Scribbling down some things in his chart (physically trying not to write something inappropriate), I asked what he was talking about.
“Do you normally bail out in the middle of dates?” He couldn’t hide the judgement on his face even if he tried. His sleek, light brown eyebrows were raised, and my hand twitched to smack him.
“No,” I said, putting my attention back on his file. My mouth spoke before my brain could fathom what the hell I was doing. “It’s not really any of your business either, Soldier.”
If there’s one thing I knew about a Marine, it’s that they despise being called anything other than a Marine. There’s a huge difference in the branches of the military, whether people want to recognize that or not. I would know, I’ve been surrounded by it my entire life.
I wanted to laugh at my little snarky jab, but I didn’t. I knew he was probably steaming, and I would more than likely get written up if he called and complained to Human Resources. But for some reason, this guy brought out the worst in me. His very presence made me want to annoy him to no end. Maybe it was the whole he’s-the-most-beautiful-man-on-earth-but-I-can’t-have-him thing.
“You’re a military brat, then. I see.”
I whipped my head up to him and glared, my dark blonde hair falling out around my face.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you know that I would fucking hate being called a soldier. Only a true military brat would know that.”
“How do you know I’m not dating a Marine?”
His expression changed quickly. “Because you ran in here to get away from a blind date. Obviously, you’re not seeing anyone.”
Oh. He got me there.
“Am I good to go?” he asked, annoyed.
I leaned back against the cool cabinets and handed him the white discharge paper, not really caring whether he wanted a doctor’s note or not. He snatched it out of my hand at the same time I looked up to see his face. He leaned in closer to me, his breath hitting my forehead. “Has anyone ever told you that your bedside manners…suck?” He tilted his head to the side, in a barely noticeable way…but I definitely noticed.
I pushed myself off the cabinet and flew past him, only looking back once to answer him.
“Nope.” Then I gave him a sly grin and walked right out the door.
Twenty red, white, and blue balloons shoved into my tiny (but powerful) Mustang was a terrible idea. If a sheriff drove past me and saw my small head surrounded by an abundance of bouncing balloons, I would surely be pulled over. But thankfully, I was home and in the clear.
“Jesus, Cammie.” JoJo ran over to my parked car as I squeezed out from the behind the wheel, grabbing a handful of balloons with me.
“What? You said I was in charge of the decorations.” That was the plan. JoJo would take care of the food and booze, and the whole getting everyone over to the house thing, and I was in charge of decorations. She’d wanted to do it all since she knew this was a big deal for me, but I didn’t mind. Sure, I’ve been carrying around a heart full of envy and despair, but I could push that aside for the night. Plus, I didn’t really have anyone else to throw a “Welcome Home” party for any longer, so I might as well pretend like this is the party that I was planning to throw a year ago.
“I know, but it looks like you’ve been swallowed up by a freaking clown car or something.” I laughed, skipping over to unlock my front door.
“Whose car is that?” JoJo asked, while I fiddled with the balloons in one hand and my keys in the other. The early fall breeze wasn’t helping matters. The balloons were bouncing all over the place.
“Where?” I strained my neck in the direction she was pointing. I blew the stray hairs out of my face, and my eyebrows involuntarily shot upward.
That was one nice fucking car. Mine was nice, but it wasn’t exactly what I would have picked if I had bought my own car. I used to sport a tiny little Camry until the shiny red Mustang was…left for me. But the car that I was looking at, parked right in front of my new neighbor’s house, had me drooling a little bit.
Its sleek, black lines made me want to rub my hands along its entirety. The Camaro had to be at least thirty years old, sporting those round circles for headlights. The paint job looked perfect, along with the crisp, sheer glare of the chrome wheels. I tried to imagine who my new neighbor was. Was it an old man with a love for muscle cars and historical towns? I knew it had to be someone wealthy, as all the prices of homes in this part of town were astronomical. The only reason I could afford to live in my small, light yellow historical home was because my landlord was a close family friend who barely charged me a thing for rent.
“No!” My eyes almost fell out of my head.
“What?”
No. No. No. No. My first thought was, Thank God it’s not Chewbacca from the other night, because how insane would it be to have a THIRD run-in with him? My second thought was, Why is the world laughing at me? Sure enough, the guy walking out of his front door and wearing running shorts, a dark grey t-shirt, and black Nikes was Soldier Boy, aka the hot Marine from the ER!
I hurried up and shoved the balloons and a confused JoJo through my front door and slammed it shut, letting the balloons bounce around in my entryway.
JoJo yelled, “What the hell? What was that?!”
I made up a quick excuse. “Sorry, I didn’t want the balloons to fly away.”