Her face shifts again, and suddenly… it’s Annie’s. Not literally, but enough to make me tense. Same tilt of the jaw, same flash in the eyes. She leans in. “Then it’s time for me to tell you this,” she says, voice low. And murder-y. “Annie is the best person I know. Don’t you ever hurt her.”
“I won’t,” I vow, but now I’m a little scared. Jesus. The Li sisters are like a fuckin’ Category 5 hurricane. Of knives. “But honestly, I’m worried about the other way around,” I admit.
Her face doesn’t change. “She willneverhurt you. Not purposefully. If she does, then it’s an accident. But even if shethinksshe’s hurt you, she’ll retreat.” May seems to grow ten times her size. Did her teeth just get sharper? “And that’s when you fight for her, Nico. You fight for her because she deserves it. Because she’s worth it.”
I rub my arms. Did it drop thirty fuckin’ degrees in here? “Okay!” I half-yell. “I will! I promise!”
“Good,” she says brightly. “Have fun. Enjoy the ride. I hope to see you at Christmas.” She strides away with perfect, delicate posture.
Annie catches my eye and raises an eyebrow in question.
I love you and I will fight for you, I try to say with my eyes.
She smiles.
Towards the end of the party, I decide to treat myself to a scotch. Something peaty and sharp, methinks. I’m halfway through mentally sorting the shelf by distillation method when I spot him.
It’s that big, handsome, goofy fucker who I owe my millions to—Charlie Fischer.
He’s leaned against the bar, half-slouched, dress shirt rumpled, sleeves pushed up. Drunk. Like, capital-D Drunk. His eyes are aimed at something directly across the room.
“Charlie,” I say, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “How’s it hangin’? And I don’t mean literally,” I add, tipping my head toward his crotch.
Because Charlie Fischer is a porn star. A real one. A real-life sex worker, who has sex on camera for money. And he’s one of those people who own it. So much so that he recommended it to me a few years after I had just moved home to be with my mom, had started my PhD program, and was severely strapped for cash. We were out at a bar with May, I think, maybe a year after he and May had broken up, once they were in the ‘comfortable friend-zone.’ He’d always been a chaotic sort with a hundred different jobs, an artist and philosopher and wanderer and model and bartender, and he had just stumbled into the porn industry (filming forHarlot) and was raking it in. He took onelook at me and told me I could do well on their new subscription-based creator content platform.
Never got to thank him for it, though, ‘cause I ain’t telling anyone. Except Annie.
He blinks over at me, slow and glassy. “Nico. My man.” His grin is loose and toothy. “He’s been hangin’ in private. I’ve been out the game for a bit now.”
Huh. “Nice. Why’d you get out?”
He shrugs and takes a healthy swig of his drink.
“Whatcha drinkin’?”
“What aren’t I drinking?”
“Touché. Nice of May to throw us a classy-ass, top-shelf party.”
He hums. “May did good,” he replies. It’s quiet and the opposite of what I’m used to from him. Neutral, and maybe resigned, and I’ve never known Charlie to be neutral about anything.
I nod, even though he’s not really talking to me. I follow his gaze—May is dancing now, in a cute white dress, smiling as her wasted fiancé tries to spin her in a circle. Elegant. Collected.
Some things click into place in my head. “She looks happy,” I offer.
Charlie mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Does she?” under his breath. He lifts his glass in a lazy, saluting motion, like maybe he’s toasting her or maybe he’s warding off a punch to his stomach. “She was always gonna end up like this. Stable and centered.” He doesn’t clarify; instead, he takes another big gulp of whatever brown substance is in his glass.
“I saw you with Annie earlier,” he says, changing the subject with the subtle grace of a wrecking ball. He smiles, and this one is genuine. “Pretty different from the last party we were all at.”
I laugh. “Yeah, we didn’t set anything on fire this time, so I’d call that progress. We spent the last week together road-tripping here.”
A ghost of a smile now. “Annie’s got that thing,” he says. “She’s like me.”
I look at him.
“She’s fucking anarchy. She’s fire,” he adds. “Annie. You don’t date a woman like that to settle down. You date her to burn through a phase of your life.”
Why is everyone testing me tonight? “You don’t know her,” I warn.
