Over the rest of the week, without the boot to slow my progress, I start to feel even more shitty about what I’m doing to Genevieve. Even going as slow as I can, the garage ends up in pretty good working order by the time Thursday rolls around. Ready for customers. Ready for my new life . . . as my dad.

The one that’s a crock of shit.

My surgery’s in another week. I’d gotten what I wanted. If I wanted to be a total asshole, I could just leave, in the middle of the night, without saying a word. She’d find out in the papers, later.

But no, I can’t do that. She’s Genevieve. She’s not some girl I picked up on the side of the road. I can’t do that to her.

Even if I was such an asshole as to take her virginity, under false pretenses.

“So,” I say to Genevieve over a dinner of Chinese food from Peking Duck. “When is your column coming out?”

She swallows. “Tomorrow morning. I’m so nervous, I might throw up every time I think about it. What if no one likes it?”

“Fuck that. They’ll love it. You and your big brain.”

She flushes. “I hope. What about the shop? Have you thought about how you’ll get customers?”

I stare at her, chewing slowly. She’s been talking about the shop non-stop, like she has everything invested in it. “Don’t know. Thought I’d just put an OPEN sign in the window.”

Of course, that’s not good enough for Genevieve. She shakes her head at me like I’m a dummy.

“Does your father have a list of previous customers?” she asks me. She’s looking so damn cute, wearing the new Pittsburgh Steelers baseball shirt I got her, big fluffy socks that go up to her knees, and nothing else. I’d purposely bought the shirt smaller than all the huge clothes she wears, just so I could see the outline of her tits through it. Glasses perched on the edge of her nose, she pokes through a carton of General Tsao’s with her chopsticks, taking out a piece of chicken.

“Yeah. But my dad wasn’t into computers, so right now, they’re all in a filing cabinet in the office.” At least, I think.

She wrinkles her nose. “Really? Well, that sucks. But didn’t he ever do mailings? He must have a physical list somewhere?”

“Yeah. It’s a handwritten book, somewhere,” I tell her, pouring soy sauce into the carton of Lo Mein.

“Wow. Well, I can type it into the computer in my spare time,” she says, chewing. “Then we can mail them a postcard. Put an ad in the Brady Times. Set up a Facebook page.”

I swallow. She said we. “Yeah, well . . .”

“It’ll only take a couple weeks. It’s easy.” She takes a sip of her soda and studies me. “You’re nervous about not having customers?”

I shrug. Yeah. That’s it. Sure as fuck, that’s it. “It’s not the money, obviously. I got money. I just want to make this work. For you.”

I swallow. I am such a piece of shit.

But I forget that when she pushes away from the table, stands, and comes over to me. Then she sits on my lap, sliding her arm around my back. My hand automatically finds its way under the tight shirt, to the small of her back, and the crack of her ass, since she’s naked underneath. My cock hardens at once. “It will work,” she says. “We will make it work.”

That we again.

She nods. “You know, Silas. I’ve always been afraid of us. But I don’t think I am afraid anymore. It was like, I was so worried that you were going to lie to me. I wanted to hurt you, before you hurt me. But you haven’t. You had plenty of opportunity. But you’ve never given me a reason not to trust you, Silas.”

I tilt my chin up, and she lowers her mouth onto mine. After I kiss her, I look at her, feeling shittier than ever. It’s the real Genevieve, the one who doesn’t put up her fists, and that wall, to hide herself. It’s a rare sight, but I fucking love it.

Only now, I hate it.

She nods. “What if we move in together? When my lease is up? Doesn’t make sense to have to pay rent, does it? I’m hardly here anymore, anyway.”

I stiffen. She has to feel the way I stiffen.

She does. “Moving too fast?” she says, a little embarrassed. “It’s okay. It was just a suggestion.”

“No,” I say, nodding. Part of me always thought about making a home with Genevieve, of having her to come home to. “It’s a fucking good one. Let’s do it.”

By then, I’ll be back in Pittsburgh.

There’s bile in my throat, but I swallow it down. When we finish our Chinese food and watch an old cheesy romance that Genevieve insists on, because she says it’s her favorite movie. It’s mind-numbingly annoying. But as she curls around me, her heart against mine, I realize that maybe I’m just fucking annoyed with myself.