Page 101 of Leave

I burst out laughing. “Seriously?”

“Well, okay, not like when I was a sophomore. Weed, yes, but the rest…” He waved a hand. “Let’s just say I still hung out with the track team, but I wasn’t running anymore.”

I put a hand to my chest and feigned shock. “And here I thought you were a straitlaced goody-two—”

Riley barked a laugh. “Ooh, no, no, no. I didn’t exactly enlist in the Navy because I had Ivy League universities and Pac 10 sports teams salivating at the prospect of me coming to their schools.”

Something cold zipped down my spine at the memory of why I’d enlisted, but I tamped it down. I was in a good mood, and I was going to enjoy this, damn it. “I’m having a hard time imagining you as a slutty pothead.”

“See, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so bad. My guidance counselor said I was a”—he made air quotes—“slacker who was aggressively refusing to live up to his full potential.”

I chuckled. “Since when do potheads do anything aggressively?”

“Aww, man.” He let his hand fall to his thigh with a slap. “I wish I’d thought of that comeback in the moment.”

“Too much pot to think on your feet?”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging. I was just asking.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off.” He watched the scenery for a moment. “Good God. With all the weed and titty bars out here, I’m surprised there isn’t a Navy base.”

“There was one.”

“There was?”

“Mmhmm. Sand Point. It’s closed now, though.”

“There’s still a Navy base kinda close to here, though, isn’t there?”

I nodded. “Bremerton is across Puget Sound, and then there’s Subbase Bangor.” I glanced at him. “You don’t want to go to those, do you?”

“Fuck no,” he said with a wrinkled nose. “I’m onleave.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Up ahead, traffic thickened, and I glanced at the clock. “Ugh. We’re probably going to hit some traffic. I was going to go into Seattle, but…” I shook my head. “I think we’ll head north instead.”

“Eh.” Riley shrugged. “You’re driving—it’s up to you.”

“Yeah, but as much as I want to give you the full Seattle experience, we can probably skip the bumper-to-bumper ride.”

“Do you get road rage in traffic?” He sounded oddly interested.

“Um. If people are being stupid.” I paused. “Which… they usually are.”

“Ooh, let’s get into traffic then!” He rubbed his hands together. “I want to watch you snarling at other drivers!”

I laughed, rolling my eyes. “You’re such a dick, you know that?”

“And? You’re acting like this is news.”

I just chuckled.

Rather than giving Riley the Seattle rush hour experience—or the satisfaction of seeing me turn into the poster child for road rage—I took some backroads and headed north. I showed him the old Northgate Mall, which had been converted into offices and a training center for the hockey team.

“I worked there one summer,” I said. “Which is why I’m not sorry to see it’s been turned into something else.”

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