Except that you’re smoking hot, I think, as I realize I can’t stop staring at her. The other guys are upset that they have to work with a woman, but I can’t seem to be anything but hot and bothered.
Chapter 2
After my dramatic entrance and impromptu speech, I join the crowd of troops to listen as Colonel Marshall continues to fill us in on the upcoming training session. I stand close to— but a bit behind— a pararescueman I noticed staring at me while I gave my speech.
At over six feet tall with a head of dark, curly hair and piercing green eyes, he was definitely worth staring back at. The name tag sewn onto his uniform said “Bradford”— but then again, so did the name tags on the uniforms of the two men standing close to him, who look nearly as handsome as he does, and who are obviously his brothers.
Three brothers in the same unit, stationed out of the same base, and being deployed together? I guess stranger things have happened.
I want to concentrate on Colonel Marshall’s words but I know the drill of these training sessions by now— I’ve helped lead plenty of them myself— and I can’t help but let my curiosity get the better of me.
I realize that one of the brothers is in a different uniform, and appears to be a private contractor. He’s probably not being deployed. But to have obtained such a job, he had to have vast prior experience, likely working alongside his brothers.
Brother fighters, I think. Fighting brothers. How cute.
Commander Marshall talks about the procedures and protocol for the training mission.
“Starting tomorrow morning, and for forty- eight hours straight, you will be in simulated enemy territory with simulated battlefield conditions.”
He explains that some of the men will be on the ground with lasers, showing me and some other fighter pilots where to land. Still others will be jumping out of the planes, climbing up and down mountains and finding simulated crash victims to rescue, all the while surviving in the mountains in simulated active combat conditions.
“We are lucky to have the F-35 Lightning II jet for this training, as that model will be one of the planes going to Afghanistan. It won’t be flown by Lieutenant Colonel Carrington, but by any number of other similarly qualified fighter pilots involved in the joint mission.”
“Thank goodness the girl’s not coming with us,” says one of the guys standing near the Bradfords.
“Yeah,” says another guy. “Shouldn’t her plane be painted pink, anyway?”
“With Hello Kitty decals prominently displayed,” someone else chimes in.
“It’s probably a mess inside, since women can never take care of their vehicles.”
“She’s too busy texting, applying makeup and drinking sparkling bottled water while driving it.”
I just roll my eyes, although I don’t think they even notice me amongst them. I’m used to such remarks in my career. I’ve had to deal with them since I first started out. But they just make me even more determined to prove myself and to do my job to the best of my ability.
These are just little boys who don’t know how to compete against women, I remind myself. In fact, I’m used to the teasing since before I even joined the Air Force. I grew up with three older brothers, and a competitive father. Everything was some sort of game, and I often ended up winning.
I know how to deal with fellow co- workers who happen to be men, but sometimes the problem is that they don’t know how to deal with me.
I notice that the one Bradford brother who had been staring at me isn’t chiming in. In fact, it looks like the comments from his buddies upset him. His handsome, chiseled face is scrunched toward its center, his lips puckered and his eyebrows curled in disapprovingly.
Oh honey, I want to say to him. Don’t get upset on my behalf. I can handle myself. And don’t ruin your pretty face about it. You should smile more often— you look better when you smile.
Finally, one of the men says, “How many tampons do you think are strewn around in the back of that plane?” and the object of my attention seems to just snap.
“Hey, Buddy,” he says, taking several steps forward to the guy who had made the comment— obviously a new recruit— and giving him a not- so- gentle shove. “How about you just shut up with those sexist comments?”
“Woah, a social justice warrior!” The new recruit remarks, rather loudly, causing several other people to turn and pay attention. “I didn’t realize you were so politically correct. I’ll try to keep my realistic comments to myself and otherwise like- minded…”
“Airman O’Connell,” a stern voice says, and everyone in the vicinity turns and looks at the authoritative person. It’s another one of the brothers— the private contractor one. He must be in charge of the trainee. “Did you forget your rank? Your respect?”
“No Sir,” says the trainee, his head hanging down like a regretful puppy who had upset its owner. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
“I don’t want to hear anyone here backtalk anyone who is ranked above them,” the brother continues. “And that’s enough of the annoying comments as well.”
“Finally,” says the brother who has been the object of my attention. “I thought you’d never step in.”
“Let’s just pay attention to what we’re here for, shall we?” says the other brother, and they turn back to Colonel Marshall’s instructions, which he had gone on explaining despite the slight interruption of the kerfuffle.
I suppose I should be grateful that my knight in shining armor rescued me. I suppose I should be swooning and begging for a date.
But all of this is commonplace to me, and the only thing that surprises me— and, I have to admit, impresses me— is that he or his brother said anything at all. It takes balls to stand up for a woman in a traditional male environment.
And in another lifetime, I would definitely be interested in the hot pararescue guy who can’t keep his eyes off me and who jumped to defend me. But I’m not that kind of girl.
I don’t date military guys— even if I were allowed to date an enlisted man as an officer, which I’m not— and I don’t have much time or interest in dating much in general. Ever since things ended badly with Peter, my ex, I’d rather stay single than risk heartache.
