He’s already bent down to inspect it. I don’t look. Blood makes me queasy.
“It’s not bad,” he says.
I grimace, keeping my gaze on his truck ahead. “I think you and I have different definitions ofnot bad.”
Sawyer’s smirking when he stands. “I promise you’ll live.”
“That’s not very reassur—oof.”
He’s scooped me up, carrying me back toward the water.
“I can walk,” I add awkwardly.
My cheeks are hot, and I hope he can’t tell I’m blushing. I feel … unsteady, in a way that has nothing to do with my injured foot.
He doesn’t reply. Or set me down. Not until we reach the shoreline.
“Stick your foot in the water,” he tells me. “The salt will sanitize it.”
“What advanced medical training you have,” I tease, but I do as he said, suppressing a wince as the cool water stings the cut.
As soon as Sawyer is satisfied by the submersion, he picks me up again.
This time, I don’t protest. I tuck my head under his chin, enjoying the feel of his arms around me and the steady rocking of his steps. It’s like riding bareback, except better.
When we reach his truck, Sawyer sets me on the open tailgate. “I’ve got a first aid kit in the cab,” he tells me, walking off.
I stay in place, tilting my head back to stare up at the stars overhead. For everything Manhattan has to offer, this is one view it lacks. The city lights are too bright for any astronomy.
Crunching gravel announces Sawyer’s return.
I risk a quick peek at my foot. He was right; it’s not bad. Blood has welled again, but it’s more of a scrape than a cut. Probably from a rock.
“You’re prepared,” I comment, as he opens a white square box with a red cross printed on the top.
“Yeah, I—” He suddenly stops talking.
I lean back on one palm, watching him spray some antiseptic on the wound, then cover it with two overlapping Band-Aids.
“Thanks,” I say softly.
“No problem,” he answers.
I lean forward. My wet bra and panties weren’t hiding a whole lot anyway, but it’s an invitation to look. I want him to look.
“Any suggestions for how else I could thank you?” I nudge his thigh with my knee.
He steps away, not meeting my gaze as he shuts the box. “We should go. I’ve gotta work in the morning.”
I sigh. “I didn’t think you were supposed to say anything, okay?”
He glances at me, expression unreadable. But he’s listening.
I swing my feet forward and back, not looking at him, but not,notlooking at him either. “All my friends … I thought it was some unwritten rule unless you’d been dating the guy since, like, elementary school. No guy really wants to know, even if he asks. And you didn’t ask, so …” I shrug a shoulder, swallowing rapidly. “It was my decision, how I lost my virginity. Not really any of your business.”
Sawyer still looks serious. But the left corner of his mouth has crept up, just a little. “None of my business?”
“I didn’t think it … mattered. Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
