I waved a hand at the radio. “Have at it. I like control in many things. What music plays in my truck for a two-mile drive doesn’t threaten me.”
“How very masculine of you,” she teased, but there was an undercurrent of relief in her tone. “You sure you didn’t mind leaving the party?”
“Not at all.” I gripped the wheel with one hand and ran the other over the top of my head. “I just had to put in an appearance. I never planned on staying. You?”
“Pretty much the same.” When I slowed the truck, her eyes drifted past me to look at the bar we’d pulled up to. She brightened up instantly. “I love this place. You’re right about it being a dive bar, but that’s nothing a plate of their nachos can’t fix.”
“Very true. I’ve never heard a woman say it, though.”
She shot me a mock glare and flipped her hair. “Again, I’m just me, and me likes nachos.”
Before I could tell her I liked that about her, she shot out of the truck and breezed into the bar. It was little more than a hole in the wall, but it was better than any of the ever-increasing touristy places on the island.
Sofia was already at the bar when I walked in, chatting to Mindy, the bartender, as she mixed up a pitcher of margaritas. I signaled to Mindy to bring me the check, then chose one of the vinyl-covered booths in the back and took a seat.
I thought about going over to help Sofia carry the drinks to the table, but something told me she’d object. When she finally joined me, effortlessly balancing the pitcher and two glasses, my suspicions were confirmed.
She beamed at me as she sat down. “Thanks for getting us a table and for letting me get the drinks, but I could have paid for them, you know?”
“I’m sure you could have, but I asked you out. That means I have to get at least the first round. It’s just how this works.”
“Fine.” Her cheeks lifted as she grinned like a darn Cheshire cat. “But that means I get the second round.”
I eyed the massive pitcher in front of us dubiously. “I mentioned they mix these up strong here, didn’t I?”
“You scared?” she asked, motioning for me to fill up our glasses. “If it’s me you’re worried about, don’t be. I can handle it.”
Smirking before I bent over to duck my head beneath the table, I said, “I don’t see a wooden leg. Where do you hide it?”
A slight squeak reached my ears and her knees slammed shut, even though she wore a longer length dress. It hit mid-calf, so sadly I didn’t catch a glimpse of anything.
“I’m not hiding anything down there. I don’t need a wooden leg. I’ve been drinking these since I turned eighteen. Get out from there. People are watching.”
“I thought we weren’t people.” I straightened up, looking right into those hazel eyes. “And eighteen, huh? You had a fake ID?”
Her cheeks flushed again. “I meant twenty-one. Obviously.”
“Uh huh.” I lifted my brows but reached for the pitcher to fill our glasses. “Tell that to someone who isn’t a professional bullshitter.”
Sofia cocked her head to the side, a sly smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I thought you guys preferred to be referred to as professional badasses? I guess there’s some truth to being professional bullshitters when it comes to the ladies, though.”
“You guys?” I pushed her glass over to her, and she tipped it in acknowledgment before taking a sip. “What guys would that be?”
“Are you not a SEAL?”
I snapped my fingers, shaking my head and pretending to be disappointed. “Here I thought I was being all mysterious and shit.”
Sofia’s answering laugh was a light, melodic sound that made me smile back at her. “Nope. Sorry. The location of our meeting was a dead giveaway.”
“So it wasn’t even the muscles then?” I let my shoulders slump. “Damn it. I’m really losing my touch.”
“The muscles were my second clue,” she said, reaching over to pat my bicep. “They’re very nice. Don’t worry. You’re not losing anything.”
“Thank you.” I chuckled, then dropped the act. Sitting back, I picked up my glass and sipped some of the tart liquid. “What do you do for a living? Considering where we met, I’d have been tempted to say something in the service. I’m just not getting that vibe from you, though.”
“Why not?” She waggled her eyebrows at me, lifting one of her arms and flexing it. “There could be muscle hidden in here somewhere.”
“There could be,” I agreed. “But it’s not that. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, though. You have to be connected to the Navy in some way to have been there tonight, but you’re not in the service.”
“I’m not. I’m a medical student at UCLA.” She didn’t elaborate on how she’d ended up at Charles’ table at his retirement party or how she was connected to the Navy, but I didn’t bring it up again.
I figured she’d tell me if she wanted to, and if she didn’t, that was fine. It wasn’t like it really mattered anyway. “Medical school. Wow. You have to be really smart.”
She shrugged. “School has never really been a problem for me. Some of us are physical, like you. Others are not, like me. Everyone has a strength of their own.”
“Isn’t it rare for people as smart as you not to flaunt it?” In my experience, you generally knew someone was smart because they told you they were. Sofia wasn’t like that, though.
Instead of flaunting it or talking about her intellect at all, she changed the topic. “If you could live anywhere other than here, where would it be?”
“Here as in
