A Force of Nature

by Kara Liane

  Shit, it’s a good thing I know a few terms about fashion from my baby sister, I laughed to myself.

  Whatever this chick was wearing didn’t really matter, though. She could have been in tatters, and she would have looked just as alluring. How she’d stayed warm in it through the December cold was beyond me. With her golden skin, she belonged on a beach, not in Philadelphia. She began tapping her foot, clearly waiting for something.

  She ran into me, I realize when I replay the scene in my mind.

  What, like an apology? Tough shit, cupcake.

  “Airman,” I stated back.

  “What?” she questioned me with snarkiness to her tone.

  “I’m an airman, not a soldier. Airmen are in the air force. Soldiers are army. Big difference, sweetheart,” I clarified.

  She scoffed and returned with, “Does it really fucking matter at this point? And don’t call me ‘sweetheart.’ I’m a woman. Big difference, buttercup.”

  Wow, she had a damn mouth on her. I didn’t know if I liked it or not yet. With my hackles up, I decided to set the young woman straight.

  “Fair enough, ma’am,” I said sarcastically.

  She narrowed her eyes into tiny, piercing slits. If I know anything, I know women do not like to be called “ma’am” unless they’re much older. No woman likes to seem aged before her time. I stifled my laugh. Shit, she was easy to rile up.

  This could actually be fun.

  Normally the women I screwed around with just wanted a good time in the sack or some company to go to dinner and a movie with. I’d go out to bars or find lonely women who were fellow NCOs around the base to keep me company.

  I’d never had a serious relationship. It was just too hard with all the deployments. Who in her right mind would voluntarily sign up for this kind of life? Being married to a service member is like being married to a ticking time bomb. You never know when the hell we might go off; I mean this in many different respects. We’re a unique breed because we have to be.

  I looked at the lanyard hanging from her neck. It appeared to be some kind of a press badge. I reached for it. She must have thought I was going to grab her tits, because she blocked me with lightning-fast reflexes. She swatted my hands away furiously.

  “Whoa there, Karate Kid!”

  “Hands off, buddy,” she admonished. Then she followed it up with a sugary-sweet, sarcastic tone, “I mean . . . airman.”

  My dick was pissed off and turned on in equal measure. How the fuck was that possible? This woman pissed me off and made me want to cover her in cum. I smiled at her. I realized I had to take back control of the situation. This was a game I was willing to play all day—and night—if I had to.

  “Technical sergeant, actually,” I corrected her.

  She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes again while pursing her lips. I could see the wheels turning.

  Before she could respond, I went on to say, “I am an airman, but it’s more of a generic term, much like soldier is. I should be addressed by my rank, which is technical sergeant.”

  She laughed in a haughty manner and retorted, “Oh, I’m sorry. Is this introduction time? Well then, you can address me as ‘Your Highness.’”

  Wow, this woman was thorny and hot as hell.

  Thorny and horny rhyme, hmm.

  I just grinned widely back at her. She tapped her foot again. It was cute the way she got so mad.

  “By the way, Your Highness, I wasn’t reaching for your tits. I was looking at your badge,” I claimed.

  She looked confused at first, then glanced down at her chest and back up to meet my gaze. “I knew that!” she announced, but clearly she hadn’t known.

  I bit my tongue to keep from quipping back with something just as sharp as her bite. I had a sneaking suspicion this would not be the last time I’d cross paths with the woman, so I tried to rein in my need to rib her. Call it intuition or whatever you want, but I felt surely we’d meet again.

  For some odd reason, she held the badge out to me, away from her chest, in acceptance. It still dangled on the lanyard around her neck.

  I took a step closer. Her neck was so delicate; I could see her collarbones stick out from the sides. I found that feature so sexy. I wanted to lick her right there. Once I was closer to her, I could smell a light scent of cucumber and melon. I held the badge in my palm and flipped it over. It read, “Everly Reynolds, Reporter, Philly Timez.”

  Hmm never heard of her—or the publication, for that matter.

