To reduce particles by force.

one vodka cranberry, and one Long Island iced tea. Go easy on the tea," I added, as I set the glasses down. Two of the drinks were snatched up immediately by the girls at the table.

"We go big tonight!" one of them shrieked.

I barely held back a wince. You could tell a lot about a person based on the kind of drink they ordered. Long Islands, for instance, were a hot favorite among people who wanted to get drunk. Stereotypical, but often true enough. This girl already looked like a lightweight; one strap of her shirt had fallen off her shoulder and she giggled unbearably.

Mental note to self: no matter what Marc says later, do not clean up after this table.

Vodka cranberry drinkers, on the other hand, were often young women. The second girl, a brunette who looked barely a day over twenty-one, picked up her drink. "Cheers," she said, as she turned to her other friend. "I still can't believe you're getting married."

"You are?" I glanced at the last girl. The blonde seemed like the quietest of the lot, and the least likely to wake up with a hangover tomorrow morning. She took a dainty sip of her vodka soda and nodded. "Congratulations!" I said, smiling. "Consider this drink on the house."

"Can you actually do that?" the brunette asked, eyes wide.

"Well, I've seen the other waiters give out free drinks for birthdays, being single again...and even turning eighteen," I added with a wry smile. That had been an eventful day, when two of the waiters had fought over giving an eighteen-year old her first drink. And then had fought to get away from her when she threw up all over the bar. "I think getting married deserves some kind of celebration too."

"What about finally shagging my boss?" the first girl demanded. She took another gulp of her drink. "I mean, I've been trying to get him to fuck me for ages, but his wife kept calling him at work, and then he had to go to his kid's stupid recital! But I finally succeeded earlier today. I just went for it, you know? Went under his table and everything, then unzipped his pants so that I could put his cock in my—"

"Yeah, you're cut off," I said as gently as I could, then grabbed the tray and straightened up. The brunette had slapped a hand over her friend's mouth to keep her from talking, so the girl could only blink up at me. "You need to go easy on the drinks and make better life choices, okay? Let me know if you two need anything else," I added to her friends, who both nodded.

"Thank you," the blonde said, with an apologetic look.

"No problem. Have a lovely wedding!" I left the table and glanced around. No one else needed to order, so I headed back to the bar.

"Hey, Jack, put table nineteen's vodka soda on my tab, will you?" I said to the bartender. He nodded and saluted me with two fingers, before he returned back to his work. I leaned back against the counter and turned to the woman perched on the barstool. "So, what were we talking about?"

Stella took a sip of her mocktail and shrugged. She'd dropped by the Lemon Lounge earlier this evening in a bid to "show some support", as she so kindly put it. Really, I knew that she just wanted a free drink. It seemed to be one of the perks that came with having a friend who worked at a bar.

Of course, I couldn't complain. Stella was the only friend I had here in the city. I'd made some acquaintances, but none knew me as well as she did. It was nice to have a familiar face around.

Worth every dollar of the mocktail I bought her.

"I believe you were about to write erotica about the fifty ways you could ride Parker Collins," she said calmly, as she sipped on her drink.

I flushed a brilliant red as Jack overheard and gave a snort of mirth. Honestly, if Stella weren't pregnant, I would've shoved her right off the chair. "Say it louder, I don't think my manager heard you."

"Please, like you haven't fantasised about doing that ever since you found out he's your neighbour. Are you denying that you're interested in him?"

I narrowed my eyes at her before I gave in. "Fine, I am interested, so sue me. I've always been fascinated by him, even back in school."

"Ah, yes, that teenage crush that you still haven't gotten over, even though it's been years."

"I can't help it. And I guess the reason I'm so curious is because he just seems different from how he used to be back then. Still fascinating, but different."

"How so?"

"Back then, he was...young," I finally settled on the word after a moment's thought. Stella rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to argue, but I held a hand up. "I don't mean 'young' as in his age. He had this...spark, this radiant energy to him. He could step into the dining hall and not say a word, but everyone would know that he was there because that's just how much he brightened the room. He didn't have to be funny or loud or charming to be popular—he just was. And I guess, as a kid who'd just transferred and didn't have any friends, I really admired him for that."

"You underestimate yourself. Most of the boys in my year wanted to be friends with you. You just never gave any of them the time of day."

"They scared me," I admitted wryly.

"All boys scare you."

"Not the good ones."

