Chapter 2

Sydney walks up the steps leading to a bar on Naval Air Station North Island. Hard Deck, she reads the sign before pulling on the door. She cringes – she's heard enough flying references to last her a lifetime.

She walks in, looking around, and goes for the first empty table she spots. A server brings her a menu when she takes a seat.

"Are you waiting for someone?" the server asks, offering her a second menu.

Sydney gives her a tight smile. "Unfortunately," she says.

The server sets the second menu down hesitantly.

Sydney lowers her gaze to peruse the dinner options when someone sits across from her at the table. "Look at that, you can be punctual," she says scathingly, not looking up from her menu.

"I would've been early if I'd known we were getting together," says a vaguely familiar – but unexpected – voice from across the table.

Sydney looks up in confusion. "Oh," she says. "It's you."

Hawaiian shirt – the name she'd given the man with the mustache who'd rescued her the previous night at the club – is sitting across from her, smiling broadly. "I take it you're waiting for someone," he says.

"How perceptive of you," she responds.

His grin widens. "I'm glad you noticed."

Sydney watches him unenthusiastically. "Is your name Corey Hart?"

"Excuse me?" Hawaiian shirt raises his eyebrows.

"The sun has set," she clarifies, leaning into the table. "What's with the shades?"

He laughs, pulling the aviators off his face. "It's your smile," he says, hooking the sunglasses into the neck of his t-shirt. "It's too bright."

Sydney bites down on her lip to try and suppress a grin, but a slight one manages to escape. "Funny," she says. "I don't recall smiling."

"Oh, you haven't, yet," he replies. "I just came prepared."

Sydney scoffs. "Smooth."

Hawaiian shirt chuckles. "I'm trying," he says.

Sydney presses her lips together. "Well," she says. "Valiant effort. But, time's up."

Hawaiian shirt gives her a questioning look, following her gaze over his shoulder as she lifts her hand to signal somebody who's just walked through the door.

Hawaiian shirt turns back to look at her with a pained expression. "Don't tell me you know that douchebag."

Sydney eyes Hawaiian shirt suspiciously. "How do you know that douchebag?" she asks. Hawaiian shirt closes his eyes and groans as Sydney watches the man in the aviators cross the length of the bar to get to their table.

When he arrives, both Sydney and Hawaiian shirt look up at him expectantly while he eyes them with knotted brows.

"You know," Sydney says finally, shaking her head at the newcomer. "Even if we disregard the fact that it's eight o'clock in the evening, it's literally been cloudy all day,"

The man chuckles, taking off his sunglasses and tucking them into the pocket of his jacket. His gaze shifts between Sydney and Hawaiian shirt curiously until, finally, he says, "Rooster. I see you've met my daughter."

The fall of Hawaiian shirt's face is so epic that Sydney nearly laughs. He groans again and drops his face into his hand.

Sydney narrows her eyes at his overly dramatic reaction before turning to look up at her father. "I see you're popular here," she says.

Her father lets out a heavy sigh and pulls up a chair from a neighboring table to sit down with them. "It's good to see you too, Sydney," he says.

Rooster peeks up from under his hand. "Maverick?" he says with a grimace. "Your father is Maverick?"

Maverick watches him with an amused expression before turning his gaze to Sydney. "I think I might've ruined his night," he says, pointing at Rooster with his thumb.

Sydney lets out a derisive chuckle. "Well, that is your specialty," she says.

Maverick sighs again, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He holds his hand up to signal the waiter. "How do you guys even know each other?" Maverick asks after ordering three waters and one gin and tonic.

"We don't." Sydney shrugs.

Maverick watches her reproachfully. "So, you're just sharing a table with a complete stranger?"

Rooster makes a face. "I'm not a stranger. You know me!"

"Yeah, but she doesn't!" Maverick rounds on Rooster.

"You're right," Sydney responds sarcastically. "Hanging with a stranger is such a bizarre way to get to know them."

Maverick exhales sharply, rubbing his brow. "So, Rooster," he says, turning to him. "Are you going to be hanging with us all night?"

Rooster looks at him as if he's still in shock. He blinks, trying to recover his composure. "I hope not," he responds.

Sydney snorts.

"Yeah, you better go, Rooster," Maverick says. "You've got an early day tomorrow."

Rooster throws him a levelling glance. "So do you," he says.

"Yeah." Maverick shrugs his shoulders. "But I'm not the one who needs to work on my low altitude combat maneuvering."

Rooster glares at him. "Maybe you need to work on a better tactical strategy," he retorts.

Sydney glances between the two of them. "Perhaps the two of you would prefer I go," she suggests.

The men look over at her irritably. Rooster shifts his jaw, runs his thumb across his chin moodily, and then puts his palms flat on the table to lift himself up onto his feet. "Sydney," he says, stretching out his hand. "It was a pleasure." His gaze slips to Maverick and he adds, "Which is surprising."

Sydney reaches over tentatively to shake his hand while Maverick eyes their interaction with a slight grimace.

"Maverick," Rooster says as he turns to leave. "Not so much."

Maverick nods without looking up. "See you tomorrow, Bradley."