by Amy Sparling
Now she’s all up on him, leaning close and grabbing his hand and—oh my God. She just licked his finger! She put the whole thing in her mouth and pulled it out slowly like she’s some kind of porn star in a competition called “Who Can Be The Biggest Skank?”
But she’s not in a competition. She’s in a freaking restaurant!
Who does that?
Seriously?
It’s not like we’re in a freaking strip club! This is a restaurant that happens to have a bar. It’s not even a club. It’s a family friendly place. I glance around and see all kinds of kids here with their parents. Miranda is just trashy, and there’s no other explanation. I guess men like trashy.
I stare down at my food, taking a deep breath. My parents are talking about the shop and how it’ll need some renovation work soon, and I nod along, like I’m paying attention. Really, all I can think about is how quickly Aiden moved on from me.
We had an amazing night together and now he’s just with another girl. Like our night never existed. Like all those cuddles and hand holds and flirty texts never happened. How does a guy do that—move from one girl to the next?
A bitter, dark part of my heart laughs. I know how it happens. I know damn well how it happens.
Guys can’t help themselves.
If someone offers them sex, they take it. I guess Jay wasn’t a complete asshole. He gave me some valuable advice.
After a few minutes, I notice them get up and walk toward the door. Aiden seems to be guiding her because she’s so drunk. Ugh. I never pictured Aiden as the type to take advantage of a drunk girl, but I’ve clearly been wrong about guys before. Good thing I didn’t let myself fall for him. Good thing I told him we were just friends.
Good thing.
Otherwise, this pain I’m feeling in my chest might be a broken heart.
Good thing it’s not.
As the weeks go on, I find myself thinking less and less about Aiden Strauss. It helps that I’m busy with so many other things in my life. I work as much as possible—more than I even need to—because I have this need to prove my parents wrong. Then I go to class on Tuesdays and Thursdays and take notes until my hands hurt. Then I go to PT in the evenings. I’m really loving working there, and I’m really getting the hang of working with people in rehabilitation.
I’ve now been trained to use the ultrasound machine which is a wand we rub over a person’s injury to help it heal better. I also work with people who have had ankle fractures and get them walking again. It’s so rewarding to see a patient come in wearing a walking boot and crutches and then, after a couple of weeks, they’re waking without the crutches.
I know without a doubt that I want to do this for the rest of my life. On the days I intern, I stay late talking to Martha about everything her job entails. She tells me that the schooling is hard but that all the stuff you need to know becomes second nature after a while. Plus, there’s yearly conferences you can travel the world to attend and they teach you about new technologies for physical therapy. It’s all so cool and I’m so excited. Unlike many of my friends, I lucked out and found the perfect career for me.
Now if only I could get back on my dirt bike. I still haven’t been to the track. Not in the five weeks since I walked in on Jay cheating on me. My bike is dusty in the back of the shop, which I know is a travesty to the sport. I should be keeping it clean and starting it up regularly to keep the bike maintained instead of letting it sit there and rot, but it is what it is. I just can’t bring myself to ride.
I don’t want to see the track, or hear the roar of bikes, or smell the exhaust. That smell used to be my favorite thing, in a weird way. I also loved the smell of race gas, but now every time a customer orders some, I see if another worker at the shop can handle it because I hate the smell. It reminds me of Jay. And then I’m reminded of how stupid I am. And then I want to throw up.
I don’t even watch professional motocross on TV anymore. Even though Aiden is here in Louisiana and not racing each week with Team Loco, I still can’t watch the races without being reminded of him. The TV is constantly showing the smiling faces of his teammates, and occasionally a reporter will announce that Aiden Strauss is out with an injury but should be back soon.
So now I’m not participating in my favorite sport because of Jay, and I’m not watching my favorite sport because of Aiden. Guys can really ruin everything.
