If getting Georgia Bennett to let her hair down, so to speak, was the only other thing I had to focus on—other than my recovery—these next twelve weeks weren’t going to be so bad.

“So Miss Georgia,” Brett began as we walked down a hospital hallway. Our arms were interlocked giving him the opportunity to nudge my shoulder with his arm.

Being this close to him—to any guy—felt strange. I couldn’t deny that feeling the warmth of his body against mine was nice. I’d forgotten what it felt like to have a man this close or to be held. Granted, I was the one doing the holding this time as I helped my newly injured friend take a little bit of the pressure off his knee. Either way, I kind of liked it.

“What’s on the schedule this week? I was thinking if you’re not too busy we should probably pencil in that sponge bath.” He waggled his eyebrows and smirked.

“Seeing as how you’ve been bathing yourself since you were released from the hospital, I don’t think there’s any need for that, stud,” I deadpanned.

He was as persistent with his flirting as he was with his physical therapy. Harmless as it was—and despite the fact that I enjoyed our playful banter on occasion—he never crossed the line. It was always just words.

“Fine then,” he chuckled. “Where are we eating?”

“What sounds good?” I asked when we made it to the parking lot of the hospital. I’d parked as close as I could, knowing that, even if he wouldn’t admit it, a long walk for him was not a fun one. I had to give it to him, he was tough. Having a knee replacement couldn’t have been on the top of his bucket list. Lucky for him, recovery was going better than expected. Dr. Forlani had told him that his knee was as worn out as a seventy year old man’s with severe arthritis when she’d opened him up. A result of beating his body to hell and back on a dirt bike, I’m sure. Other than that, he was young and in really good shape. Almost too good of shape. At least that’s what I’d gathered from the countless times I’d checked him out. Long and lean in all the right places. Not to mention he had a six pack set of abs that I was lucky enough to get a peek at one day when I’d went over to the cabin to check on him. Abs that had fixated themselves in the fantasy segment of my thoughts. Thoughts that I had zero time for.

I was busy enough without adding anything else to my to-do list. Not that I wanted “to-do” Brett. I mean, I liked him. I liked him in an I-want-to-help-him-out kind of way, but as far as anything romantic between us went, a fantasy was all that it would ever be. It was all it ever could be. Getting in a relationship of any kind was not high on my list of priorities at the moment. Especially not a relationship with the bad boy of motocross. Pass. Hard pass.

Even if he did have the whole southern rebel thing going for him. A Texas gentleman drenched in whiskey and bad intentions. The moment I met him at a local bar with my sister’s then ex-boyfriend, Reid, I knew he was trouble... and according to Google he was exactly that. Wild and reckless on the track and off. Brett Sallinger had quite the reputation, complete with countless women, long nights of celebrating victories and enough photographic evidence that led me to believe it was all true.

But damn, he sure was fun to look at. Blond hair that he kept a little long and chaotic. Eyes that were a mix of blue and gray. The rest of his features were perfectly imperfect. His nose had a slight bend to it and his front two teeth overlap the tiniest bit, both of which I found myself finding more adorable each time I saw him. Not to mention the intricate ink patterns that covered his body. Patterns that seemed to mesmerize the opposite sex. Myself included, much to my own surprise. Plus, he was funny and charming. I’d been giving him the benefit of the doubt when it came to his reputation, and so far he’d been sweet and respectful and nothing like the guy I saw on the gossip sites.

A pang of guilt struck the center of my chest as I climbed behind the wheel of my SUV and glanced over at Brett. It hadn’t been all that long ago that I was sitting in this very seat holding hands with Jamie as I drove down the street. Jamie was the love of my life. My fiancé. The only guy I’d ever fantasized a future with and he was gone. As hard as it was to think about him, I still did every day.

James Shaw, or Jamie as most called him, wasn’t just the first boy who ever kissed me. He was the only boy who ever kissed me. He was all of my firsts and onlys, actually. He’d been my best friend from the moment I met him, and over time it turned into so much more. We’d learned to play t-ball, ride bikes, and swim together. And, more importantly, we’d learned what love was.

Driving through town kept Jamie at the very forefront of my thoughts. We’d walked down those sidewalks. We’d studied at that library. Our first real date was at the very diner I was taking Brett to. There wasn’t a place in this town that we’d hadn’t been together. There wasn’t a place in this town that didn’t remind me of him.

When Jamie and I were fourteen years old he told me that he was going to marry me one day and I believed him. We shared everything—school dances, homework assignments, backseats. It came as no surprise that soon after graduation, he popped the question. Sure we were young, but we had nine years of being friends, followed by four years of being boyfriend and girlfriend. We should have had sixty more being husband and wife, but a roadside bomb in Afghanistan had other plans for us. It had been a little over three years since he’d been gone. But in my head and in my heart, he was present every single day.

I loved every chestnut colored hair on that boy’s head. He was sweet and handsome and he truly wanted to make the world a better place, which was exactly why he enlisted in the Army after graduation.

“It won’t be forever,” he’d told me the night before he deployed. “I’ll be back to marry you after this tour,” he had promised. I’d swallowed back the fear and believed him.

I should have listened to my gut when he told me he wanted to enlist. I should have told him I didn’t want him to do it. I should have been selfish and tried to save him, but then I wouldn’t have been the supportive girlfriend I’d always been. The thought that he might have still been alive was a constant reminder that I should have said to hell with it and told him that I didn’t want him to enlist.

I swallowed my emotions before they got the best of me and glanced over at Brett. He was tapping his fingers steadily on the center console, unable to sit still for even a few minutes. I couldn’t help but smile at his childlike energy. That strange tugging sensation in my belly always surprised me, but there it was. My attraction to Brett was a little confusing. He wasn’t like Jamie at all really. He was reckless where Jamie was meticulous. Impulsive where Jamie was speculative. Intense and overwhelming where Jamie had been calm and soothing.

I felt safe with Jamie. I felt nervous around Brett.

That’s the difference between love and lust, I supposed. Every time I started to feel tempted to give into one of Brett’s suggestive offers, Jamie’s face appeared behind my eyes.

I miss him.

That was an understatement. I missed him more than I could ever fathom a person missing another person. The day he died, a big part of me died. A part of me that I was struggling to figure out how to live without. I might have been alive and kicking, blood pumping and heart beating, but it wasn’t the same as before. Before I was excited about my future, about the life we were going to build together, now I was just went through the motions of each day.