The Lieutenants' Online Love

by Caro Carson

  Chloe almost laughed. “I’m going to be very fair and not say that most men don’t throw well, even though those two suck.”

  The sergeant chuckled, maybe a little nervously, maybe a little relieved. “You’ve got a point there, ma’am.”

  The order to clear the firing line came from the loudspeakers on the tower.

  Chloe stood up and dusted herself off. “All right. I’m outta here. Stay safe—especially when those two come back on the line to try again.”

  Chloe cleared the range and returned to the little set of wood bleachers behind the firing line. As she took out her ear plugs, other members of the 584th took their places by the berms, waited for their commands from the tower—which was more like a lifeguard stand—and then threw their hand grenades, one at a time. Everyone on the bleachers booed and cheered the throws, acting more like fans at a baseball game than soldiers practicing the use of a deadly close-quarters-combat weapon.

  Chloe’s grenade-induced adrenaline buzz faded as she drank from her canteen. Explosions were all well and good, but it didn’t change the fact that her relationship with Drummer had come to an abrupt end.

  Drummer didn’t get it. No, Ballerina. This is the opposite of a crash. Instead of disappearing, now we can actually appear. In person.

  Night after night, she’d been going to bed lonely, angry that the only man she cared about was stuck in her laptop. Now, she was angry that he was so eager to jump out of that laptop and kill this friendship.

  Don’t you want to meet, Baby?

  No.

  His silence after that had been awful, which was why, exactly why, she was afraid to talk to him live. She could be too direct, something that was good in the military, but bad in every other aspect of life. She’d hurt Drummer with that curt no.

  The only way to explain herself was to lay her insecure soul bare. What if we met and you decided you didn’t like me?

  Not possible.

  That was very sweet, but very wrong. It was quite possible that he wouldn’t like her. It happened to her all the time, in situations where she least expected it. She’d just had a nice surprise insult from the sergeant on the firing line. The last time she’d gone to church with her parents, she’d worn her dress blue uniform, and a lovely little old lady had hissed at her that she was stealing a job from a man.

  Drummer wouldn’t be mad at her for being a girl...but he might not like the fact that she was a soldier.

  He might not like that she was in law enforcement, either. Just this week, Chloe had stopped her patrol car behind a motorist with a flat tire. The driver had started ranting and raving at her before she’d even walked up to him, furious that she’d stopped to ticket him for blocking traffic. It hadn’t even occurred to her to give him a ticket. She’d stopped because her red and blue flashing lights would keep him safer from oncoming traffic while he changed his tire.

  Three more grenades were thrown. Each explosion vibrated the cold plank she sat on. The next three soldiers filed onto the firing line. Even in his helmet and combat gear, Carter was easy to recognize. Something about his height or the set of his shoulders...

  Thane Carter. There was another person she’d thought liked her, but he’d decided she sucked. He was even pissed off that she’d developed a better work schedule for him.

  It’s always possible for someone not to like me, she’d written to Drummer last night.

  His answer had been direct. Tell me what about you is unlikable. In six months of near-daily conversations, I haven’t seen it yet.

  She’d paused, hands poised over her laptop keys. He might not like her because she was...what? She wasn’t a bad person. She wasn’t a bad cop. She didn’t even look bad in a mirror. She’d had another moment of clarity on her bright red couch: she liked herself.

  She just could never predict when someone else wouldn’t.

  The range ended too soon. The NCO in charge hustled the troops through a trash detail, then called them into formation and marched them out to the dirt parking lot. Chloe didn’t need to look toward Carter for a clue about what to do. She already knew when a sergeant ordered troops to fall in line, he wasn’t addressing commissioned officers. She walked behind the formation with Carter.

  They didn’t speak. They had nothing to talk about.

  The parking lot was empty. The troops were here. The trucks were not. Hurry up and wait was the army way. Everyone sat on the ground in place to wait, helmets off, phones in more hands than not. Chloe didn’t feel like sitting. It was nice, as an officer, to have the prerogative to stay on her feet and pace a little bit behind the troops.

  Carter was doing the same. The frosty silence between them continued, until Carter pulled out his personal cell phone. Chloe pulled out hers. If Carter could do it, she could do it.

  She checked her app. Drummer still thought meeting in person was a great idea—and his flashing icon indicated he was online right now.

  She typed as quickly as she could on her phone. What if we meet and have nothing to talk about?

  That won’t happen. It can’t. Star Trek can be endlessly dissected, if nothing else.

  A laugh escaped her. The soldiers didn’t seem to notice, but Carter looked at her sharply.

  Jeez. She was allowed to laugh in uniform. She turned her back to Carter, and gave her attention to the man who didn’t disapprove of her. Yet.

  * * *

  Thane was as hungry and tired as every other soldier by the time the trucks finally pulled into the parking lot.

  Hungry, tired...and hopeful. Ballerina seemed to be adjusting to the idea that they lived too close not to meet. Not even a long, uncomfortable ride in the back of a troop transport could dampen his spirits now.

  Ballerina was in the middle of doing something. She kept dropping quick BRBs, the acronym for Be Right Back. Thane imagined her at a dance rehearsal, stealing moments between scenes to check her phone, the way he was stealing moments to check his.

  He pocketed his phone to vault into the back of the truck and take a place on a hard bench. He looked around at the soldiers and tried to imagine a dance troupe instead. A ballerina...her hair must be up in a bun, exposing a graceful neck. She’d be intent upon her work, physically strenuous work, so perhaps she’d have a fine sheen of sweat on a clean face. Really, not so different from a female soldier.

