Page 37 of Wrecked

Liam leads me to a first aid room, flips on the light, and gestures for me to sit on a padded exam table. He digs around in the drawers for supplies—antiseptic ointment, gauze bandages, and medical tape.

After he washes the blood off my hands, he applies an antiseptic ointment and bandages my knuckles. “Leave the bandages on for at least twenty-four hours, okay?”

“Thanks.”

He nods. “No problem. Hey, some of the guys are going out to Tanks tomorrow evening. Would you like to join us? It’ll be me, Miguel, Jason, and Mack.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“How about eight?”

“Sounds good.”

After making plans for tomorrow evening—anything to keep me from staying home and feeling sorry for myself—I head back up to my apartment.

It’s almost one in the morning now, and I’m officially exhausted. I take the bandage off my hand—sorry, Liam—because I desperately need a shower. I still have Cooper’s scent on me, lube, and dried jizz on my belly.

Liam didn’t seem to bat an eye when I let it be known I’d been with a man tonight. Did he assume I was gay? Then I notice the T-shirt I’m wearing. Well, I certainly don’t hide it.There’s no way he could have known I was with Cooper.

Cooper.

How does the saying go?Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me?

Cooper used me like a Grindr hook-up, and I let him. I have no one to blame but myself.

It takes me a really long time to fall asleep.

* * *

I sleep in late Saturday morning. After some coffee, I hit the gym again, although this time in a more orderly fashion. I do some arm and shoulder reps in the weight room, followed by a four-mile run. Then it’s back to my apartment for a shower and some breakfast.

As I pop a frozen breakfast sandwich into the microwave, I remember Cooper turning his nose up at my food choices.

Well, that’s just too damn bad. We aren’t all Martha Stewart.

I keep checking my phone for a missed text or call, but there’s nothing. I don’t know what I’m expecting. It’s not like Cooper’s going to text me to ask what I’m doing today. He made it pretty clear last night that he got what he wanted from me, and now he’s done.

The only problem is, I’m not done with him. He’s a fixture in my head. I can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t stop replaying every second of our night together, like a loop on repeat. As bad as it turned out, the sex was incredible.

God, I feel like a teenager all over again, mooning over a guy who doesn’t want me. My life story.

I laze around the apartment all day, taking time to call my mom and check in with her. I watch some TV and half aStar Trekmovie.

At six, my phone chimes, and my heart leaps into my throat. But when I check the screen, I see a message from Liam McIntyre.

Liam: We still on for tonight? 8 pm?

Me: Yeah. Sounds great.

Liam: Cool. We’ll swing by your apt at a quarter til.

Me: I’ll be here.

In the early evening, I order a pizza and finish theStar Trekmovie.

We’re just going to a bar, so I dress casually in blue jeans, a dark brown Henley shirt, and sneakers. My hair is up in a neat bun.

Right on time, my doorbell rings. For a minute, I think it might be Cooper at my door, maybe coming by just to say hi or something. But of course it isn’t. It’s Liam and the guys.