  I let the ID fall from my hand. It swung back to rest again on her chest. I watched the movement. Shit, I wished I knew what her body looked like under those flowy clothes. She took a deep, shuddering breath. Gone was her bristly-cactus attitude. Before me suddenly was a more serene, peaceful woman with a hungry look in her eyes.

  I was left thinking, What the fuck?

  Then she shook her head as if to clear it, and the prickly side of her came back again.

  “Okay. Well, I have to go, creampuff. I’m covering a story about college graduations and the success rates of students obtaining immediate employment,” she explained.

  She cleared her throat as if realizing she didn’t, or shouldn’t, have to explain anything to me. I just kept staring at her, wanting to know who she really was and what she was about. After glimpsing a taste of how she might be under that barbed exterior, I wanted to know more. She didn’t give me a chance to learn more, though. She just turned and started walking off in the opposite direction I came from. I stood there for a second before I finally reacted.

  Wait. What? She’s leaving?

  I yelled down the hall to her, “See you around, Your Highness.” Then I bowed for added effect.

  She smiled and actually laughed a hearty, girly laugh, if that’s possible. I loved it. I wanted to throw her down and fuck her senseless.

  Shit, she’s beautiful.

  In return, she saluted me and said, “Technical sergeant.”

  She then disappeared.

  I returned to my seat in the auditorium with a bounce in my step. I managed the stairs just fine this time. When I sat down next to my brother-in-law, I was sporting the biggest, goofiest grin. Alexi looked at me like I had been smoking crack.

  “What gives?” he asked.

  I smiled and responded, “I just met a royal pain in the ass.”

  Chapter 2: Never Really Came Back

  Brenneth

  February 14, 2017

  My niece arrived after thirty-nine weeks and three days. I am happy to report that my sister delivered the most beautiful baby girl the world has ever seen. I’m told Lil’ Bits came out screaming, so I think she takes after her father. I was petrified to look at her, so even holding her seemed out of the question. But Caylan insisted I take a turn, so Emeline Valentine Graham was placed gently in my arms. Once I held her, though, I knew I wouldn’t drop her for anything. The last time I held a baby was when Caylan was born. I was scared shitless then, and I was scared shitless now. I’m a messed-up person, so being entrusted with something so small, pure, and fragile was terrifying.

  There’s something about holding a baby, though. Gazing down upon my niece and feeling her in my arms was like holding an angel. She weighed as much as a damn feather at six pounds, five ounces, and she was twenty inches long. I marveled at her tiny features: petite nose like her mother, and long fingers like her father. I couldn’t yet see her eyes since she had them tightly closed, but my sister said they were the brightest blue, only rivaled by hers and Alexi’s. I kissed the top of her head and inhaled that new-baby scent; sorry that sounds fucked up, like I’m comparing it to a new car, but babies just have that smell. Come on, people, back me up here!

  Caylan lay there in her hospital bed with the most tranquil look on her face. It was one of utter contentment, and she looked so genuinely happy. She occasionally glanced up and beamed at Alexi, who donned the biggest grin. I found myself both jealous and sickened by their display of affection. Would I ever have that
with someone? Chances were probably slim considering I wasn’t ready to settle down yet, if I ever would be, but a part of me longed to fill the void that years of loneliness had caused. The gap kept getting bigger and wider over time. The longer I stayed a bachelor, the more likely I’d remain one for eternity. It was a life sentence of disappointment, signing up to be my spouse. I didn’t wish it on anyone. Conflicted much? Yeah, that’s an understated question.

  Out of nowhere, an image of Everly Reynolds popped into my head. I hadn’t seen or heard from her since the graduation two months ago, so what had just made me think of her at this moment? Odd. I shook my head at the bizarre visions that flashed through my mind. I was picturing Everly holding my niece. These types of images were so foreign to me. It was like watching someone else’s life, or a movie playing in my mind of different scenes in which Everly starred. Of all the things or people that could have popped into my head, I couldn’t believe this woman was one of them. I remember she hadn’t been wearing a wedding band the day I met her, so I hoped that meant she was single.

  Wait, what?