Once the instructions are over, Colonel Marshall tells everyone to report at seven in the morning on the dot, and to be certain to get enough sleep since it will be non- existent for the next two days. I start to head back to my plane, but someone taps me on the shoulder.
I spin around to see him— the hot pararescue guy— so close that I almost literally jump. My heart definitely does jump out of my chest, in the figurative sense.
“You’ll have to excuse my friends,” he tells me. “I didn’t notice you standing there until right after the little scuffle. I’m embarrassed that you had to overhear such nonsense. Please don’t think we’re all like that…”
“It’s okay, um…”
“Ramsey,” he says, shaking my hand. “Ramsey Bradford.”
“Monica Carrington,” I tell him, then immediately blush and feel like an idiot. He’s already heard my name.
“And don’t worry,” I continue, trying to smooth over my dumb introduction, “I appreciate the fact that you stood up for me. But I don’t need anyone looking out for me. Things always start out this way, but before long I’m one of the boys in no time.”
“Well, we’re meeting at Billy’s for a drink after this, if you want to get started on that goal,” Ramsey says.
His gorgeous eyes gaze into mine, with his eyebrows half raised, as he extends this invitation that sounds more like a challenge. Is he… hitting on me? Asking me out?
Or is he daring me to put my money where my mouth is and see how much “the boys” would appreciate the new girl on the block showing up not only at their intensive training session but also at their happy hour?
I have to admit I’m surprised that an enlisted guy is inviting me— an officer— anywhere. We’re supposed to avoid even the appearance of improprie
ty. But since he’s being so daring, it raises the stakes. My competitive nature perks up, and wants to rise to the challenge.
“Billy’s?” I ask, wondering if that’s the name of someone in the unit.
“Oh yeah, you’re not from around here.” He winks. “Billy’s Long Bar. On San Mateo and Manual. They’ve got great burgers and hard liquor on happy hour special.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, in as non- committal a way as possible. “Nice meeting you.”
I head back over to my plane, telling myself I won’t go. I have a pretty cut and dry routine the night before training or any big mission, which basically involves a bubble bath and a YouTube yoga session.
But I can just imagine my curiosity bubbling up faster than the actual bubbles if I were to actually go to my hotel and take a bath, instead of seeing what lay in store with the mysterious and blunt Ramsey Bradford. I know I would just fantasize about him all night, when I could actually be near him in real life.
I can’t seem to resist his smile. His body. The attraction between us.
Ramsey’s invitation may be a challenge, and I’ve never resisted one. He may be forbidden fruit, but there’s no harm in looking. I’m no wimp, and I can stand the heat of being near this guy for an hour or two, instead of being alone daydreaming about him.
All I need to do is remember that he’s off limits. It would be bad for both of our careers. But good for my curiosity.
That’s the only reason I’ll go, I tell myself. For curiosity’s sake.
Chapter 3
“Here’s to the end of that bullshit lecture we had to sit through,” says Jensen, as he raises his glass of Jack and Coke.
“You mean stand through!” I laugh.
“And here’s to the next two days of hell that lay ahead of us,” Harlow says.
We all clink our glasses and down our drinks. A good ten of us from the unit have gathered at Billy’s, something that’s become a tradition for us to do before and after training sessions and deployments.
For the first time, however, we have ladies among us: Jensen’s new wife Riley, and Harlow’s girlfriend Whitney. They won’t see their guys for the next couple of days due to the training, so they wanted to come out and spend time with them.
Whitney looks particularly clingy, as she puts her head on Jensen’s shoulder with a slight pout. He doesn’t seem to mind though, as his arm encircles her waist and he lays his head down on top of hers for a minute.
I guess it must be hard for newlyweds to be separated for six months. I wouldn’t know, and not wanting to know or care is one of the reasons I’ve stayed single.
This life is no life for a married man, a family man. It requires solitude, isolation and a reservation of emotions.
Why Jensen would choose to mess that all up by tying himself down with Riley is beyond me. Sure, she’s pretty, smart, and she clearly loves him. But that doesn’t mean he had to go and marry her. What ever happened to a good old- fashioned one night stand?
Whitney takes a drink out of her fancy Cosmo and says, “We sure are going to miss you boys.”
She and Riley do a toast between themselves. I can’t believe that Harlow let himself get tied down either. At least he hasn’t gone and gotten married yet.
“I didn’t know this bar served those girly drinks,” I remark, in an effort to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, you guys should be kicked out for even ordering them,” says Brian, another member of our team.
“Before we know it, female fighter pilots will be coming here to order their pink drinks that match their pink planes,” Jerry says.
Everyone laughs, except for me, but I’m glad that at least we’re not here on official business, and at least they’re not making these dumb comments in front of Monica. The way everyone else views it, they’re just some guys shooting the shit after a hard day at work. Which is one of the reasons that many of them don’t want women invading our ranks.
