Trust Me (Steve Rogers Fanfiction)

Chapter 2

"America! What happened to your arm?" Jenna asks, running up to me with concern on her face. I glance at the bandage wrapped around my shoulder, then at Marge, who seems bent on ignoring us. Good.

"I was closing up yesterday and a bullet went through the window," I lie, grabbing an apron. New York Donuts has two locations, so we got transferred to the other shop after one day off. One day to try to get our lives and the city back together. Fun.

"That's awful," she says sympathetically. "Hey, look, they're about to announce going to happen!" She says, pointing to the TV on the wall in excitement. We crowd around, waiting for the Avengers press conference. Iron Man steps up to a podium, wearing a super fancy suit, gray sunglasses, and a smug smile.

"Okay, people," he says, holding up his hands. "The whole New York incident is being taken care of. Don't worry. We've got the weapons, we've got Loki, we've got this." That's all he says. Then he leaves, reporters trailing after him. A mic-drop kind of moment.

"Quite a poet, isn't he?" I joke. "Very professional."

"I think he's hot." I slap her arm with my good one.

"Jenna!"

"I'm being honest!" She defends herself. "What I wouldn't do for five minutes with him..."

"He's a playboy," I say, rolling my eyes. Anyone with a shred of sense knows that.

"So?"

"What do you mean, so?" I throw my hands up. "You would want to be with someone like that? Someone who didn't know you from the last girl?"

"At the very least, it would be exciting," Jena remarks, tying her apron around her waist.

"I've had enough of exciting," I mutter. "My last boyfriend... he loved exciting."

"Yeah, he was a scumbag. Move on, go out with someone new! You don't ever do anything!"

"I do enough," I say. She's right. I don't hang out with anyone. I haven't been on a date in months. I live alone. But I have to be alone. I can't risk getting close to anyone. When I do, someone gets hurt, and it's usually me.

"But you're so lonely-"

"I'm fine!" I snap harshly. "Don't talk about things you don't understand." Her face falls, and I instantly feel bad. "Jenna, wait!"

"No, apparently I don't understand enough to talk to you." She leaves to wait on tables without another word.

"I'm sorry," I mumble to no one in particular, ducking my head. This is what I get for becoming friends with someone.

"Evans!" Marge screams. "Table four needs their food!"

"Yeah, I'm coming," I say, retrieving the tray.

Over the next few hours, I think a lot. About everything. Maybe I should leave. It would be safer, definitely. I could go somewhere rural, but it's easier to hide in plain sight in New York City. If I left, I could quit this crummy job. I've always wanted to live in London. I'd have to dust off my fake passport, maybe update it, but it would work.

"Evans! Stop standing there looking like an idiot, table six needs a waitress!"

"Right," I say, straightening my apron and heading over. My jaw drops when I see who it is.

The Avengers.

I'm mostly concerned about Captain America, who's attention is mainly on the menu. They're all arguing in hushed tones, particularly Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. Maybe they all came here straighten from the press conference.