"So...not Parker?"

"Not at all. Although, he does seem to be less happy than he used to be. It's like, instead of being in the centre of the room, all he wants now is to stay in the darkest corner," I observed, as I recalled the day of the wedding reception. "And whenever I talk to him, I get the feeling that he's...really careful about everything he says. I'm not sure why. I'm not that intimidating a person, am I?"

"It's not you, it's—" Stella trailed off and took another sip. She seemed to be in deep thought for a moment, before she squared her shoulders. "Do you remember final year?"

"Yours or mine?"

"Mine. I don't know if you've ever heard of this but... There was an incident. A pretty bad one, given Parker's golden track record. He got into a fight with his best friend."

I frowned. "That doesn't seem so bad."

"Not in retrospect. But when you're eighteen, these things hit hard. It was quite a brutal fight, I think. I heard it was about a girl. His best friend got suspended; Parker had to go to the hospital for stitches. And when he returned, all his closest friends no longer wanted anything to do with him. Mind you, these were friends he had since kindergarten. He wasn't ever the same after that. He kept a low profile, graduated as valedictorian as you already know, and we barely heard anything from him for years after. I think that was his turning point, you know, when one phase of his life ended and another began."

I kept silent through Stella's explanation. I'd been two years below them, so I hadn't known anything about this. A wave of deep sympathy for Parker swept through me. Imagine being eighteen and thinking you had the world at your feet, surrounded by people whom you'd known all your life. Only to have all that suddenly ripped away from you. All that trust, all those good times, all the friendships. Gone, in the blink of an eye, never to return again.

I wondered how lonely and heartbroken he must've felt then. Did he still feel the same way? Had those scars faded with time, or had they burrowed deeper under his skin and built walls around him to keep the world out?

"I wish you'd told me sooner," I said at last. "I would've..." What would I have done? Stood up for him? Helped him, the way he helped me once? "I would've been his friend," I finished quietly.

"You would." Stella sounded amused. "That's you in a nutshell—always befriending those no one else wants."

"You know we're friends, right?"

"I've always believed I'm the only exception to that rule. But honestly," she continued, more seriously this time, "be careful, okay?"

I stared at her in confusion. "Why?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's great that you like Parker. But that version of him? He's gone. He no longer exists. You're not looking at the boy he used to be, but the man he grew up to become. However good or kind he might've been to you, it doesn't always mean that he's the same now."

"I know."

"I just want you to be careful," she added, her voice a fraction softer. "I don't want to see you get hurt again."

"I know. And thank you," I added, with a smile. I understood her sentiments. She was only doing what a best friend would do and looking out for me. But then I imagined Parker—eighteen years old at that time, alone at the lunch table that I myself had once sat at—and felt a tiny flicker of hope bloom in my chest. "Although, I've a feeling that it might be different this time."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

"—Lime, strawberries, sugar and ice," I murmured under my breath. Two down, three to go. I propped my laundry basket against my hip and took another step down. "Lime, honey, mint, spark—oh, shite!"

A gasp escaped me as I lost my footing. I slipped down a step and lurched forward, crashing head-first into the bottom stairs.

But something, or someone, caught me around the waist. A steady grip; a sharp tug backwards. I blinked, dazed, as I fell against a warm, hard...chest?

I lifted my head, only to find Parker gazing down at me with unfiltered concern. "Oh, hello," I breathed, feeling a sudden shiver gloss down my spine. I'd never been this close to him before, with his face hovering above mine and his arm still locked around my waist. It felt almost surreal. With our proximity, I noticed that his eyes, while grey-rimmed, had more brown flecks in them. His scent, crisp and fresh, seemed to completely envelop me.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

I swallowed. "Yes, thank you."

He nodded and, suddenly realising that he still had his arm around me, quickly moved back. He made sure I was steady on my feet before he lowered his hand. Like me, he held a laundry basket in his other hand. "Be careful on these stairs."

"Yeah, sorry about that," I said as I started walking again. Parker followed me, slowing his pace to match mine. "I guess I was too focused on studying."

"Studying?"

"Here." I raised my right hand to show him the words I'd scribbled across my fingers.

He paused in his steps to look down at them. "Mocktails?"

"Someone knows their drinks," I teased, with a smile. "Anyway, my manager wants me to learn them to help the bartender out when he gets too busy. That and, according to him, pretty bartenders earn us more tips."

