Page 4 of Wrecked

There’s a Glock tucked into his chest holster. He’s undoubtedly the boss here, so that makes him Daniel Cooper—the guy I’m here to see.

Heat flares in my chest as I observe him. And damn it, if I don’t start getting hard just looking at him. Thank God I have relatively baggy khakis on. It wouldn’t be good for this guy to know he’s given me a semi.

I look away and pretend to take interest in a display of 9mm handguns on the wall behind the counter.

“You must be Sam Harrison,” he says as he offers me his hand.

Holy shit—that voice!

It’s low and gruff, and it makes my knees go weak, and all I can think about is dropping to my knees for him.

Chapter 2 – Cooper

My heart stutters the moment this redheaded kid with a manbun walks through the door. I know immediately who he is. Sam Harrison, twenty-six years old, tall, with a slender, muscular build. And based on the way he’s checking me out, I bet he’s gay.

According to his resumé, he’s a former Army Ranger who was given an honorable medical discharge after a parachute accident that resulted in numerous fractures, including both his legs. But looking at him right now, you’d never guess he’d sustained such serious injuries.

He’s interviewing for a bodyguard position. If he’s hired, that means he’ll most likely be living in my apartment building. And that means I’ll be running into him from time to time.

Fuck.

Standing just inside the door, he quickly scans the room. I’m sure he’s already catalogued everyone in this room, as well as all the doors and exits. It’s ingrained in us former military. When he finally makes eye contact with me, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut.

For a moment, he stares at me, our gazes locked in some act of mutual awareness.

Yeah, I’m lookin’ at you, hotshot.

Hell, he’s young enough to be my kid. It’s a good thing I’m okay with age gaps.

As he walks toward me, I watch his loose-hipped swagger, cocky as all get out. His manbun isn’t regulation, but it sure as hell works for him—and for me. Because right now, all I can think about is taking it down and wrapping those long strands around my palm.

“You must be Sam,” I say, scanning him from head to toe.

For a moment, he stares at me, and that’s what gives him away. If he was straight, he wouldn’t be staring at me like he wants me to bend him over the nearest table.

I try again. “Sam?”

He blinks as if coming out of a trance. “Yes, sir. I mean, Mr. Cooper. I’m Sam Harrison.”

Sir? Yeah, kid, you’d better call me sir. Yes, sir. Please, sir. Harder, sir.

“Cooper’s fine. What’s in the duffle?”

“A change of clothes for the fitness assessment.”

“Did you bring your weapon?”

He nods. “My Beretta. In my ankle holster.”

“Sounds good. Shall we get started?”

“Yes, sir.”

I smile. The kid just can’t help himself.

I need to get my head on straight. This is work, damn it! He’s a potential new hire, and I have no fucking business eyeing him like he’s someone I just tapped on Grindr. But man, if I met him somewhere else—damn it!

I walk back over to the check-in counter and busy myself by grabbing the stuff we’ll need for his assessment—namely, ammo, paper targets, and ear protection. “You ready?”