They’d already opened, and the place was beginning to fill. Ten and Asher were moving between tables, pausing to take orders while Noel and Mason worked the bar. But when Mason spotted me, he sent me a jerky nod.

“Yeah, you should probably work back here tonight.” He hurried out from behind the counter, ushering me to take his spot, probably thinking it safest to keep me as far away from the customers as possible. Public safety and all that.

Noel was a lot more brusque and cold than he’d been before my office scene as he directed me in what to do. It was disorienting at first. My dyslexia would barely let me read shit on the cash register, but luckily I had a strong memory and most everything was color coordinated.

Usually he popped over to tell me prices or how to mix something before I could even ask, which also made it harder for me to fuck up. But I think I surprised him with my adeptness because he kept sending me shocked little glances every time I did something right without his interference.

By the time I hit a groove, the club was packed, music poured through the speakers and this energy thrummed through my veins. It felt good, doing honest labor, being free, not having a warden breathing down my neck or other inmates plotting my demise.

An exhausted Ten plopped onto a stool, setting down a tray full of empty glasses and bottles. His eye was already turning red where I’d jacked him, and I was even more chagrined to discover I’d hit him on the scarred side of his face.

He rubbed his jaw as I cleared his tray for him, tossing empty bottles in the trash and stacking the used mugs in the tray to be washed.

“Shit, man,” he said. “You really do have one hell of a hit. None of these other douchebags ever left my bell ringing quite this long after they hit me.”

“And trust me, we’ve tried,” Noel told me as he paused to add more used glasses to the tray.

“You had the most Nancy swing of all, Gamble,” Ten called after him as Noel moved back to his side of the bar.

Grinning, he turned back to me. I felt the need to apologize again, even though I’d already said sorry in Pick’s office. But I held my tongue.

He didn’t seem to mind my silence. “Seriously,” he said. “Did you box or something in prison, because shit... I’m impressed.”

“Something like that,” I said, figuring all that fighting to stay alive might as well be equated with boxing.

“Well, you should take it to a ring. I’d definitely put money on you.”

After he wandered away, I considered what he’d said. At first, I was deliciously tempted. It’d felt good to swing and hit things. But then I shuddered, thinking that feeding my aggression had to be bad. Not that it mattered. I was already fucked in that regard, damaged beyond repair. Maybe I could use my ability to hit—since it seemed to be my only talent—to make money. I knew I couldn’t stay here long.

Felicity was going to find out I was around. I had no idea how she’d react, but I was pretty sure she’d eventually want a face-to-face. I dreaded it as much as I relished the idea of getting to see her again. As long as I was gone before she tried for some contact, though, I’d never have to worry about it.

A pair of tipsy girls slid up to the bar and ordered some piña coladas. I spilled some ice when pouring it into the mixer, so after they left, I knelt down to gather the stray cubes.

I wasn’t down there five seconds, before I was interrupted.

“Hey, Noel,” a voice called cheerfully from above me, tapping me on the top of the head. “Can you get me a—”

The woman jerked her greeting short when I looked up, startled by the contact. Piercing blue eyes widened and familiar lips parted in shock.

I froze, unable to breathe, unable to blink, unable to think.

With her perfect face wreathed in ringlets of red hair, Felicity Bainbridge gaped at me before pulling back and shaking her head slightly. “You’re not Noel.”

Unable to look away, I rose on unsteady feet. Air finally seesawed through my lungs as I took her in. She hadn’t changed at all, except to grow a few new curves. Otherwise, my sweet, flawless City was standing in front of me, a mere counter separating us.

My tongue decided to go on vacation.

Wrinkling her nose, she demanded, “Who’re you?”

Her gaze had long since left my face and was scrolling down my body.

Heat, and longing, and crushing disappointment rippled through me. I knew I looked different, but realizing the one person I’d shared more intimacies with than anyone else on earth didn’t even recognize me was kind of agonizing.