Luckily, I am okay at work. I’m still fine working behind the counter and checking out customers and restocking merchandise. Every time a bike starts up out in the mechanic bay, I don’t flinch or anything. These are the sounds of being at work, and I guess my brain doesn’t associate it with Jay because all of that horrible shit happened at the track, not here.
I miss motocross. I do.
I miss the feel of the wind in my hair. I miss the speed and the rumble of the bike beneath me. I miss how I could pull back on the throttle and soar over a jump and feel, just for a second, that I was weightless. That nothing else mattered except for this.
There hasn’t been a single time in my life where riding a dirt bike didn’t fix all my problems. It’s the world’s best stress reliever.
But here I am, too scared to go back to the track. I’m afraid I’ll cry. I’m afraid I’ll run into my ex. Or my fake ex.
Or the bitch who slept with both of them.
I grit my teeth and try to shove it all out of my mind. It’s Wednesday the twelfth, and it’s my mom’s birthday.
I’m standing in my kitchen with a bunch of cake ingredients covering my kitchen island. I pour the correct measurement of sugar into my bowl and then crack some eggs. Focus, Jenn.
I’m making my mom a cake like I do every year for her birthday. Then we’re celebrating at my parent’s house and all the extended family will come over and Dad will grill burgers and hot dogs and we’ll all have a good time. It’s September, but still warm enough to swim, and all my cousins will play games in the pool while the adults sip on beer and have a good time.
This is a good day. A fun day.
I will not let the thoughts of a guy ruin it for me.
I concentrate back on my cake and pour the batter into the cake pan. I grab myself a glass of wine and plop onto the couch while I wait for the cake to bake. I’ve already planned out how I’m going to decorate it thanks to some Pinterest research, and I know Mom will love it.
I can’t believe that a few weeks ago I had actually considered inviting Aiden to be my date to this thing. Ugh. I should have known that even a fake relationship wouldn’t last this long. Apparently I’m not worth it. Apparently Miranda is better.
I down the wine and have to exert a great deal of willpower to avoid getting up for a refill. I can’t be drunk at my mom’s birthday party. I just can’t. So I have to suck it up and deal with it. I am strong. I am independent.
I’ve got this.
After all, I’ve finally stopped flinching every time the door to the shop opens. I’ve stopped wondering if maybe the customer that’s about to walk in the door is Aiden, because I know it won’t be. I’m finally back to normal—well, mostly.
Maybe I’m finally over him.
Chapter 19
Another disadvantage to living a life of always traveling is that you don’t exactly have a general physician. I used to see Dr. Wolff when I was a kid and lived with my mom in Orlando, but I haven’t been to him in years. I rarely ever get sick, and the one time I had a cold in Colorado I swung by an urgent care center to get some medication. So after the ER doctor had put a cast on my arm and told me I needed to have it checked in six weeks, I just kind of forgot about it.
Which is why Bella and I spend all morning calling around to find a good doctor here in Louisiana. I’m tempted to fly back to Orlando and call up Dr. Wolff, but I don’t want to leave my sister and grandma just yet. We’ve had a good time these last six weeks. When I wasn’t obsessing over a girl that didn’t want me, it was fun being with family. I’ve gotten used to Grandma’s amazing cooking a
nd it’s been fun spending time with my sister now that she’s practically an adult herself. Spending time here has reminded me that my whole family doesn’t suck. Just my mom and older brother.
In a way, I can’t believe the time has flown by so quickly. My first couple of weeks here were beyond amazing, starting with that night in the hot tub with Jenn. And then my heart was ripped out when she ghosted me. I had to learn to move on with my life and stop watching my phone for a call from her. Even now, four weeks later, I have no idea what went wrong. Did I do something? Did she move on? I know it was all fake and I know I fell a little harder than I should have but I wish she would have at least told me why she was done with me.
But I found a way to pick up the pieces of my heart and move on. It was all fake, I tell myself. I say it almost every day. Then, when I’m not lying to myself about how I’m over her, I start blaming myself. Because I could have called or texted her too. I could have put myself out there. But I can’t stop thinking that maybe I obligated her into fake dating me. I was a little pushy in that hot tub. I did try my hardest to win her over. I barely even knew her but I knew I wanted to be around her. I needed more of her and maybe I pushed her into something she didn’t want.
