“Hey, boss. How’s it going?”

I glance up from the cash register to nod at Trevor. “It’s going.” I act like the sight of him doesn’t excite me, but it’s not easy to do. I spent yesterday working, practicing, and going to Sunday dinner at my parents’ house. I tried to keep my mind from wandering to thoughts of him, but it was difficult.

His eyes scan the seating area. “It’s really busy in here. Tell me what you need and I’ll help.”

“Grab a pad and pen and take the orders of the last two tables in the back by the windows.”

“Gotcha.” He does as I instructed. I finish counting up change for a customer and then look over to see how Trevor’s doing. He’s capably jotting down orders on the pad, hopefully legibly. The older couple occupying the table are all smiles so he must be doing fine. Thank God. I don’t have time for hand holding right now.

Spinning around, I grab two meals that came up and deliver them to their table. I get lost in the hustle and bustle of the dinner rush, taking orders and delivering food on repeat. I forget about Trevor... I pretend to forget about Trevor. But somehow he seems to be keeping track of which tables I’ve already taken care of even though I didn’t specify which tables were his and mine. I figured since he’s jumping in head first without any real training I’d let him do as much or as little as he’s comfortable with. But he’s actually rather impressive for someone who’s never worked in a restaurant before. He’s either very observant in general, or he is where I’m concerned because he seems to know where I am at all times. Every time I glance up he smiles or winks at me. It’s disconcerting and pleasing at the same time. But that’s Trevor and I. We’re the very definition of a dichotomy. So why is that starting to bother me less with each passing day?

Heading back to the kitchen to see how my dad is faring, I find him singing an Elvis song as he sautes peppers and onions for an omelette.

“How’s it going?”

He peers over his shoulder with a smile just for me. “It’s great, honey. What could be wrong? I’m listening to Elvis, my daughter’s here, and we have a full house. Life is good.” This is the perfect example of how my dad has made it in this industry for as long as he has. Ever optimistic and focused on moving forward, I wish I could be more like him. I tend to wait for the bomb to drop when I least expect it. I’m not sure what’s made me this way. There have been some lean times growing up, but it’s not like I had to do without necessities.

“I’m going to get back to work. I just wanted to make sure you were all set.”

“Yes, you keep putting those orders in and I’ll get them taken care of.”

“Give me a yell if you want a break.” I press a kiss to his grizzled cheek. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you more, my little fireball.” I smile at the nickname he’s called me for as long as I can remember and then retrace my steps to the front. My eyes seek out Trevor’s large frame and I find him talking to a table of attractive college age girls. One of them has a t-shirt that says Tufts University on the front. Great. Smart and hot. There’s a lot of giggling and eyelash batting going on. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Lord, just trip me and knock me on my ass if I’m ever that obvious.

Grabbing my pad and pen from my apron pocket, I walk toward the table of new customers and take their order. The whole time I’m writing down what they want and interacting with them, I’m completely aware of Trevor’s every move. My teeth clench when he tucks his pad of paper and pen into the back pocket of his jeans and leans his palms on the edge of their table. Does he want to fucking sit down with them? Share a meal? Go home with one of them? Or maybe all of them? He is Trevor fucking Lincoln. The apple probably didn’t fall far from the tree.

Stomping over to the kitchen window, I clip the next order up for dad and when I turn around Trevor is there.

“Easy, Red.” His hand lands on my arm to steady me. I shrug free of his hold.

“I’ll take that.” I snatch the order sheet out of his hand. “I’m going to have you go wash dishes now. They’re starting to pile up back there.” I tip my head toward the kitchen.

“Okay.” His eyes narrow as he studies me. What’s he searching for? Can he tell I’m mad he was flirting? And why do I care so much?

God, I hate the unsettled state of my stomach, like my insides are performing dangerous stunts in the X Games.

Why does he make me feel this way? And why do I let him? Why can’t I stop it once and for all? Caring about someone is hard enough, but when that someone is a wildcard like Trevor, the odds are working against me for sure. Fate is setting me up for a broken heart and I’m not going to fall for it. I can’t allow it. I won’t allow it.

“What’s wrong?” He looks concerned.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Everything’s great. What could be wrong?” Shut up, Grace. For God sakes stop talking. I somehow manage a tight lipped smile before walking away.

The rest of the shift passes without incident. Everytime I check on Trevor he’s busy washing dishes or helping my father with something.

Maybe I should keep him back there all the time. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with him at all. I can breathe deeper without him watching me, but at the same time I like having him nearby. He’s entertaining to observe. I enjoy the way his blue eyes light up when he laughs, and his crooked smile is enough to make my knees weak, especially when it’s directed at me.

“Grace?” Dad interrupts my contemplation. “I didn’t mean to startle you. What’s got you thinking such deep thoughts? Or should I say who?” His eyes twinkle with mirth.

“What are you talking about?” God, please don’t let him know I’m attracted to the hulking giant in the back.

