Page 2 of The Most Perfect Wrong

I take one last look at the hottie from the bar, committing him to memory. Then I tiptoe out of the room.

Maybe I’ll remember him in twenty years, like a good dream—vivid in feeling, hazy in detail. But for now, it’s goodbyeforever to the most incredible one-night stand. He’s already fading—just like everything else I ever thought I wanted.

Chapter 1

COOPER

March 10 — Newport Beach, CA

The Day Before

I swear to God, if I have to hear his pathetic apology one more time, I’m going to lose it.

“Come on, baby, pick up. Please pick up. Talk to me. You know I love you, Coop. I never meant to hurt you… I fucked up. It’ll never happen again, I promise. Please… just come home.”

There’s a long pause. Then, his voice, softer, almost desperate. “Okay, well… I guess you’re not going to talk to me. I love you.”

The voicemail ends, and I delete it without a second thought—like a reflex I’ve developed after too many of these messages.Ugh!I’m tempted to chuck my phone into the ocean. I close my eyes and count to ten, just like my college therapist taught me, taking deep breaths to calm the simmering storm inside.

I stare at my feet as the waves wash over them. The cold water sinks my toes deeper into the sand, and the pull of the tide makes it feel like I’m surfing without moving at all—one of those small joys that never gets old.

I wiggle my toes, the sensation both invigorating and calming as I look up into the morning sky. A cool breeze brushes against my cheeks, and I can’t help feeling better—I almost smile. For a moment, the world is quiet.

This is just what I needed to clear my head—to feel something other than the shitstorm that is my life. In the jumble of confusion, one thing’s for certain—Newport Beach never gets old. I turn back toward my dad’s place, a two-story beach house with a patio that meets the sand.

God, I love it here.

I arrived a few days ago, taking a much-needed break from my boyfriend and all the shit I’m avoiding at home. Well, ex-boyfriend, technically. I broke up with him before I left. But he’s not getting the hint. His calls and texts keep pouring in, begging me to come home so we can “talk things out.” I’ve ignored every single one of them.

Back inside, I switch to autopilot—making a cup of coffee and adding my usual splash of creamer. Mug in hand, I head out to the patio where I’ll inevitably spend the next hour trying to relax while my thoughts have their way with me. At least I have a great view: the ocean, the sand, the runners—some of whom areverygood-looking. I know I’ve only been “single” for a few days, but a girl can still appreciate the scenery.

Am I single?

I don’t even know the answer to that question—how pathetic.

I tuck myself into the corner of the outdoor sectional. Crossing my legs and turning toward the beach, I soak in the crisp morning air. I toss a blanket over my lap and, with coffee in one hand and my phone in the other, prepare to do absolutely nothing. Instagram beckons, but my attention shifts to the glaring notifications on my messages. Four unread texts. I scowl as I open them, already knowing they’re all from Brad.

Brad:Baby please, don’t do this.

Brad:Come on, you know me—I never meant to hurt you.

Brad:This is all a misunderstanding.

Brad:Cooper, if you don’t answer, I’m going to have to come to you. Don’t make me bring up things I know you don’t want to talk about.

The hell he will…

That last text has me typing back so fast, I don’t even think.

Cooper:Brad, stop calling and texting me. I’ll talk to you when I get back. You know we live together, so it’s not like you won’t see me. I just need space and time to think. Please respect that.

I stare at the screen, willing him to listen this time. But deep down, I know better. Brad always finds a way to get what he wants. I drop my phone face down beside me with a frustrated sigh. Wrapping both hands around my coffee mug, I stare blankly into the distance, letting the sound of the waves calm my anxiety. Minutes pass as I meditate—eyes open, breathing in and out, soaking in the stillness and the quiet.

Hell yes, here he comes.

A small smile tugs at my lips as the dark-haired hottie I’ve been eyeing the past few days jogs closer. This is the third morning in a row I’ve seen him. He’s shirtless—six-pack abs, tanned chest, the whole damn package. I try to play it cool, but I’m gawking, silently praying I don’t start drooling.

He looks my way and notices me—noticing him.

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