Parker's lips flattened into a grim line. I wondered if he'd try to talk me out of my job once more, but he didn't. Instead, he continued down the stairs and asked, "So how's your debt going? Settled yet?"

I bit my lip and tried to refrain from telling him the truth: that I hadn't one but multiple debts to settle. It was a long story. A story I didn't exactly plan on telling him. Knowing Parker, he'd only want to help. That was the best and worst thing about him—that he'd go out of his way to help someone he barely even knew.

"More or less," I said as vaguely as I could. "The pay at the Lounge is decent, and we make up for a lot of it with tips. A customer tipped me two hundred last night—that was nice."

He nodded as we entered the laundry room. That was when we both faltered in our steps. Two washing machines and a tumble dryer stood along the counter, but one of the washing machines had been taken.

"Must be Ms Pham," Parker remarked. "She forgets to take her laundry out, sometimes. You go ahead," he added, and gestured to the other washer.

I set my basket down, then stopped. It suddenly occurred to me that I was about to do my laundry in front of Parker Collins. I couldn't very well wash my clothes and delicates all at once. But if I separated them, then he'd see everything. And the last thing I wanted was Parker seeing my dirty underwear. In fact, I wondered if he could see them through the gaps in my laundry basket now.

Shite.

"No, it's okay!" I said brightly. As an added measure, I shrugged out of my jacket and tossed it over the basket. "I don't need to wash my clothes now. You go first."

He shook his head. "It's fine. Ladies first."

"Oh, no. Medieval chivalry is dead anyway; we're in the twenty-first century and everything," I said with an airy wave. "You go—"

The words froze on my lips when he grabbed my arm. Long fingers closed around my wrist in a gentle but firm grip. He set his basket down and stared at my arm for a long moment. I hadn't realised this, but under the bright light of the room, the bruises that dotted my arm seemed darker than ever. His eyes met mine; the grey in his irises suddenly more prominent. And his voice was deadly quiet when he asked, "What the fuck is this?"

I winced. In all the time I'd known Parker—which in all honesty wasn't very long, I'd never seen him lose his temper or speak a harsh word. He was good-natured, perhaps too much for his own good. But when he spoke like that, I had a feeling it meant he was dead serious.

"Um—" I bit my lip and tugged my hand away from him. He seemed to realise that he was still holding on to me, and quickly dropped my wrist. "—A customer got a little drunk and handsy the other day," I explained. "He wanted to, and I quote, 'shag me until I couldn't see straight'. I said no and that's when he got angry."

Parker's expression darkened at my words, but he said nothing. His jaw remained clenched and the tension between us was almost palpable.

I took a step forward, which seemed to surprise him. His eyes flickered back to mine; his expression almost guarded. "It's okay," I said softly. "I can deal with guys like that. It's not the first time...and I think I've gotten pretty good at it. Anyway, security threw him out after that. He's not coming back again."

Parker stared at me for a moment, before he let out a sigh. "What am I going to do with you?" he murmured in a low voice. "You tell me that you don't need my help, but you keep getting into these sort of situations."

"I've been told I have a knack for getting into trouble," I mused wryly. "But that doesn't mean I can't get myself out of them. And I don't need you to help me. I just need—"

My voice faded as it dawned on me how close we now stood. Almost toe to toe; with his mouth hovering a fraction over mine, close enough to meet if either of us simply leaned forward. My throat went dry; my heartbeat stuttered. My stomach tightened with a fresh, fierce desire. It lit my every nerve on fire; coiling anticipation deep within my chest.

Parker seemed to notice how close we stood too, because his eyes widened imperceptibly. But he didn't move away. Instead, he swallowed hard. My gaze latched eagerly onto the slide of his Adam's apple, up and down the slender column of his neck. For a moment, I wondered how it would feel like to seal my lips on the base of his throat. How he would sound. How he would taste.

As though sensing my thoughts, his gaze dipped to my lips. I didn't think it were possible, but his eyes darkened even further. He didn't do anything; simply watched and waited. If anything, it fueled liquid courage through my veins.

"I—" I took a tiny step closer, and tilted my head up just so. Close enough that he would see the tiny smile of encouragement on my lips. Close enough that he would see this as an invitation, and nothing else. Close enough that he would kiss me. "I just need—"

A distant voice cut in just then. "Oh, dear, is this a bad time?"