  Just then, as if Emeline was startled by my inner rant, she opened her eyes. I looked into the deepest, truest blues I’d ever seen. My breath lodged in my throat, and I was frozen in place. That baby was looking into my soul. She blinked a few times, did a little stretch, and drifted off to sleep again. In that moment, though, I knew. I knew I did not belong there. I was poison, and she was too pure and precious. I’d end up tainting my niece somehow. Fantasies of Everly—or any woman, for that matter—sharing moments like this with me would never come true. It was not in the cards for me; I should have realized my deck had been stacked a long time ago.

  What was I even thinking by coming here? I had no right. I stood up and carefully laid her in my sister’s arms. Sweat was pouring down my face. I was about to lose my shit . . . again. Caylan looked up at me with worry and distress hanging in the shadows of her eyes. She whimpered slightly, knowing I couldn’t stay; she knew me too well. I bolted from the room before the walls closed in and anyone could question me. It wasn’t fair to my family to ditch them all, but my need to survive was propelling me forward. I couldn’t concern myself with anyone else’s feelings. Fight or flight, right?

  Fuck, I can’t make it work anywhere. There’s nowhere I can go, nowhere I can hide. I might as well be in the shitty desert at this point!

  I never truly came back home all those years ago. I realize that now.

  A week later, I found myself outside the door of my Unit Deployment Manager’s (UDM’s) office. I had just met with my commander, first shirt/sergeant, and UDM. I slumped against the door and accepted the fact I had just fucking volunteered to go back into hell. One voice inside my head told me “You’re a stupid motherfucker!” The rational side said “You’re doing the right thing” I kept thinking how I didn’t belong there.

  How would I tell my family I was going again? They were so upset when I PCS’d (made a Permanent Change of Station) from Oklahoma to New Jersey with a new assignment. At least when I was in Oklahoma, they were close, being in Austin, Texas. We had spent years apart as it was. However, when they moved to Philly a year and a half ago, it was luck that I was now stationed in New Jersey. I felt like my parents, Milly and Fred, were secretly relieved I got injured during my deployment in 2014. That probably sounds shitty because my parents are like Ward and June Cleaver, but my mom wanted me safe and at home.

  Maybe if Caylan didn’t have Alexi, I never would’ve walked into my UDM’s office, but she was taken care of, and so were my parents. So, there was nothing else keeping me home. I didn’t want to be a burden, the head-case brother hanging around. I know people probably think I’m so fucked up, and if that’s the situation, then why would I even go over there again? But the truth of the matter is that war centers me. It rages on, and in the middle of the turmoil and stress, I’ve learned to find my own sense of calm, right in the eye of the storm. I’ve come a long way since I first went over in 2003, and at first glance, probably appeared to be pussying out. Jesus, I was just a boy then. Well, that’s what has changed. I became a man, and the desert is my “home.”

  Christ, I didn’t want to lie to my family about this deployment. I decided to omit the truth—that I volunteered this time. Before, I’d always gone because it was just my rotation. This time around, however, all the slots had been filled. But since I volunteered and another guy was trying to get out of his tasking because his wife would be having a baby soon—well, it just all worked out. We were the same rank, so it was an even swap. This would be my ninth tour to the Middle East. Fuck, that sounded like one too many. My family would deem me a hero, but I knew I was no hero. I was a coward. I was hiding, and there was no other place to do it. Over there I would be nothing to no one, and I could just concentrate on the mission.

  I was scheduled to leave in a week, on the first of March, so time was ticking. I had a lot of shit to get done—the type of stuff that no one ever thinks about until they’re faced with it. I’d have to put my vehicle into storage again, purchase more life insurance because I was a firm believer that my Servicemembers’ Group Life Insurance (SGLI) was not enough, get all my bills and mail in order, pack, and out-process from the squadron.

  The list was a mile long. On top of all that happy horseshit fun, I would also have to move out of my place. My roommates would want to fill my room. Even though I would gladly keep paying my portion of the rent, we had all made an agreement a while back about deployments. The agreement was that it’s better to have a body in the house because no one likes to be responsible for the deployed member’s possessions, so it just made more sense to leave. Then, somewhere in there, I’d have to find a way to break the news to my family and spend a little time with Caylan and Em. I liked calling Emeline “Em” for short; I guess you could say I was really partial to nicknames.

