Ramsey nods, as if seriously considering what I’ve said. I’m glad for that. One reason I don’t usually date military guys is that they don’t really understand either the similarities between us or the differences. But it seems that Ramsey understands both, or at least that he’s trying to.
He reaches over and touches my knee. A spark of electricity runs down my body to meet his hand, and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to find out how well my body still responds to his touch, even though my mind knows that our time together has come to an end.
“We never got around to talking about what kind of music you like,” he says, which seems to be a complete change of subject, but really isn’t. “We have a few minutes for you to play Jeep DJ.”
I sense it’s his way of saying, we still have a few more minutes left in our Just For One Night and One Morning. Let’s make the best of it. But maybe that’s just what I hope he’s thinking.
“Jeep DJ, huh?” I say, laughing, in an attempt to keep the mood light.
“It’s a very coveted position,” he says. “Rarely bestowed on anyone but me.”
“Oh, you know,” I tell him, “I’m a child of the 80’s. A teenager of the 90’s. I love me some Guns N’ Roses, some Third Eye Blind.”
He nods, and smiles, in apparent approval. He turns on Guns N’ Roses’ “Patience,” which I notice he already had in his Spotify starred playlist.
“Good choice,” I tell him.
“I thought it’d be fitting.”
I smile, but I don’t say anything. I can’t take his comment as anything else but an admission that he will miss me. It’s amazing how music can be used to say what we can’t, or are afraid to.
“You know they say that the music you grow up with, as an adolescent, will always be the music you think of as the best,” he says.
“So that’s why my dad was always playing his hippie music. The 5th Dimension, and Bob Dylan. And whining about how ‘kids these days don’t know what good music is.’”
“Exactly,” Ramsey says. “And why we don’t get Miley Cyrus or Justin Bieber.”
“Oh my god,” I say, covering my face in fake mortification. “Can you believe that that’s what this younger generation thinks good music is?”
“Now you sound just like your old man,” he says.
We laugh, but then Third Eye Blind’s “Motorcycle Drive- By” starts playing.
“Good choice,” I tell him.
“Hey now— you’re the DJ. You gave me the suggestions.”
“But this song, I mean. It’s not one of their well- known ones. So I’m surprised you…”
“Know it?” he guesses.
“Ha. Yeah.”
And suddenly I’m second- guessing everything. The song is sad, but in a different way than “Patience” is. Since I thought he had played “Patience” to tell me that he’ll miss me, then, applying the same logic, I would have to think that he’s playing “Motorcycle Drive- By” to tell me that we’re over. That we are never really going to be anything but what we just were.
Ramsey pulls up to my car— one of only a few in the parking lot, at this early hour— and says, “Well, it’s been fun.”
He leans over and kisses me, passionately, but pulls away more quickly than he usually does, which could be explained by the fact that we’re in kind of a rush.
“I sure would love to get another breakfast and blowjob, if you’re ever out this way again and I’m not, you know, in Afghanistan or something,” he says.
I laugh, but a part of me wants to cry. I won’t let him see it, though.
I’m just confused about how he can go from so romantic to so blasé. Like flipping a switch.
“You’re lucky we had such a short time together, because I really pulled out all the stops,” I say.
“Ha.”
I can’t decipher the look on his face.
I get out of his Jeep and say, “See you on base, stranger.”
“It was nice knowing you, stranger.”
My heart feels a little crushed as I trudge towards my car.
Well, that was that, I think.
Whatever that was.
Chapter 12
“Once we’re finally done with this training session, we should go to Louie’s to celebrate,” Jensen says, as he picks up a few parachutes, ready to run a mock session with the new trainees.
“No, we should go to Billy’s,” Harlow says. “I already told Whitney to be ready to head over there. She doesn’t like your biker dive bar.”
“Fine,” Jensen grumbles. “Whatever.”
I’m glad that I’m able to be doing this portion of the training session with Jensen and the newbies he’s training, but a part of me wishes I was doing another field training session.
During those sessions, the combat and control unit shines lasers at the places where the fighter pilots should land. We take part in simulated combat situations, when planes are shot down or bombed, and the pararescue team is tasked with finding the victims on the ground or in the mountains.
Those sessions are much more intense than this, and it’s been a grueling nearly 48 hours of training. I’m grimy, tired and grumpy, but if I were still running a close combat support session with some of the other guys, I’d be able to see Monica.
That damn chick is still playing games with my head, even without physically being near me.
“In this exercise, a real- life parachuting experience will be simulated,” Jensen tells his group of trainees, and begins giving them instructions. “You may think you know how to deal with this situation, but you need to listen up good.”
It’s my hundredth or more time parachuting, so I tune him out and get caught up in my fantasies. Damn, how I wish I could feel those full breasts and voluptuous ass, one more time.
My cock gets half hard just thinking about it, as if it craves her curves. But thinking about our pact— our Just For One Night extended by mutual agreement into Just For One Night and One Morning, but never to be extended again— is enough to calm me down.
Why do I even want her so much, anyway? She’s just one girl in a string of many, and she only wanted to be with me for one night anyway.
