Don't Lie (Don't 2)

His cologne wafted toward me and I tried not to let it intoxicate me. Everything about the man did. It always had.

I grabbed my bag and followed Blake to his truck.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He looked over at me. “Thought we could take our own cruise. Just the two of us. Live music and drinks.”

“Ok.”

He helped me climb into the passenger side of his truck. It was a newer version of the one he’d had in high school. I noticed it was like driving a supped up computer system. I guessed AFA salaries could pay for things like that. On the flip side, my anchor salary wasn’t much. I was happy with what I made, but it was a far cry from luxury.

We headed to the creek where he kept his boat.

I felt as if I needed to say something to break the ice. To bridge the divide that had been between us, but I waited for his cues. The fact that we were on a date had to be enough for now.

Once we pushed off from the rickety pier, we cruised under the bridge and Blake pointed the vessel toward Oakton. Patches of marsh and abandon

ed crab pots littered the channel to downtown. I hadn’t been there in years. It was the closest town to Gull Island, but the quickest way to get there was by boat.

The sun was setting on Pelican Creek, and I was happy to get off the island for the night. I had been going stir crazy at Aunt Lindy’s.

Fifteen minutes later, the boat eased toward the small downtown waterfront dotted with shops and restaurants. Before I could even see it, I heard music from a live band.

“Is that Come Monday?” I asked.

He smiled. His teeth were perfect and straight. God, how many times had I fallen asleep thinking about his beautiful face?

“Yep. That’s the Fin Notes. They are a popular Jimmy Buffet cover band around here.”

I wasn’t sure if it was a jab that I didn’t know anything local anymore or if he was really just letting me know what was popular.

“They’re good,” I commented.

He careened the skiff to an open slip two piers down from the infamous Dock House, and jumped out to tie the boat to a cleat. The Dock House was crowded. Patrons had spilled out onto the boardwalk to make room for the dancing fans holding their drinks in the air.

“Can I get you something?” He finished tying his knot and turned his attention to me. He had been mostly quiet on the ride over.

“What do you recommend?”

I’d never actually been in the bar. It wasn’t the kind of place you could get in when you were underage and all the locals knew you and your boyfriend were in high school. We had tried a few times, but it had never worked. Everyone knew Blake was the county’s star quarterback back then.

“Long Island ice teas here are pretty good.”

“Isn’t that what you used to fix when we were in high school?” I asked.

I didn’t remember much about them other than that they tasted like ice tea, but made me drunk after just one. I was always a light weight.

“You always did like those fruity drinks.” He grinned.

“Hey, they’re good.”

“All right. I’ll be right back.”

The boat swayed gently in the slip while I waited for Blake.

I wondered how he existed like this. Famous and rich, but walking around in a T-shirt and pair of khaki shorts like any other local. But he wasn’t like anyone else. He had made a name for himself that was unrivaled by anyone in the state.

He was a top QB. He was revered in the sport. Anytime I saw an article with his name on it I always clicked on it. I watched every press conference. All his post-game interviews. He was pushed and pulled in every direction, and yet here he was like everyone else—as if he was a local just hanging out for the night. It was amazing.