MY LEGS ARE WOBBLING with all the grace of a newborn baby deer as I navigate about the restaurant, even more uncoordinated than usual and almost spilling hot coffee on not one but two unsuspecting old men. Thankfully both false alarms, since I have no doubt that most if not all the people who frequent Viva La Breakfast have brilliantly expensive lawyers on retainer, judging by the clear lack of attachment to their money.

Working for Christian still feels kind of Robin Hood-esque, and it's basically my moral right after years of down-on-my-luck fate to get some sort of compensation. I'm not doing this for me, but for all my fellow poor brethren out there.

Not that I'm sharing.

Although, I gave a rather gruff looking homeless man a dollar the other day, so, really. I've earned it.

As the clock finally strikes three and my shift draws to a close, a small sigh spills from my lips. All my muscles are burning from exertion, and as I stretch my arms high above my head, there's a delightful strain that brings a smile to my face. To be fair, though, it's not anything new.

I've been grinning like an idiot all day.

Nat notices, cocking a brow at me when I slide into the booth across from her and throw my apron on the table.

"What's got you in such a good mood? You think serving is ridiculously dull, it's been a week, but I know you're not that happy to see me," she says, eyes narrowed in suspicion, toying with the straw of her mint chocolate milkshake.

I give an innocent shrug and rummage through my pockets for my crumpled receipts, nonchalance betrayed by the grin that's plastered across my face. "Maybe I just had a good day? Now that I don't have to live off a diet of straight prison food."

She scoffs. "Are they serving Szechuan chicken in jail now?"

"Are you saying that all I eat is Chinese food? Racist, Nat. That's racist."

She rolls her eyes. "It's not racist if it's true. Now stop trying to change the topic- what are you so happy about? You fundamentally hate these people. You're never this happy unless there's trouble- and you're not getting out of this. Spill," she demands, a no-nonsense narrow of her eyes as she leans forward for intimidation factor.

I raise my brows, the picture of virtue as I smooth out receipts, pointedly avoiding her ruthless stare. "Am I not allowed to just be happy, Nat? Really?"

"No."

I snort, but as my mind inevitably trails back to dark eyes and thick-rimmed glasses, I can't help the unconscious curve of my lips. It's a silly habit that's been following me all day, and the bounce in my step is ridiculously high school of me, but I figure I'm not going to fight it. I shouldn't deny myself some sliver of happiness.

Although I reconsider when I meet Nat's eye.

"See!" she blurts out, pointing an accusing finger at me. "What is that? Vika, I swear, you better tell me or-"

"Promise me- promise you won't kill me, or else I won't tell you," I interrupt her with a small, unsure smile. I even fold my hands in front of me for good measure.

There's a pause, and then Nat's face drops. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" I insist, throwing my hands up. "I promise, it's not as bad as you think. Just hear me out and don't stab me with your straw. It's... there's a man. A man who I have kissed." A pause. "Multiple times."

There's a beat, and then Nat's face immediately lights up, the sparkle in her green eyes instantly consuming all lingering suspicion. "What!" she gasps, reaching over the table and catching my wrist with a thwack, grinning all the while. "You've had a secret man this entire time and you haven't told me! Vika!"

I swat her away with a laugh. "I thought we promised no beating!"

"I promised nothing- anyway, talk. I considered killing you on grounds of terrible secret keeping, but I'll let it go. On the condition that you tell me everything," she orders, practically vibrating in her seat.

I take a moment to savour the grinning Nat for its sweet, momentary existence. His name lingers on the tip of my tongue, threatening to smash the entire scene to pieces like a wrecking ball teetering on the edge, waiting to fulfill its destructive destiny.

I hope at least that when I die, they realize I did it as a (mostly) honest woman.

"Well, that wasn't actually the reason I thought you were going to kill me," I murmur, distracting myself with a calculator and the numbers in front of me. "There might be something else."

Math can be very entertaining when it's between numbers or certain death.

She pauses, and without looking up, I can feel her eyes burning skeptical holes into me. "Vika, what did you do? Who is it?"

Her voice is dangerously low.

"It kind of happened on accident," I admit, refusing to meet her gaze. "You have to know, I didn't mean for it to be-"

"Who is it?"

"Why don't we go through some calming, deep breathing exercises first, yeah? Those are fun, just, do it with me, in-"

"Vika," she says, the tone of her voice a warning in itself. "Get on with it."

I meet her gaze, fold under the heat of it, and wince.

"Noel."

Silence swallows the air as his name hangs between us. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, eyes darting from the receipts to Nat and back again, quick enough to make me dizzy. The quiet continues to weigh down on the both of us, only broken by Nat's long, loud slurp of her milkshake.