She only wanted to fuck me for just one night, I mentally correct myself. She doesn’t want to “be” with anyone any more than I do.
I can’t believe I’m so mentally attached to someone I’ll never see again.
I’m relieved when it’s time to get on the plane, and leave thoughts of Monica in the dust. I’ve been partnered up with a recruit named Jason, so I shake his hand and introduce myself as the plane takes off. It’s too loud to say much else, so I join him in staring out at the beautiful view of the Sandia Mountains.
I think Albuquerque is gorgeous, and I’ve finally started feeling grateful to be born and raised here. I loved it as a kid— trips to Blake’s Lotaburger and Route 66 Bowling Alley with my dad, and field trips to the zoo and Botanical Garden’s at school.
I really used to have it made back then. That was back when Dad was a well- known and well- loved politician— or, as well- loved as politicians can get, anyway— and we were a big happy family of Mom, Dad, Jensen, Harlow and of course me— the beloved first child.
That was, of course, before everything changed, before Mom ran off with some druggie and Dad fell apart, before my family became the talk of the town for reasons that were no longer good, and our financial situation was devastated as Dad tried to keep supporting Mom and her various bad habits— and boyfriends.
Dad didn’t have it in him to run for re-election— hell, he barely had it in him to live for a few more years. In the end, his broken heart killed him.
I can’t say I’ll ever put the past totally behind me, but I try not to let my family history affect me the way I once did. Hell, I’ve faced bigger problems since then.
I became a man and learned what exactly that meant. And I was determined never to be anything like my father— at the whims of some woman who doesn’t love o
r appreciate me the right way.
Although I used to be angry at him, now I realize that he was just pathetically in love with my mother, and love does strange things to people. I certainly don’t want to find out what love could do to me. That’s why I’m fine with a Just For One Night pact, even if means never getting to see Monica again.
As we reach our flight’s peak I look down at the clouds on top of the mountains and yell out, “Albuquerque, you’re the only woman who loves me! We’ll cry together forever!”— paying homage to the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
Jason gives me a funny look but it’s obvious that he didn’t quite catch what I said. I just laugh, and so does he.
After all this time, I’m glad I was able to train and be based here at Kirtland Air Force Base, in my hometown, with my brothers, and that we get to return here in between deployments. Although at one time I wanted to get far away, now there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
And now it’s time to jump the fuck out of this airplane— my favorite damned thing in the world. Jason is connected to me by a harness and I guide him through the jump from exit through freefall, piloting the canopy, and landing.
Pay attention, I want to tell him. If you play your cards right, you’ll get to do this as your fuckin’ career. How awesome is that?
Once the jump is done, Jensen, Harlow and I and two other instructors each take another trainee up on the plane and I get to do it all over again.
Free falling. This is my life, and I love it. I have so much fun that I almost forget about the female fighter pilot here on this very same base right now, with whom I had an unforgettable Just One Night and Morning.
Almost.
Even while plummeting from 14,000 feet above ground, from the sky to earth and back again, that chick is still weighing a bit heavy on my mind, and I’m wondering if I’ll ever get to see her again.
When we descend again, Jensen says, “Well, that should just about wrap things up…”
But soon Colonel Marshall is on the megaphone, saying, “Thank you very much for all your hard work. The training is now complete and I hope everyone heads home to sleep. The new pararescue trainees will be advised of their pass or fail status—”
I nod at Jason and some other trainees I’m sure will make it—
“And we hope that those of you who are deploying have a nice period of R&R before heading to Afghanistan. We will pray for your safety and strength while you’re there.”
“That’s it,” yells Harlow. “Everyone who wants to tie one on before sleeping should head over to Billy’s. The first round’s on Jensen, since his private ass makes more than any of us enlisted folk.”
“Very funny,” says Jensen.
“Stop making such loud announcements about where we’re going to drink,” someone else says. “We don’t want that girl pilot showing up to spoil our fun again.”
“Hey!” I yell, turning around to face him. “Watch yourself.”
“What? Geez! It was just a joke.”
It’s not worth it, I tell myself. I don’t want to arouse suspicions about Monica and me, and plus, it’s done. We’re over.
“Whatever, Pansy.” Luckily, the guy drops it. “See you at the bar.”
I turn around to leave, and notice that Monica is standing not too far off. I can feel my face redden. I don’t know what— if anything— she’s overheard.
I approach her and say, “Let me help you pack up,” and we walk over towards her aircraft.
“Thanks,” she says. “How was your training today?”
“Oh, it was fine. But I think I’m delirious from the lack of sleep. I was singing to Albuquerque, Chili Peppers style.
“Under the Bridge?” she guesses, which impresses me, but I don’t say so.
“You got it.”
As soon as we’re out of earshot from the guys, she grins and says, “Nice short- lived attempt to stand up for me there.”
“Ha. Anytime.”
I can’t think of what else to say, because I can’t believe I’m seeing her again, and I can’t believe this is the last time I’ll see her, and I don’t want to give voice to either pathetic thought.
