Dad chuckled. “Later, kid.”
“Bye, Dad.”
“Well, Jesus. If you moved any slower, we’ll get there tomorrow,” Blondie said as I jammed my phone into the back pocket of my jeans.
“What’s the hurry? It’s not even five.”
Blondie ran his hand over his cropped blond hair, always looking exasperated. “It’s our first night without curfew, and I’m not wasting it.”
If Blondie and I hadn’t become best friends at A school, I’d find him attractive. But there was something about him that made him feel more like my brother than possible boyfriend material. His blue eyes and full lips made most of the girls swoon, but I just didn’t see him the same way.
I clicked to open the locks to my Jeep, wanting nothing more than some time off base. “Where are we going anyway?”
He settled into the passenger seat, looking like a giant folded up, with his knees almost touching his chest. “I found the perfect spot down by the ocean.”
“It’s the Gulf, not the ocean,” I corrected, sliding the key into the ignition.
“Um, it’s still an ocean.”
I glanced over at him, unable to keep the judgment from my face. “Listen, the Atlantic is the ocean. The Gulf is the…”
“Gulf?” he teased. “It’s still endless blue water, babe.”
“You’re a goofball.”
“You try growing up in a cornfield in Indiana. I’m sorry I wasn’t a spoiled little girl from Virginia where the ocean was in my backyard.”
I backed out, ignoring his comment. “Where am I going?”
“The Rusty Knuckle.”
I gaped at him as I shifted my Jeep into drive, keeping my foot firmly planted on the brake. “The what?”
“Rusty Knuckle. Supposed to be the hottest bar on the beach.”
“Sounds like it.” I laughed. “Why there? I heard the Seagull is so much better.”
Blondie blanched and pulled on his tank top, the same one he always wore because it showed off his muscles. “Because the Seagull isn’t a biker bar.”
“Biker bar?” A car honked behind us when I didn’t move, still gawking at my dumb friend. “Why the hell are we going to a biker bar?”
“Nothing sexier than a woman in leather,” Blondie said, as if we were having a normal conversation, which we weren’t. “Find the gas, babe, and hit it.”
A few minutes of silence passed as we drove off base, heading toward the water. “So, leather, huh?” I asked curiously. I’d always pegged him as the type to fall for someone a bit more like Little Bo Peep than Joan Jett.
Blondie turned up the radio, blasting an old heavy metal tune, moving his head like he was in a classic rock band. “Nothing sexier.”
“You’re a freak.” I laughed, tapping my thumb against the steering wheel, following the beat of the music. “I think that’s why we’re friends.”
“We were meant to be together.”
I glanced at him, curling my lip. “Not happening.”
“I know. I know.” He lifted his hands. “I mean we were meant to be friends, Mak. You’re a freak like me. You hide it so much better, but I could see it the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“You have freak-dar.”
He nodded, studying my profile as I drove. “Why do you hide it, anyway?”