She finally lifts her head. "Nope."

I blink. "What?"

She shakes her head, brushing me off with a flighty wave of her hand. "Nope, no, you didn't just tell me you kissed Noel. You're making this up."

A frown tugs on the corner of my mouth.

"Nat, I'm serious. I'm not lying to you. I kissed Noel," I tell her, carefully reading her face. "And I'm pretty sure we're gonna bang tonight."

There's another pause, and then she gives a long, drawn out exhale.

"Vika, I'm telling you, please stop talking. I don't want to actually kill you, you know?" She gives an exhausted shrug, the telltale signs of assumed defeat that I know means only very bad, terrible things for myself.

Natalya Mikhailovya doesn't just back down. She wins.

"Nat, listen," I say, my voice more pleading than anything. "I swear- I didn't do it on purpose. Honestly, it just kind of... happened."

When I meet her gaze, bright with a naïve sort of hope, I get the Medusa of all stares back.

"Oh, don't pull that 'I accidentally fell on his dick' shit-'"

"We haven't actually slept together yet," I point out, but when I see Nat's face, I swiftly realize that it's not a helpful addition to the conversation. Like at all.

I quickly shut back up.

"What, did you slip? Lose your balance? Make a little oopsie-daisy into his pants?"

I roll my eyes. "Wow, you're such a good guesser. That's exactly what happened. Are you actually psychic?"

My desert-dry words don't seem to please Nat, whose lips are pursed, but I can't help myself. I'm not wearing white to her wedding or anything. Contrary to whatever Nat believes, I don't actually have a death wish, just a very pressing getting-laid wish that has Noel's name all over it.

Wishes that, if all goes to plan tonight, will most definitely be fulfilled.

Nat shakes her head. "No, Vika, no, you can't do it. I forbid you- forbid you!"

"You actually can't be my mom because she's dead, Nat, not sure if you remembered, so I can sleep with whoever I want."

She shoots me a deadpan look, but then her shoulders fall, and the fierce burning in her eyes relents. "Vika, I'm actually being serious here."

My brows knit. "When was I not serious?"

"Mark specifically told me that I shouldn't let you fuck with Noel. Mark. And Mark loves love, you know that. We watch Love Actually like, once a month on his request. And he doesn't want you guys together." There's a softness to her face that's lethal, the rest of her words unsaid but heard very loud and very clear.

The idea of disappointing Mark of all people is enough to immediately transport me into the depths of hell alongside lollipop-stealers and puppy-kickers, which is to say, a little disheartening.

I give a little huff. "What's everyone's deal? It's just a little fun. Is fun illegal now? I can't have just one nice thing?"

There's conflicted emotion written all over Nat's face as her eyes wander off. She opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again.

"Noel, he's... well, um, apparently he gets... attached to things, is the best way I can put it. People included. At least, that's what Mark's told me. And we're just worried-," I restrain an eye roll from the very obvious we she's wielding like a weapon, "-that he's going to get attached, and you aren't."

"I'm gonna attach myself on that dick."

Nat shoots me a sharp glare. "I hate you."

I burst out laughing, which Nat doesn't join in, but I can see her fighting back a smile. Instead, she folds her arms over her chest and presses her mouth in a thin line, forcing her eyes to the window.

"Oh, come on," I say, the lilt of a chuckle still lingering in my voice. "We're both adults, and we both clearly understand that we're just letting off some steam. By making out, or whatever."

Nat raises a brow. "Oh, because you love to talk about your feelings? Did you guys draw up a contract or something? No box left unchecked?"

I buy myself some time for a somewhat intelligent reply by making a few pointed taps into my calculator, scribbling down the numbers. When I look back up, Nat's brow refuses to drop.

"Your precious wedding will be fine," I reassure her, giving a little encouraging pat on her wrist. "Won't it be better that we'll be getting along and no one will be getting sued? I'm kind of doing you a favour when you-"

"Shut up."

"Shutting up." I nod enthusiastically, grinning.

She meets my gaze, then sighs. "You already know we had to bump Stephen off the wedding party-"

"Oh my god," I groan. "Are you going to hold that over me forever? It's not my fault he fell in love with me. I can't help that I'm irresistible."

"Be resistible."

I give a helpless shrug. "You know that I kind of have a magical vagina that makes weird men fall in love with me. I'm not here to try and understand its magical powers. I just live them."

She pins me with a dry look. "Demystify your genitals and stay away from Noel. I don't know if you've realized it, but you kind of have a habit of..."

"Of?" I prompt.

She pauses, draws a deep breath, and crinkles her nose. I brace myself.

"Vika, you know that you kind of ruin things sometimes. People, specifically. It's just what you... do." Her eyes soften, and her gaze sweeps over me, gouging my reaction.

