“Fuck yeah, I can,” I said, as we clapped hands and went into the special handshake we’d come up with a decade ago, back when we were silly teenagers with big dreams. Now we were just foolish bastards with even bigger dreams.
“You check out your plane yet?” he asked, opening the locker beside mine.
“You know I have.”
“Some dicklicker posted a sign on mine that says Chanel. Fucking Chanel. Can you believe that shit?”
I snorted, unpacking the contents of my bag into my locker. “Gucci, Chanel. Easy mistake.”
“Oh, fuck you, man. It’s your fault I’m stuck with the name for life.”
“That’s what you get for puking your guts in a girl’s handbag right before training.”
Gucci groaned, slamming his head into his locker repeatedly. “Four rounds of three wisemen and you expect me to keep that shit in my body? Why couldn’t I get ‘wiseman’?”
I raised an eyebrow. “You really want me to answer that?”
“Or even ‘lightweight.’ Hell, I’d take that.”
“Could be worse. You could be stuck with ‘vomit.’ Or ‘hurl.’”
“Yeah, yeah.” Gucci haphazardly tossed his toiletries into the locker, muttering, “Chanel…”
With more care than my former copilot, I set each item in its place and ran my fingers over the tan flight suit hanging up—I was already wearing the green one. Ready for day one. The Naval Aviation Fighter Academy, or NAFTA, here in Mesamir, California, would be my home for the next ten weeks. I was used to living out of a duffel bag, going from base to base wherever I was assigned, never putting roots down anywhere. Who knew where the hell I’d end up once I finished the competition here? Guess that’d depend on whether I choked or won the whole damn thing.
“So what’d your ass get up to last night?” Gucci let out a moronic snort of laughter as he added, “Or is it too tired to answer?”
A smirk tugged at my lips as I closed the locker door. “You’re such a class act, Gooch.”
“What can I say, my mother raised me right.”
As I leaned up against the locker, I thought back to last night and Mr. Smooth, and while I wished the slight discomfort in my body this morning was due to being pounded into my mattress by that phenomenal body, the alcohol was what was responsible for my less-than-tiptop condition.
But Gucci didn’t need to know that.
“Your mother’s a wonderful lady who has the unfortunate luck of claiming you as her son.”
Gucci flashed a toothy grin my way. “Whatever. I’m her favorite son—”
“You’re her only son.”
“Exactly. Heather and Holly can battle over who’s the favorite daughter, but I will always be the favorite son.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“And you’re avoiding the question. So, lemme guess.” Gucci stroked a finger over his chin. “You went to some seedy bar on the outskirts of town…”
Okay, the fact that he zeroed in on that so quick was fucking alarming. But then again, if anyone knew a seedy bar, it was my man Gooch.
“You perched that sweet little tush of yours at the end of some banged-up bar counter, ordered yourself a”—Gucci paused and ran his eyes up and down my body and then nodded—“a beer to start with, but looks like you hit something harder later, and perused the dimly lit interior for a burning heap of hulking man.”
“Okay.” I raised my hand to halt him. “Please stop talking or I might hurl.”
“Tell me I’m wrong?”
“You’re wrong.”
Gucci narrowed his eyes, and I made sure to keep my face neutral, but the bastard had known me way too long.
“Ha! You’re lying.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.” Gucci pointed to my eyebrows, first one and then the other. “It’s twitching. The left one. And it only twitches when you’re lying.”
Fucker knew my tells better than I did. “Fine. You nailed it.”
“Uh huh, but did you, uh, nail it?” Gucci winked at me as he changed into his flight suit, and I rolled my eyes, taking a seat on the bench.
“You know me.”
“Yeah, I do. And the way you’re not blasting off at the mouth tells me it was either the worst you ever had or you couldn’t manage to get any.”
“Oh, I got some.” I shoved my feet into my boots as another smirk crossed Gucci’s lips.
“Of course you did.”
“I did,” I said, annoyance creeping into my voice. “What the fuck did you do last night that was so amazing?”
“Flew in on a redeye. No mile-high action, but I did get the flight attendant’s phone number.”
“How exciting.”
Gucci shrugged and zipped up his suit. “That’s why I’m trying to live vicariously through you, my man. Gimme somethin’ so I don’t feel like my weekend was a total waste.”
“You called it with the bar. Some dive on the outskirts and zero prospects except one.”
Leaning back against the lockers, Gucci crossed his big, bulky arms. “There it is. And?”
“And he was a wild, hot ride. Ya happy?”