“Your chariot, m’lady,” I said, leaning the bike against a rusted railing.
The salt spray clung to the back of my throat as I pedaled harder, the old beach cruiser’s tires humming against the wooden planks of the Santa Monica Pier. Behind me, nestled in the wicker basket with her legs dangling over the side, Bridgette laughed—a sound that cut clean through the crash of the waves below. a date with bridgette
I held up the small cooler slung over my shoulder. “Strawberries. Sparkling water. And a copy of The Old Man and the Sea I found at a thrift store.” “Your chariot, m’lady,” I said, leaning the bike
I handed her a strawberry. “What did it say?” I held up the small cooler slung over my shoulder
“Because I like you. And when I like someone, I usually do something stupid. Like challenge them to a race into the waves fully clothed. Or accidentally set their surfboard on fire.”
She stared at me. “Did you just call me a man?”
“Why?”