Forget what I’d thought about waiting tables being a breeze.

By the time I get done with Genevieve’s lunch shift, I want to fucking put a bullet in my brain.

A few people recognize me and want to pose for selfies with me or get my autograph. But that’s far outweighed by the number of people who just want me to get their lunch orders right, or deliver their drinks before I bring their fucking food. I have to figure out change for a twenty in my head, and bring towers of Blastin’ Onion Rings to people while resisting the urge to eat them.

Which, fuck it, I’m not Houdini.

Also, apparently, I’m not Genevieve.

For the past week, I’ve been doing everything possible to make up for the lie. Everything. The surgery is coming up in a week, and she still has no idea I’m going back. So I sent her stuff in to the Brady Times, volunteered to work this shift for her. It doesn’t stop me from feeling anymore like shit. She keeps thinking I’m fixing up the auto shop to stay there. That that will be my life. But it can’t be. The only reason I’m here, now, is for her.

For the golden pussy.

I’m a fucking asshole. But I knew that already.

I spend most of the time limping from table to table, fielding angry glares from people whose orders I screwed up. People complain, and of course, any time they do, I know it’s because of me. How is it possible that I can do everything right on the football field but can’t do a single thing right in this shithole restaurant?

When three o’ clock rolls around, I want to get down on my knees and praise God. I rip off my apron as Genevieve comes inside, looking like an oasis I want to drink from. “Hey,” I say to her, trying to stuff all the guilt I’m feeling away. “How goes it?”

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a folded stack of papers. “I think I’m done.”

I throw my apron down. Fuck, yes. This is a cause for celebration. And I know just how to celebrate. When I haven’t been feeling like a dirty asshole, the only other thing that’s consumed my mind is the thought of being inside her. Billy scoops the apron off the bar and says, “Boy, if you ever want to work for me again, let me know in advance. Because I’ll go out back and kill myself first.”

I grin at him and salute. “Yes, sir.”

Abby crosses her arms as I take Genevieve’s hand, ready to lead her outside. “So wait. Are you guys together then?”

Genevieve looks at me, then smiles, and nods. “Yeah.”

Inside, I feel like shit. It’s a big step for her to admit that, after what I did to her in high school, making her into the butt of a joke. When I leave, it’ll be the same thing, again. I wince, but manage a smile.

Abby smiles. “Cool. So you’re not going back to Pittsburgh?”

I shake my head and look away.

She points at my cast. “What about that?”

“I have an appointment with a local orthopedic surgeon tomorrow. But it’s because I can get the cast-off.”

Now it’s Genevieve’s turn to look at me. When we step outside, she punches me in the arm. “Why didn’t you tell me about your appointment? I could go with you.”

I shrug.

“I can tell you feel bad about your ankle, Silas. But you don’t have to be embarrassed by it.”

I suck in a breath. “I’m not. I hate disappointing fans,” I say, shaking my head. “When I told Billy, he was so upset I think he really could’ve gone out in back and shot himself.”

“Well, you have a reason. The surgery is too risky. Did you tell him that?”

I shake my head. “Nah. No point.” Change the subject. “Let me read this awesome article of yours.”

We wander out back, hand in hand, to the old picnic tables, surrounded by woods. As we walk, I reach over and grab the paper from her hands.

“So this is it?”

The picnic table was once painted red, but now it’s almost completely chipped away, and nothing but splinters. She sits down carefully and nods, lounging back, elbows on the table. “I’m not sure if it’s good, though.”

I scan the first paragraph, which is about a trip to the Bend Market with her mom when she was a kid. Goddamn, this girl can write circles around anyone. I stand up on the bench, then take another step so I’m standing on the top of the table, looking down over her. “It’s good.”

“You think you could see it in the Brady Times, though?”

I crouch down so that I’m hovering just above her face. “Yeah. Don’t change a word. Send it.”

She looks up at me and smiles. “You didn’t even read the whole thing.”

“Don’t have to. You’re amazing.” Gazing at her, I tuck a stray hair behind her ear and kiss her. “And fucking hot as hell. I could do you right here.”

She looks around, embarrassed. “Keep it in your pants, please.”

It wasn’t the answer I was hoping for. There’s nothing telling me to slow down. When it comes to her, it’s all systems go. I want to dive right into this, all barrels blasting. And she wants to take her time. After four years of making me wait. I suck in a breath, trying to be thankful for the progress I’ve made so far. Even if it is all a fucking lie, I’m going to get my fill of Genevieve before I leave here next week.

“All right,” I say.

“You’ll let me come with you to the doctor tomorrow?”

Fuck it. I can’t say nowhere she’s concerned. I’ll make up an excuse to keep her in the waiting room. “Okay.”

She reaches up and taps my boot. “So you’re getting this off?”

“You’ll be able to undress me a lot faster now.” I wink at her. “I know that’s your prime concern.”

“Oh sure it is,” she says.

I hand her the paper, then do a flip off the back of the table, nailing the landing on my good foot, in the grass. I bow for applause as she raises an eyebrow at me. Of course, Genevieve is never impressed, and doesn’t offer me any applause. She just shakes her head at me.

“You’d better watch out before you break the other foot,” she says.