So I did the right thing for once. I stayed away. I haven’t called her. Haven’t texted. And she’s avoided me, too. I guess this is how it is now.
My cast comes off today and I’ll go back to Team Loco soon and this whole thing with Jenn will be just a memory. A sad, beautiful, too short memory.
“You excited?” Bella says, her hands gripping the steering wheel of her car that still smells like Jenn.
“Hell yeah,” I say, pumping my casted arm in the air. “I’m so ready to get rid of this thing.”
“I think it smells,” she says, curling her lip.
She’s right. It smells. Like a locker room that needs to be sanitized. I probably shouldn’t have worked out so hard these past few weeks, but I had to stay in shape. No matter what, I’m going to sweat a bit and that sweat doesn’t come out of a cast.
“I’ll keep it and hide it under your bed so you can smell me forever,” I tease.
Bella laughs. “Not happening. I’m going to ask the doctor to burn it.”
We found an orthopedic doctor a couple of towns away and it takes about an hour to get to my appointment. My sister fills out my paperwork for me since it’s difficult to write with my cast, and then we’re finally taken back into the exam room.
“How are you feeling?” the doctor asks me when he enters the room. He’s youngish, probably mid-forties.
“I’m ready to get back to work,” I say.
He grins and pulls up the rolling chair to sit on it. “I understand. Casts are no fun. I hear you’re an athlete?”
I nod, watching as a nurse comes into the room with a tray and the cast saw.
Bella sits straighter as the doctor turns on the saw. “Are you scared?” she asks me.
I shake my head.
The doctor chuckles. “No worries,” he tells her. “There’s not a blade on here.” He taps the saw end to this bare forearm and nothing happens. “This piece here vibrates very quickly and that’s what cuts through the cast. You might feel a little warmth, but it won’t hurt.”
I hold out my arm. “Let’s get this over with.”
The saw seems to take forever since I’m so anxious to have my arm free, but eventually the doctor cuts through both sides of my cast. He pops off the top and a rush of cool air hits my skin.
My arm is paler than the rest of me, and my arm hair is all flattened.
“How’s that feel?” the doctor asks.
I hold up my arm and slowly flex my wrist. “Feels stiff, but good.”
The doctor examines me and my x-rays, comparing both of my arms together. My right forearm is much smaller than the left one. Looks like I lost quite a bit of muscle.
“I’m going to prescribe two weeks of physical therapy,” the doctor says after my exam. Then you’ll need to see a sports doctor to determine when you can ride again. You have one of those, right?”
I nod. “There’s a doctor that travels with my motocross team. He’s the one in charge, I think.”
“Great,” he says, marking something in my file. “I’ll get you that PT paperwork and you can be on your way.”
“Do you know about how long it’ll be before I can ride again?” I ask, desperation in my voice.
He gives me a pitying frown. “I’m afraid not. Might be a couple weeks, might be a month or two. Just take it easy for now so your bones don’t get too stressed.”
I nod, annoyed by his answer even though I figured he wouldn’t have good news. I’m ready to get on the bike now. I miss it so much it hurts.
My phone rings as Bella and I are leaving the doctor’s office. It’s a Facetime call from Jett.
“What’s up?” I say, holding the phone out in front of my face.
“Let’s see it,” Jett says. “Show me that naked arm.”
I laugh and hold up my right arm. He lets out a low whistle. “Damn, that’s a nice sight,” he says jokingly. The picture blurs as he turns the phone around to where Clay and Zach are sitting in our team’s motorhome. “Look at that, boys.”
“Nice,” the guys say.
Jett’s face appears on the screen again. “So when are you cleared to ride?”
I shrug, walking slower than usual so I don’t trip over something on the walk to Bella’s car. The last thing I need is to break another bone. “I have two weeks of PT and then we’ll see.”
