Running Game(130)

“Yeah, well…it’s been a weird night.”

“Tell me about it,” I agreed. “But listen. I need to check you out.”

In the dim lighting, I saw his lips curl into that cocky smile again. “You don’t need my permission for that.”

“Ugh. Not like that,” I corrected. “But you took a beating there. Like a fucking champ, I’ll admit. Still, I need to take a look at your head. You might have a concussion.”

“Explains why my head hurts so much,” Trent laughed painfully. “Go ahead, doc.”

He slowly pulled himself to a seated position, and I helped him out of his shirt. After telling him to close his eyes briefly, I flicked on the overhead light.

Oh sweet Jesus.

He was temporarily blinded, but I adjusted quickly – fast enough to see how amazing his powerful, rugged build really was.

There could barely be an ounce of fat on this guy’s body. He was all muscle – built to last. His sinews rippled just below the skin, pulling taut as he shielded his eyes. His powerful shoulders and tight pectorals were to die for.

Turns out that I had been completely right about his abs.

You could probably slice onions on them.

“Are you done checking out the goods?” Trent chuckled arrogantly. That stupidly sexy smile of his curled along his lips again.

Ugh.

“You’ll stop talking if you want my help,” I warned him.

“Alright, alright…”

I pulled down my medical kit from a shelf. Popping it open and spreading a few supplies along the bed, I sat down beside him and dabbed rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball.

“This might sting a little,” I explained.

“Pfft. I can take it.”

The slight waft hit my nostrils as I pressed it to his cheek, bringing me back to when I was a child. It was one of the few memories that really stuck out, patching up my stepfather after one of his famous barroom brawls.

I shook the thought from my head. I couldn’t help but wonder why alcohol seemed to be the common denominator in pretty much everything I did, despite how much I hated the stuff.

Dabbing lightly, I checked his cuts and bruises. After applying some of the rubbing alcohol to his wounds, I ducked out of the room and came back with a hot, soapy rag.

“Nothing broken,” I observed. “Worst thing I’m seeing is a few deep bruises and the lump on your head. Still not sure about that concussion, but you don’t look too worse for wear. It’ll hurt later. But you probably don’t need a doctor.”

It was clear that he was starting to finally remember things as I cleaned him up.

“What happened after I hit the floor?”

“You’d be surprised how fast a bunch of fat ass bikers can run when you point some buckshot in their direction.”

“Remind me never to piss you off,” Trent said, letting out a low laugh. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine, thanks to you,” I replied.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You were a beast. You kept taking punches and returning them harder. Those bikers weren’t exactly pushovers. And you took on four of them at once.”

“You had two of them distracted.”

“Still. That’s no easy feat.”

“You sound impressed,” Trent said, cocking a smile.

“Maybe a little, but let’s not forget that I saved your ass too. With a shotgun and everything. I mean, I’m not gonna lie, it was pretty epic. You should have totally been there, instead of unconscious.”

He smiled at me for a moment, before the grin faltered. “What about the bikers, though? Are they coming back, or…?”

I shook my head. “Called the Sherriff. He picked them up on the interstate headed west. They won’t be bothering me or anyone else for awhile.”

We sat in silence for a moment while I wiped him down. There wasn’t a lot more I could do. He was going to need some painkillers for the morning, which I didn’t really have access to, so… yeah.

“So, who are you, anyway?” I asked him.

“I already told you. I’m Trent Masters.”

“Yeah. Doesn’t exactly really ring a bell.”

He flashed a cocky smile, as if he was about to announce himself as the lord of some distant land. “You ever heard of Trent Masters and the Whiplash?”

I laughed aloud.

I didn’t think this could get any dumber.

“Yeah, your name probably would have tipped me off if that meant anything to me.”

Trent looked a little disappointed.

“I figured,” he murmured with dejected irritation. “If you didn’t recognize me when I came in, you probably weren’t going to, anyway.”

“So, enough with the bullshit. Who are you? What’s this about whiplash?”