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From the other side of the restaurant, Alec works on his final slice of pizza, stopping every so often to watch whatever is on the television in the corner. Before, it was the nightly news. Then, I changed it to a rundown on the stock market’s performance. After that, a documentary on cheese making. I purposely tried to find the most mind-numbingly boring channels possible. Now it’s an infomercial for something called the Pure Wick—a female urine collection system, which he’s oddly engrossed in at the moment.
In an effort to speed him up a bit, I grab the remote and turn the television off.
“Someone needs to put the poor guy out of his misery.” Markie slings a bar towel over her shoulder. “Should I tell him or do you want to?”
“It looks like he’s almost done.”
After a few more minutes of watching him savor every bite as if he’s some restaurant critic, I approach him. “Hi.”
I don’t smile. I don’t pretend to be happy to see him. If he hasn’t gotten the hint by now, that’s on him.
“Hi.” Alec peers up, as if surprised to see me. “You’re not my waitress.”
“Unfortunately you took too long and your waitress died.”
He snickers. “My condolences. Where should send the flowers?”
He can be charming when he wants to be, but I’m not falling for it again.
Pulling the wireless credit card scanner from my apron, I say, “I’ll be your cashier when you’re ready.” And then I hold my palm out flat, waiting for him to hand me his card.
Alec puts his nibbled-to-death pizza crust down and shakes his head. “This isn’t exactly the hospitality I was expecting from such a legendary establishment, but okay.”
He wipes his mouth on a napkin before reaching for his wallet and handing me a metallic gold debit card.
“I’ll leave,” he says, “But only after you answer one question.”
I swipe his card and type in the total before turning the machine towards him to complete the transaction.
“Why didn’t I hear from you?” he asks before punching in a tip amount and entering his pin.
I tilt my head. “Hear from me? What did you want me to do, scream through the wall?”
He sets the napkin down. “No, trust me, I get enough of that from that roommate of yours.”
He hands the machine back, and I print two receipts—one for him and one for the store. I almost choke on my spit when I see he’s left me a $100 tip. I don’t know whether to be flattered by his generosity or offended that he thinks I can be persuaded with money. Not to mention, Markie was his server, not me. The tip is all hers.
“I messaged you,” he says. “You never responded.”
“I deleted the app.”
“Why would you do that?” His brows knit and the tone of his voice suggests it’s a move he’s taking personally.
Typical Alec—still believing the world revolves around him.
“It’s complicated,” I say, even though it isn’t. He was my sworn enemy-slash-secret teenage crush, and I hate-fucked him purely to prove to myself that I could get him out of my system once and for all. At least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. The end.
“Oh, yeah? How so?” Leaning back, he rests his arm comfortably across the table, his attention focused on me like he’s not going to let this go.
It’s ironic. For being such a woman magnet, you’d think he’d know that It’s complicated is universal female-speak for I don’t want to talk about this with you.
I exhale, handing him his receipt.
But for some crazy reason, Alec mistakes my sigh as a sign that I want to pour out my heart to him because he pushes the chair next to him out with his foot and motions for me to sit.
“Tell me about it,” he says.
What does he think we are, friends? We will never be that. Can never. My brothers were his friends. That’s as close as we will ever be—save for when he was inside me.
But barring that …
I shake my head. “I have to take out the trash.”
“You’d rather take out the trash than sit next to me?” He winces. “Or are you referring to me as the trash?”
“For a learn-ed doctor, you ask some pretty dumb questions.”
Alec grins. “I was teasing.”
“Jokes are supposed to be funny.”
“Ouch.”
I’ve just worked an entire shift, nearly half of it with him sitting in the dining room, watching me. I’m all out of witty comebacks.
“Look,” I say, “I just want to lock up and go home.”
As I finish speaking, the OPEN neon sign buzzing in the window over his head goes off, and Markie starts rattling the keys from behind the counter. She’s making a show of the closing process for my benefit, and I love her for that.
“Okay, fine. I can take a hint.” He returns his card to his wallet and slides out of the booth. When he stands, he towers over me, his chin just above the top of my head. The soft woodsy scent of his body wash fills my lungs and for a flicker of a millisecond, I’m taken back to that night.