“That’ll go by quick,” Jett says.
“Says the guy who isn’t banned from riding,” I retort. “It’s going to take forever.”
“Tell him the good news,” Zach calls out in the background.
Jett grins at me. “We’ve got this weekend off. We’re coming to see you.”
“No shit?” I say. Beside me, Bella looks over, eyes wide. I know she’s got a huge crush on all the guys of Team Loco. “Here in Louisiana?”
“Yep,” Jett says. “Clay just booked us a hotel. It’s like half an hour from where you are because that tiny ass town doesn’t have any hotels.”
There’s some noise on Jett’s end and he turns the phone until I can see all three of the guys. “We’re bringing a big rig,” Jett says, which means a motorhome. “We’re gonna hit up that local track near you, soak up the fame.”
I snort. “So this is a paparazzi opportunity not a visit to see your injured friend? Dickheads.”
They laugh. “We wanna see you too, baby,” Zach says, blowing a kiss to the camera.
“But mostly we want to ride a local track without the pressure of a nationals race,” Clay adds.
“Y’all are a bunch of assholes,” I say playfully. I know they’re joking around. I get off the phone and feel a thousand times better. My arm is free, my friends are coming to visit, and soon I’ll be back to my normal life. Maybe I’ll even forget about Jenn and finally find a way to move on from the constant dreams of what we could have had together.
Or not. Monday afternoon I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of my sister’s car, my heart thumping nervously in my chest as I stare up at the LaValle Fitness and Physical Therapy Center. I tried very hard to find a PT place that wouldn’t remind me of Jenn, but this is the only one within driving distance. Damn small towns. Damn my stupid luck.
I know Jenn is just an intern and she only works here a couple days a week, so she’s probably not even here. I scoured the parking lot and didn’t see her truck, so that’s a good sign. I’ll just have to find a way to schedule all my appointments on days when she’s not here. It shouldn’t be too hard. I’m only supposed to have therapy three days a week, and they’re open on Saturdays which is good because I know she works at the bike shop on Saturdays. I can do this. I can avoid her—at least physically.
But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to avoid the thoughts of her. She was my dream girl. She was beautiful and smart and stunning i
n every way. She had the softest skin and the sweetest smelling hair. Her lips were perfectly matched to mine. Our bodies were perfectly matched. There’s no way I’ll ever find someone who can compare to Jenn Doherty. There’s just no way.
I stiffen and let out a sigh. I can’t think like that. I can’t feel the tingle in my toes when I remember how she smiled. I sure as hell can’t think about her body moving in tune with mine while we reached levels of ecstasy that I hadn’t thought possible. It was just one night with her, and yet it replays in my mind every night before I go to sleep.
And every time I’m in the shower.
And well, all the time.
I’m thinking of her beautiful body right now, even though I shouldn’t. She doesn’t belong to me. She never did. I hope she’s moved on from that shitty ex-boyfriend of hers. I hope she’s happy.
But most of all, I’m glad she’s not here.
I walk inside and smile at the guy behind the front counter who is used to seeing me in here to work out. This time I avoid the gym section and head toward the right. I’m trying to figure out a way to coordinate my PT schedule without making myself sound like a weirdo. I can’t exactly say, “Please schedule me every day that Jenn isn’t here.”
An older woman with cropped graying hair and purple scrubs welcomes me. She introduces herself as Martha and then goes over my paperwork with me. Standard PT stuff, which is good, she says. My broken wrist wasn’t complicated, and it has healed nicely. Now I just need to get the muscles and tendons back in shape in a healthy way that won’t cause further injuries.
I start to relax after a few minutes. Jenn’s not here, and this will be fine. I just have to stop thinking about her.
Martha leads me behind a curtain that hangs from the ceiling. There’s four separate sections like this, each with a padded table to sit on. She tells me to wait a moment and then we’ll start the ultrasound.