My scalp prickles, and a twisting finds my stomach. I divert my eyes back to the receipts in front of me. "That's mean, Nat," I murmur, voice lower than intended.

"I'm not trying to be."

I swallow, any chance at an argument crumbling before it can form around my lips. Instead, I sigh. "I was really excited about tonight, okay? We had like... Nat, I swear, it was a whole moment at Christian's birthday. And he said he was really busy, but I got a text this morning and I was... I don't know..."

"You were happy," she supplies, a sad smile on her face.

We're quiet for a moment, and then I clasp my hands together, a pout pushing out my bottom lip. "Can't I just have this one? I promise, I'll never hit on any of Mark's rich friends ever again. I'll become a nun around them. I'll wear the whole getup. Mother Vika. No matter how rich they are."

"Vika-"

"We're just going to have a little, no-strings-attached fun to get it out of our system- we'll probably only actually fuck once. Maybe twice. Not more than five, honest."

"Stop-"

"Please, please, please? Pretty please?" I continue my undignified pleading, shaking my clasped hands with the deepest frown I can muster. "I promise if your wedding isn't absolutely perfect I will ritualistically disembowel myself Samurai style. Cross my heart and hope to die. All of it."

Nat meets my gaze, narrowed in a challenge, but then she crumbles with a sigh. I restrain myself from jumping out of my seat.

"Grandpa duty."

"Yes!" I pump my fist in the air, and then freeze. "Wait- what?"

She takes another sip of her milkshake. "I won't say anything, but you're gonna be on grandpa duty all night for my wedding. Reception included. The entire time you're going to distract him away from all the other guests."

Memories of being practically detained by Nat's Russian grandpa's home country stories threaten to paralyze me all over again. I can tell by the devilish glint in her eyes that she knows I'm reliving it completely.

I give a tight nod of my head, forehead creased in pre-emptive pain. "All right. I'll do it. I'll do it for the dicking."

She beams. "Also, you're gonna have to share Bachelorette party duties with Mark's sister Cecilia."

"No!" I burst out, pointing a finger at her. "I refuse. Nat, she's the worst. She can't say penis without giggling like some Stepford wife. Bachelorette duty is my thing, I'm the maid of honour. Why do I have to share it?" I can't help the childish whine that forms around my voice.

Nat shrugs. "Then no Noel. I'll tell Mark. I'll shut it all down."

I open my mouth to argue, but only blow out air instead. The memory of Noel's lips moving against mine is still fresh, and it steals the words right from my mouth.

My cellphone is heavy in my pocket, holding Noel's first breach of contact with me all week- a text message, short, simple. I'm coming over today. Hope I can see you.

I can still feel his breath hot against my neck.

"Fine," I relent, rolling my eyes. "Okay, okay, I'll do it. I'll share bachelorette duty. Whatever. Don't tell Mark. Deal?"

Nat grins, nodding her head. "Deal. I'm just putting it out there- I'm dealing with zero of the cleanup when all of this goes terribly, horribly wrong. And I mean it, okay? I don't want to murder you, or have you commit ritualistic suicide, because finding a new best friend at this point would be way more trouble than it's worth. So don't fuck this up, alright?"

I snort. "Always the optimist."

She barks out a laugh, nudging her empty milkshake glass out of the way to press her elbows against the table and rest her chin on her palms. Her eyes are glistening with curiosity. "Now- back to what I first said. Tell me everything and tell me now."

It's the beginnings of twilight when I finally crash through Mark's apartment doors. Despite the months of free-loading, it still doesn't feel right to call it home. I remind myself that I need to start looking for a place to live soon, but that's all easily pushed to the back of my mind at the thought of Noel's coming visit.

I tried not to look too far into it when he'd dropped the bombshell of taking his time with me, and then not hearing from him for an entire week. I'd even asked Cleo if anything was wrong, but she just ignored me as always. Which is to say, I almost dropped my phone when a new number flashed across the screen and it was Noel of all people.

I'm sitting too straight on the couch, crossing and uncrossing my legs impatiently and barely even processing what's on the TV. My gaze keeps falling towards the door, only to snap back in shame to the screen seconds later, silently berating myself from pining like some middle school girl.

The wine I'd set on the coffee table calls for me, and I take a quick sip to settle my nerves.

I'm still trying to unravel the conundrum that is the relationship between my tripping pulse and Noel's face when I hear the doorknob fumbling, and I freeze.

I watch the doorknob turn, and then he's there, standing in front of me. Noel with his glasses and his stubble and his pressed suit, meeting my eye, winding me with just a glance.

"Noel, I-"

And then he's passed out on the floor.