  I decided to clear my head. I was still on my lunch hour and didn’t feel like eating anyway, so I thought going over to the base exchange (BX) would be a good way to kill time. It’s the department store on military installations, so I figured I’d walk around there. I ventured into the movie section and decided to do some perusing. Movies were my thing when I wasn’t at the gym, at the local bars, or chilling with friends from my squadron. I wasn’t into video games like most of my coworkers. My favorite movie classics, which were on offer at the BX, included the greats like Top Gun, Jaws, and The Exorcist. I of course already owned all those, so I’d have to settle for buying a new release or another classic I didn’t have.

  As I scanned the shelves, my hand hovered over a title that made me laugh out loud. I threw my head back, and it felt good to let loose for a second. Once again, thoughts of Everly were on my mind as I picked up the DVD for season one of Royal Pains. I knew what I would be binge-watching that weekend. Damn you, Everly!

  I hated to admit it, but I had thought of Everly off and on over the last few months in another context. Hell, I jacked off thinking about her. Yup, she was at the top of my list when I conjured up my spank bank material. No woman should be that friggin’ gorgeous. She was a danger to herself and me. It was probably best I never saw her again—even if I had the feeling I would.

  Everly

  February 27, 2017

  I stirred from the vestiges of my peaceful slumber. I stretched my arms high to the sky and made that squealy girl noise that sounds ridiculous on me. A very ungraceful yawn followed as I worked out all the kinks in my muscles. I was glad to be alone because I’m a very vocal person, both in and out of the bedroom. God, it bordered on embarrassing sometimes, the noises that came out of my mouth. Some people probably think I’m oblivious to how I act, but I assure everyone—I’m well aware.

  Mmm . . . I had just had another yummy dream in which Technical Sergeant Peters was the man-meat star. I still didn’t know what else to call him because he had never told me his first name, the douche. Actually, he never told me his last name either—luckily I read it on his nametag.
At least with my amazing powers of observation, I had noticed he didn’t sport a wedding band. So I didn’t feel guilty fantasizing about him—I don’t go after married men, just for the record.

  I was half tempted to dig up some information on him using my investigating skills as a reporter. But I remained steadfast in my decision to refrain from doing such things because I didn’t want him to get any more under my skin than he already had. The man made my blood boil in more ways than one. He had challenged me the second I met him, and yet I couldn’t believe how instantly I felt attracted to him. It was like a laser beam pulling its target in for a kamikaze shot. Just being in his presence, I could tell he was beyond manly, lethal, smart, prideful, and in pain.

  He wore pain like I wear pain. It’s not the kind of emotion that people tend to wear on their sleeve. No, this type of pain is deep, burning, and only seen in the eyes. Eyes that tell a story. Eyes that are haunted. Eyes that have a past. I usually run from those types of eyes because they are the kind that I know I also have; they reflect the kind of pain I have never, and will never, share with anyone. Peters would be bad news for me.

  I had to giggle at my own cheesy news pun.

  He and I were surely better off just being acquaintances. But I had this crazy feeling somehow we’d meet up again. Maybe I just felt that way was because I was going to the air force base the next day.

  Hmm, maybe that’s why I dreamed of him again.

  I thought it would be ironic if I ran into him. I happened to have an interview scheduled for a story I had been working on regarding the military, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was stationed on that exact base. The odds were good, considering he had been at the Temple University graduation two months ago and the air force base in New Jersey wasn’t too far away. It was the closest one I could think of.

  I was already putting way too much effort into thinking this out logically. I needed some coffee. I ran on copious amounts of coffee, energy drinks, and Cheetos. Don’t ask me how the hell I stayed 120 pounds, because I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t work out, and I was one of the least healthy people I knew when it came to nutrition. Okay, okay, I’d occasionally sneak some salads and fruits in there, but I rarely had the time. I’d pitch a story idea to my managing editor or I’d get a tip, and I was off and running.