“Is there a special boy in your life that your mother and I don’t know about?”

Yes, your new dishwasher. “No,” I yell.

“Are you sure? You’re a beautiful little fireball. I’m sure plenty of boys at school have noticed.”

“Dad, ew. I don’t want to discuss this with you.”

“Maybe you should talk to your mom about it.”

“I don’t want to speak to her about this either. There is no guy or guys. I’m focused on football and schoolwork. Aside from that I’m here. When do I have time for a boyfriend, even if I wanted one?” I hold up my hand to stop him from speaking and shake my index finger from side to side. “Which I don’t. I do not want to be involved with anyone.”

“Okay. If you say so.” He shrugs and his tone tells me he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said. He’s so frustratingly on point I want to stomp my foot with frustration. Why does my dad have to know me so well? Can’t I have any secrets?

He pats me on the head like I’m still five years old. “I’m hitting the road. I told your mom I’d bring her a reuben and fries.” He holds up a white takeout container. “I made some for you and Trevor. Why don’t you take a break before you close up? Go enjoy your sandwich and keep him company.”

“Dad.” I glare at him pointedly. “Don’t play matchmaker. This isn’t Fiddler on the Roof. This is my life.”

He chuckles and then hums the song Matchmaker, Matchmaker all the way out the door. Resting my hands on my hips, my head drops back to rest on my shoulders and I groan. My father spends a few hours with Trevor and suddenly he’s pushing me toward him. What the fuck happened? My father never acts like this about guys. This behavior is totally uncharacteristic for him. What did Trevor say?

Scurrying down the hallway, I barrel through the swinging door like a battering ram. “What the fuck did you say to my father?”

Trevor pulls out an earbud from his ear. “Huh? You talking to me?” He yanks out the second one and tucks them into the front pocket on his jeans.

I swing my head from side to side. “Who else is here for me to be talking to?”

“What did you want?” He wipes his hands on a dish towel and moves toward me.

“What did you say to my father?” I bark.

“In regards to what? You’re going to have to be a little more specific, Red. We talked about a lot of things.”

“Did you tell him that I liked you?”

“No, I said I was pretty sure you loved me, but you were too stubborn to admit it.” He grins, closing the distance between us until we’re toe to toe.

I poke his chest. “Don’t toy with me and my family. It’s not some game you can play without anyone getting hurt.” His expression grows serious.

“How am I fucking with them? Because I told your father that I’m nuts about you even though you’d rather be miserable than admit you feel anything for me?” He grips my upper arms. “Why is it so difficult for you to admit you feel this connection too? Why do you ignore it when we could see where this can go? Does it scare you so much?”

“Yes,” I whisper. His grip tightens on my arms.

“Why?” His question is a deep grumble uttered between clenched teeth. I stare up at him with wide eyes and a lump in my throat the size of a golf ball. “Why?” he repeats.

“I don’t want to care about you,” I yell. He pulls me closer until our chests bump and my nipples press against his rock-hard muscles.

“I don’t want to care about you either,” he growls, slamming his mouth down on mine. He swallows my gasp and captures my tongue, stealing all rational thought from me. His hands slacken, letting go of my arms to slide around my back, plastering my frame to him. All that matters is this moment. Not who he is. Not who I am. Nothing exists but the sensation of his hard body wrapped around me and his mouth devouring mine. This is perfection. I never want this kiss to end.

Slowly sliding my palms up over his stomach I can feel each ripple of his muscles and how they contract from my touch. He growls, and the deep sound sends flutters of energy through every inch of me before it settles between my thighs.

His lips skim across my cheek to nibble on the bottom of my ear and then trail under my jaw. He presses biting kisses down my neck and along the curve of my shoulder. “God, you’re so fucking sexy. I’ve never wanted someone so badly.”

His words remind me I’m just one of the many he’s had and break the heady spell consuming me. My hands move between us, urgently pressing on his chest. “Stop.”

Trevor releases me instantly. “What’s wrong?” He looks concerned.

“What are we doing?” Panic invades every inch of me. Why did I let this happen? Kissing him is not the way to keep him out. “This never should have happened. It’s a huge mistake.”

“The fuck it is. That didn’t feel like a mistake to me.”

“It doesn’t matter what it felt like. We need to forget it ever happened.” I step backward twice and rub my damp palms on the thighs of my jeans. “What’s left to do back here before we lock up?”

“So, that’s how you want to play this?”

“Trevor it’s not a game. We’re not playing at anything. This is real life and real emotions.” I wish I could say the words I want to. I’m starting to feel too much for you. I’m sorry. I can’t let this happen. But it’s better if he thinks I’m a shrew who can’t make up her mind about what she wants.

“You think I don’t know that? I’m the one who’s been kicked over and over by you and I just keep taking it like some dumbass who never learns. If you want to pretend it never happened then we can do that.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m done with trying to convince you we’d be great together. I’ll mop the floors and then we can go.”