They think it would make things awkward, uncomfortable, and everyone would feel like they have to censor themselves. But in my opinion, maybe they shouldn’t be such douches and they wouldn’t have anything to censor.
“Female fighter pilots?” asks Riley, raising her head to search Jensen’s eyes. Her interest is piqued.
“Yeah, there was one at the training today,” he says. “She flies the new fighter jet of the same type that’s accompanying the unit to Afghanistan.”
“Awesome,” Whitney says. “That’s really cool that there’s a woman in your midst.”
I can tell that Jensen and Harlow are both trying to refrain from rolling their eyes.
“That’s what Ramsey and Jensen thought,” Jerry volunteers. “They about kicked a newbie’s ass for saying anything less than positive about the lady.”
“Oh come on,” I say, trying to keep my tone good- natured and light, but annoyed at his characterization. “‘Anything less than positive?’ Those comments were outright sexist, and could get the entire unit in trouble for sexual harassment or hostile work environment claims or something equally as damaging.”
“That’s true,” Riley agrees, always the lawyer. “And I think it’s really cool that you guys stuck up for her. Good job.”
She kisses Jensen on the cheek, and everyone coos. He actually blushes.
“Well, I was mostly just making sure I had Ramsey’s back,” Jensen says, taking a masculine swig of his drink, most likely in an effort to show the other guys that he’s no pussy. “I was in charge of the guy who was disrespecting him. But I don’t know why he had such a stick up his ass about the chick.”
“Oooh, does someone have a crush?” Whitney asks.
She says it in a playful manner, but she’s peering at me quite cheerfully, almost hopefully.
I have to admit to myself that I do wish Monica had come to join us. She was probably too scared off by all the jokes made at her expense.
I guess I do have a bit of a “crush” on her, if crush means wanting to get into her pants. But the principle I was fighting for is bigger than any crush or lust I might feel towards just this one female fighter pilot.
“I don’t know when or why or how it’s become manly to make fun of women, or girly or crush- like to put a stop to that kind of behavior,” I say, quite seriously. “But I won’t stand for it in our unit, or with any accompanying unit or crew. We’re all a team and no one should be treated badly.”
“Yes sir,” the men say, some mumbling it out of obligation but others appearing quite earnest, and seeming to respect my words.
I know I’m not the only guy here who feels this way. I know I have a good team and that they mostly agree with what I’m saying, even if it’s fun to make jokes about the female fighter pilot.
“Holy shit,” says Jerry, who is slightly turned towards the door. “Speaking of the devil…”
We all turn and look in that direction.
“Who invited her?” Brian says, practically spitting the words out.
Everyone shrugs, and I do the same.
But Whitney catches my eye and smiles. I try to look innocent.
“You guys are always shouting about how we’re off to Billy’s, or whatever,” Jerry says. “I’m sure she heard and thought it was an open invite—”
He shuts his mouth— luckily— as Monica approaches us.
“Hey everyone!” she says, smiling a bit too widely, trying a bit too hard.
But it’s cute. She looks at me and I want to wink at her, but I refrain.
“Hi,” Riley thrusts a hand out to her. “I’m Riley. Jensen’s wife.”
“Nice to meet you,” Monica says, looking genuinely relieved as she gratefully shakes her hand.
“And I’m Whitney, Harlow’s girlfriend.”
They shake hands as well, and Monica says, “Sorry I’m late. Got a bit lost. But I was intent on coming because I’m looking forward to getting to know you all a bit more before our training session tomorrow.”
She looks at me, for a brief min
ute, and I silently blink my approval. I appreciate her not blowing my cover.
Plus, I remind myself, she can’t openly admit she came to meet up with an inferior. Technically I’m just enlisted and she’s an officer.
A rather awkward silence follows, and then Monica looks around again and says, “Well, it looks like my choices are a stiff rum and coke, or a girly Cosmo.”
Everyone laughs. Even the guys.
“You obviously know what we prefer,” Whitney jokes, as she nods toward Riley.
“Oh, there are a lot of choices,” I tell her. “And some appetizer specials too. Come on, I’ll take you over to the bar so that Jessa can hook you up.”
“You guys come here a lot, then?” she asks, as we head over to the bartender.
“As much as we can,” Jerry jokes.
Soon it’s just Monica and me, by ourselves in a corner of the bar, and I feel uncharacteristically nervous. I wonder what the guys must think, so I sneak a peek over to our table, but they all seem to be talking amongst themselves, not paying any attention to us.
I guess it’s pretty normal that I would offer to show a lady around a bar with which she’s unfamiliar, or buy her a drink. I’m just overblowing the situation in my mind, because I’m afraid my crush is blindingly obvious to the others.
I clear my throat, but Monica jumps in with a conversation starter.
“So, this place looks a little… seedy, but also pretty chill.”
She glances over to the pool table section, where some less- than- upstanding- looking stoner- type kids are shooting pool.
“Yeah, that’s Albuquerque in general for you.”
We laugh. Monica’s laugh is so damn cute.
“Have you ever been to our fine city before?” I ask.
Sold on St. Patrick's Day: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance Page 34
