poltergeist. He rattled the ice in his cup and slurped up the coffee-flavored water that had gathered at the bottom. “Just got off the plane this morning.”
“Oh yeah?” Nate fiddled with the shoulder strap on his seat belt. Blair was back from London? That was news.
“Yeah.” Chuck nodded casually, turning the stereo down further. “I wonder if she and Serena have kissed and made up. Again. If you know what I mean.”
“Blair and Serena never could stay mad at each other for long,” Nate muttered, drumming his thumb against the door handle in time to the music. He would know—he usually caused the rifts between them.
“It’s good news for Serena, though,” Chuck added coyly. “She could really use a friend right about now.”
Nate didn’t respond. Everything Chuck said made him feel a little uneasy, like the world was moving on without him. He’d only been in the Hamptons for a week, and already he didn’t know what the fuck was happening.
“Word is she’s having a little trouble with the whole acting thing,” Chuck observed. “But I’m sure she’ll come out on top. She always does.”
“Acting, right,” Nate repeated. He’d forgotten about Serena’s movie. It seemed totally alien from his life as a day laborer. Nate was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire for a smoke. He shoved in the car’s electric lighter. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Chuck shrugged. “No matter how much trouble Serena might be having, it’s nothing compared to the mess Blair’s got herself into.” He drove fast, veered right at a fork, and
“Let me give you a ride.” Chuck rattled the ice in the plastic cup of chilled mocha latte that he’d drained. “It’s a hundred degrees out and you look like you’ve been through hell. I don’t want to imagine how you’ll look after riding all the way back to Georgica Pond on that bike.”
Nate weighed his options: half an hour sweating versus ten minutes alone with Chuck Bass?
Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
“Let’s go.” Nate sighed. The thought of Chuck’s air-conditioned dove gray Jag was too hard to resist.
Chuck unlocked the car’s trunk and Nate stuffed the bike into it—he wasn’t sure it would fit, but the trunk was surprisingly big and they were able to rig it so only the tip of the tire poked through. Nate slid onto the white leather seat and slammed the heavy door, fastening his seat belt and gearing up for the ride.
Chuck turned on the ignition and the car immediately flooded with cold air and blared Zeppelin’s “Houses of the Holy.”
“I’ve been lying on the beach in Sag Harbor all day, feeling retro,” Chuck explained, turning the volume down. “So . . . let’s catch up.”
“Catch up,” echoed Nate blankly. He could tell from Chuck’s tone of voice that he was going to launch into a barrage of questions. Talking with Chuck was like having a job interview.
“I assume you heard about Blair.” Chuck fiddled with the air conditioner, even though it was already freezing. He pulled out onto the road connecting Hampton Bays to East Hampton, which Nate had practically memorized by now. Wine-grape fields alternated with tasteful Colonial-style, gray-shingled houses, and occasionally he caught a glimpse of the dark blue ocean behind someone’s backyard.
“Blair?” Nate asked as they passed the Oyster Shack on the left. He’d been so preoccupied with Tawny, even saying Blair’s name aloud felt weird. She was off in England for the summer with her new British boyfriend as far as he knew. She seemed far away when he thought about her, even though their paths would soon cross again. She might be madly in love with that new English dude, but there was no way Blair Waldorf was going to abandon her lifelong dream of going to Yale in the fall. A September reunion on campus was inevitable.
“She’s ba-a-a-a-a-ck.” Chuck drew it out like that creepy little girl in the movie Poltergeist. He rattled the ice in his cup and slurped up the coffee-flavored water that had gathered at the bottom. “Just got off the plane this morning.”
“Oh yeah?” Nate fiddled with the shoulder strap on his seat belt. Blair was back from London? That was news.
“Yeah.” Chuck nodded casually, turning the stereo down further. “I wonder if she and Serena have kissed and made up. Again. If you know what I mean.”
“Blair and Serena never could stay mad at each other for long,” Nate muttered, drumming his thumb against the door handle in time to the music. He would know—he usually caused the rifts between them.
“It’s good news for Serena, though,” Chuck added coyly. “She could really use a friend right about now.”
Nate didn’t respond. Everything Chuck said made him feel a little uneasy, like the world was moving on without him. He’d only been in the Hamptons for a week, and already he didn’t know what the fuck was happening.
“Word is she’s having a little trouble with the whole acting thing,” Chuck observed. “But I’m sure she’ll come out on top. She always does.”
“Acting, right,” Nate repeated. He’d forgotten about Serena’s movie. It seemed totally alien from his life as a day laborer. Nate was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire for a smoke. He shoved in the car’s electric lighter. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Chuck shrugged. “No matter how much trouble Serena might be having, it’s nothing compared to the mess Blair’s got herself into.” He drove fast, veered right at a fork, and
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