Page 7

There’s zero chance Tina can hear Blondie’s screams over the roar and pop of the muffler, and she definitely can’t see her frenzied arms waving, because Tina never replaced the missing rearview mirror.

I accidentally knocked it off the last time I drove the behemoth. That was two decades ago, and I was twelve. Even then, the jalopy was a rust bucket of dents. Now its dents have dents, and those dents have dents, so every inch of the truck’s body looks like reused aluminum foil.

Tina circles Lihue Airport’s parkway and exits, driving toward the commercial district. But I’m taking my time, giving them a head start, because when Tina’s truck merges onto the Kaumualii Highway, I will slide in behind her tailgate, two car lengths too close.

The thing is, I want a front-row seat to the mayhem. Or better yet, I want Blondie to have a front-row seat of me driving the clean, comfortable, fresh-smelling vehicle she could be in right now.

In the bed of the truck with the tropical winds racing around her, she battles her hair into a knot. Hair tamed, she glances around, taking in the weather, which is worsening. She studies the roadside that passes, which is dotted with mom-and-pop businesses. Lush jungles of greenery fill the spaces between. In the distance, moss-covered mountains rise like beach-drip castles.

“Come on, Sparkles,” I mutter, impatient.

Every moment she doesn’t notice me driving behind her is excruciating because I’m fully aware this scenario is A+ trolling, and I’m beyond giddy for a reaction. I tap the steering wheel to the beat of the music, barely able to take the suspense.

“Eyes on me,” I say, willing her to see me.

Like she telepathically heard my command, Sparkles stills, and her chin slowly angles my way. When her gaze locks on mine, dread fills her crystal-blue eyes.

“Good girl.” My lip curls.

Several emotions pass over her face, and I do my best to decipher each glorious phase.

Phase one: shock. She’s searching for a way to fade into the background like a chameleon. At this point, she’s realized she chose poorly. She should have accepted my ride because I smell a heck of a lot nicer than Lars the goat.

When she realizes she can’t summon the power of invisibility, a new idea seems to occur.

Phase two: awe. She works out the possibility of this being a coincidence, that somehow I’ve stumbled down the same road. That somehow I ended up driving directly behind her.

When it hits her this epic reunion wasn’t serendipity, her impish face drains of blood. She turns the color of a marshmallow, right before her cheeks become a disturbing shade of crimson.

Phase three: rebellion. And, honestly, this is my favorite part.

She glances around like she’s checking to see who’s watching. When she determines the coast is clear, of who I’m not sure, she lifts both fists. With one, she makes a gesture like she’s reeling a fishing rod. With the other, she cranks her middle finger into the upright position like she’s raising a red flag.

I flash my grin, full teeth, to share my enthusiasm for the moment. I can’t help it. Her reactions are worth the extra time it took to follow her. I haven’t had this much fun in years. Hell, she might be my new favorite person.

With her laser gaze on me, I kiss the tips of my fingers. I want her to know I’m savoring this moment, and it tastes fucking delicious.

She huffs, folds her arms, and settles into her cocoon of suitcases where she pouts. She’s trying to ignore me, but I can’t have that. It’s a twenty-minute drive to my resort in Poipu, and I intend to squeeze the most of out of this interaction before I never see her again. This is too much fun. I honk my horn, demanding her attention.

She sits up with arms spread, appearing irritated. I read her lips when she says, “Now what?”

This is the best part. Or almost the best part. From my passenger seat, I grab a lonely sandal I rescued from the airport sidewalk. I raise it above the Jeep’s roll bar, so she has a clear view. Not only do I have her car, but I also have her Cinderella slipper.

She grips the tailgate and rises on her knees for a closer look. She squints and angles her head, like she can’t quite see it. When the answer clicks in her brain, her jaw drops, her mouth forming an O. I capture the moment in my mind like a photo. I want to memorialize it.

Then all hell breaks loose.

Her arms fling wildly, fingers, elbows, and hands making gestures I’ve never seen before. She yells, but too fast for me to read her rose-colored lips. If she had the space, I would fully expect her to throw in some cheerleading jumps for good measure. I’ve never seen anyone so epically furious. If she had a rhinestone-encrusted dagger, she’d surely press it to my throat.

I laugh with uncontained glee, pleased by her entertaining response. I wish I had the forethought to film this entire altercation, starting from the moment we first spoke, only so I could watch it again. She’s too good. Too perfect. My grin is so wide, its edges pierce my cheeks.

Goddamn, why does this hurt so good?

She flops down, hiding behind the tailgate as she rustles around, making a ruckus. Even the animals look scared.

Then, with the power of a NFL linebacker, she launches an object. It sails in an arc out of the truck’s bed, over the Jeep’s hood, and strikes the top of the windshield. Reflexively, I swerve the car to avoid being knocked out. At the chaotic move, horns honk behind me.

The object bounces off my headrest, three inches from my ear, and then drops into the center console. I peer down. Damn, she almost took me out with the matching shoe.