Chapter 10 Nico #2
Holding court like she was born for it, even though she doesn’t know a single soul here.
She’s got a circle of people hanging on her every word as she teaches them a drinking game that seems to involve lies, deceit, scheming, screaming, and the kind of rule changes that should be illegal.
Within minutes, she’s orchestrating chaos—calling out bluffs, assigning shots, dragging shy people into the fray, and turning the whole room into a rager.
Laughter erupts around her in waves, the kind that makes coworkers cling to each other like lifelong friends.
Through the raucous roar of laughter and playful shoving, I find myself stunned.
Annie’s not loud and jovial and bubbly. No freakin’ way. She’s loud but wry and sarcastic and witty. She has a dry-ass sense of humor. She doesn’t bounce around from group to group. No, people gravitate to her.
Annie talks to everyone as if they’re in on some long-running inside joke, like she’s swapping secrets and talking shit with her closest friend.
She sizes you up in an instant, delivering just the right dose of teasing—anywhere from a polite pass to a playful ‘silly you’ to an all-out, no-mercy roast if she thinks you can take it.
And somehow, she always gets it right, making you feel like you’ve known her forever.
Thirteen years ago, she must’ve decided I could take the full-force massacre. But back then, the stakes were lower. We were just kids. I also “fucked her over,” so maybe I had to get a very specific, hurt Annie Li, lashing out at me when she thought she was in danger.
Regardless, everyone loves her and tries to get caught in her web.
Everyone wants to share an inside joke with her.
Because it’s all genuinely Annie, the way she’s carrying herself and talking to people—none of this is a show.
With a start, I realize this side of Annie isn’t a performance.
It’s not a costume or armor—it’s simply another layer of her.
Still sharp, still real, just as true as the rest.
It’s in this moment, as I watch her smile at Mark, that I suddenly understand what’s happening to me.
Fuck everyone else, because I’m winning the race.
‘Cause as friendly as she’s being, no one is allowed in.
In in, to see the real Annie Li. Except for fuckin’ me.
She’s shown it to me. Not all, but some, and some is more than all these losers.
Grouchy Annie Li, permanently sucking on a lemon.
Protective, loyal Annie Li. Sexy, horny Annie Li.
Dry, funny, friendly Annie Li. Then soft, vulnerable, poetic Annie Li.
Those parts she seemingly spends her entire existence protecting.
Maybe a little bit broken. She let me see her cry.
I held her together while she cried. She’s using my hoodie as armor.
Fuck Mark—I’m the only one who’s fuckin’ earned it.
I get looped into a conversation with the kitchen staff about the restaurant scene in Asheville. How all these awesome breweries have popped up, how Asheville is now a solid beer destination. They go behind the bar and get me little sips of different beers, but I’m driving, so I don’t get crazy.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice it’s just her and Fuckin’ Mark at the bar.
They’re both sitting on stools facing one another, their knees maybe touching.
While I’m busy convincing myself not to storm over there, Mark takes something out of his pocket.
It’s a baggie. He dumps a bunch of what’s probably coke right onto the bar, takes a card out of his wallet, starts cutting lines.
Annie freezes. Gets stiff as a board. Her posture is all wrong.
She stares at the lines. She looks at Mark. Mark leans in, mistaking that look for interest. She looks at the lines again. Looks at Mark again. He shifts his stool closer, so that she’s practically between his knees.
Her eyes begin darting all around the restaurant, looking for something. I’m shocked to realize that she’s looking for me.
Her eyes finally hook onto mine, and it seems like there’s a line that pulls taut. Tense. Something isn’t right. She has the same expression she had when I pulled her out of the car at that rest stop. She looks like she’s going to cry.
And then Claire comes over and wedges herself right into my side. She rests a hand on my thigh. “Hey, big guy,” she says. She’s drunk. I can smell the liquor on her breath; she’s that close.
I’m still looking at Annie. Her eyes dart to Claire, and the line gets cut. Snaps right in half.
By the time I get Claire’s hand off me, Annie isn’t looking at me anymore.
Am I supposed to do something? Am I supposed to go over there? She won’t even let me open her car door for her, for fuck’s sake. Will she lay into me if I go over there?
Claire strikes up an energetic conversation with the people around us. They start asking me questions about my work, and by the time I look up again to look for Annie, she’s gone.