I do say, “So when does your flight leave?” which already sounds pathetic enough.
“Tomorrow morning,” she says. “Too early.”
“Yeah.”
There’s a pause and then she says…
“But we could…?”
She stops.
But I’m glad she was the one to bring it up. I can take it from here.
“Extend our pact one more time?” I answer.
“Just for Two Nights?”
“Just for One Weekend would fit the song better,” I answer. “Although it’s technically kind of spread out.”
“Okay,” she says. “But too bad you already made plans to celebrate. And according to your friends, I’m not very welcome at the bar where the celebration is being held.”
“It’s fine. I’ll just tell them I’m too tired.”
“You don’t have to lie on my account. Even though you never did take me on a proper date, so now might be the time.”
“Who said it’s a lie?” I shrug. “Who isn’t tired? I certainly am.”
“Do you just want more of my cooking? Is that your big ploy?”
“Nah. I’ll at least treat you to some take- out.”
I’d tried calling my mom earlier during a break, but she didn’t answer. I have a sense of dread that she’s out looking for The Silver Fox.
I don’t want to take the chance that she’ll drunkenly stumble into the house while we’re eating, but we could eat in my bedroom. That’s where I want to end up, anyway, so I might as well shorten the path and the obstacles.
“Deal,” Monica says. “Just let me freshen up, and then I’ll meet you there.”
One more night.
I can’t believe it. One more night with this crazy, music- loving female fighter pilot who has taken up my head space for the last two days. I don’t know whether I should feel lucky, or scared. But at the moment I just feel tired, and horny, and happy.
Chapter 13
I can’t believe I just did that. Basically invited myself to Ramsey’s house. Although, it was rather pre-meditated. I did stalk him after the training ended, which isn’t like me, but I just couldn’t help myself.
When I arrive at Ramsey’s place, his mom isn’t around.
“I’m in here,” he says, from his bedroom.
I walk in, and there’s a candle burning, and some TV trays set up with Italian take- out. He’s wearing an Oxford shirt and a pair of khakis, and he looks so sexy.
“Wow,” I tell him. “Very nice.”
“Trombino’s was my dad’s favorite restaurant,” he says. “And their take- out is just as delicious as eating at the restaurant.”
I sit down and take a bite out of my linguini.
“You aren’t kidding.”
“I wanted to play some music,” he says. “But I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for.”
“On your guitar?” I ask, surprised and curious.
“No way,” he says, shaking his head adamantly. “I told you I’m not very good yet. I meant that I’d let the professional musicians handle the music playing. I’d just DJ, as usual.”
“Oh. Of course.”
I feel stupid for thinking he meant otherwise. How pathetic to think he might serenade me.
“So, what’ll it be?” he asks, seemingly unfazed.
I try to think of some calm, mellow music befitting tonight’s mood.
“Dylan?”
“I see. Your dad’s favorite crazy hippie music.”
I laugh. I’d forgotten that I’d told him that.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I like the choice.”
He starts a song, and I realize it’s “Make You Feel My Love.”
A romantic choice, which matches the mood, but still surprises me.
We’re supposed to have a pact. This is just a fling
. Don’t get too close.
But despite myself, I can’t help feeling everything spin outside of my control. I just want this night to last and last. We continue to eat and listen to Bob Dylan, a comfortable silence settling around us.
“I’m worried about my mom,” Ramsey says, out of nowhere. “I told her I’d found an assisted living place for her, and she got really mad and left. I don’t know if she’s been back the whole time I’ve been at training. I know she has to be out drinking.”
“That’s unfortunate,” I tell him. “But it’s not your fault.”
“I know,” he says, but his obviously tense muscles betray that statement. “But I just can’t help feeling like it is.”
I’ve finished eating, so I get up and go sit behind Ramsey on the bed. I knead his shoulders, then spread my hands out along both of his triceps.
“That feels so good,” he says, as I firmly karate- chop his upper shoulder blades. “That’s amazing.”
“Why thank you,” I reply. “I took a massage course in college. At Sarah Lawrence, it counted as gym credit.”
“Wow!”
He laughs.
“I know, right? At least I put my parents’ tuition to good use.”
“You sure did.”
As I squeeze length- wise down the back of his arms, a new song starts playing.
“Oh my god. This is ‘Hallelujah.’”
“You like Leonard Cohen?” he asks.
“Like him? I think he’s one of the best poets who ever lived. He just happens to also be a musician.”
“Agreed. Except this song is just too much to take, sometimes. The way it shows how…”
I knead his shoulders, listening to the music and his words, but he trails off.
“Shows how what?” I prod.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Nothing.”
How love can leave a man so weak. He doesn’t want to be weak.
I kiss his shoulders.
“Well, I think this is what you need,” I tell him. “Some relaxation and a nice massage.”
“I think I need a little more than that,” he says suggestively, and we laugh.
“Seriously, Ramsey. You think so much about other people, before yourself. You should just put yourself first sometimes.”
Sold on St. Patrick's Day: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance Page 38