  With a jolt, he realized his gaze had drifted to Chloe Michaels. She really was quite pretty and her hair was always tightly pulled back like a ballerina, and—

  Michaels plopped her Kevlar helmet on her head and fastened the chin strap.

  So much for that.

  The truck took off. Thane checked his phone.

  The ctx email address I gave you is new. It’s not the one I had when I first signed up for this app. We weren’t matched up because we both live in Austin.

  But you live near Austin now? Thane asked.

  Yes, but I’m not what you think I am.

  Not human? Not female? Not in your 20s?

  I’m all those things, but I’m not a native Texan.

  I’m not, either.

  I’m not a ballerina.

  I’m not, either.

  At the opposite end of the truck bed, he heard Michaels snort in amusement at something on her phone screen.

  Thane returned to his phone, but he felt impatient. He was done with phone screens. He glanced at Michaels again, at her graceful neck and her elegant profile. He wanted a real woman, a real dinner, a real conversation, and he knew exactly whom he wanted to have it with.

  Ballerina Baby.

  Baby, doesn’t it drive you crazy that the app knows something about us that we don’t know? Let’s get together and figure out why this app matched us up.

  He waited. The brown scenery went by, uninteresting, flat. The diesel engine droned on. Then his phone vibrated in his hand, two shorts and a long.

  I guess I’m just delaying the inevitable. How do you want to meet?

  How? ASAP.

  * *
*

  Thane kicked back on his couch. Thursday night in December meant an NFL game was on, same old routine.

  December means the Nutcracker. I’m not a ballerina, but I do love the ballet.

  But this Thursday, he was making plans to meet Ballerina, and that was most definitely something new.

  He’d told her months ago that he’d never seen a live ballet, so now she suggested they meet in Austin at a ballet performance: I guarantee you’ll recognize every single piece of music in the second half. I just hold my breath the whole time, one great dance after another. It’s a celebration of the most luxurious foods from around the world.

  Wait—the Nutcracker ballet is about food?

  Ballerina was the only friend with whom he could learn something new about ballet while watching an NFL game. She had the game on, too, but she wasn’t impressed with the lackluster offense. Neither was he. The ballet convo was more absorbing than watching another punt.

  Coffee is represented by a sort of Flamenco ballet in Spanish costumes, for example.

  Thane chuckled, alone in his apartment. I thought ballets were supposed to be romantic. It’s about food? I can get behind coffee.

  Well, it’s supposed to be a kind of paradise, see? The nutcracker has become a prince, and he wants Clara to have the best of everything. Coffee is one of the best things in life, so it really is romantic.

  I love a girl who thinks food is romantic. Is there a dance for steak and potatoes?

  No—it’s flowers. Sugar plums and mirlitons.

  What’s a mirliton? Never mind. I’m in.

  Together, they logged on to the ticketing website. Together, they decided which seats to get. She insisted on paying for her own. Thane couldn’t really stop her from buying Mezzanine D130 for herself, so he bought Mezzanine D131, and silently vowed that he’d be paying for dinner and drinks and anything else she wanted to do the rest of the night. The rest of the weekend.

  The rest of their lives.

  I’m looking forward to it, Baby.

  * * *

  “Friday night. Almost quitting time, Boss.” Sergeant First Class Lloyd walked into Thane’s office. “Do you have big plans for the weekend, sir?”

  Thane could speak freely, because Michaels had left about fifteen minutes ago. “Yes, Sergeant First Class, as a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Kicking ass and taking names?”

  “Not until next week.” Again, since Michaels had left, Thane could speak freely. “That new duty officer schedule is a godsend. I have actual weekends.”

  “Whiskey and women then, sir?”

  “Woman. Singular. Just one.”

  Lloyd pulled Michaels’s desk chair over with a squeak of wheels. “I didn’t even know you were dating anyone. Is this exclusive?”

  “After tomorrow night, it will be.”

  Lloyd cleared his throat before adopting a fatherly tone. “This sounds serious, Lieutenant Carter.”

  “It is.”

  It felt good, really good, to say he was serious about Ballerina. Thane had never been more serious about a girl in his life.

  “My wife is going to want all the details, sir. How long have you known this woman?”

  “Since June.”

  “But—” Lloyd sat back, incredulous. “You never—”

  “We’ve been friends since June, just friends.” Thane didn’t bring up pen pals. He didn’t want to have to defend an online-only relationship. It wouldn’t be online-only for much longer, anyway. “But this weekend, we’re taking it to the next level. I want to do this right, a big night out. I’m taking her to the Nutcracker in Austin, for starters.”

  Sergeant First Class Lloyd got one of those grins on his face, like he knew something that Thane didn’t know. “When a man looks as excited as you do about going to the ballet, the woman must be something special. How special are we talking, sir?”

  If she’s even one-quarter as funny and smart and caring and happy as I think she is...who can resist happiness?

  “If this weekend goes the way I think it will, I could be buying a diamond ring for someone as a Christmas gift.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Seat D130.

  She’d be sitting in D130. Thane’s heart pounded as he headed up the stairs to the mezzanine level. He could run this flight of stairs without breaking a sweat, but knowing each stair brought him closer to Ballerina Baby made his heart pound in a way exercise didn’t.

  He was stuck going at a snail’s pace, moving with the crowd of folks dressed for the holidays, little girls with tinsel in their hair, little boys wearing their first neckties. Red and green, silver and gold were the colors of Christmas, but Ballerina had told him she’d wear something pink and blue, like the words that made up their friendship.

  Thane scanned the crowd, looking for pink and blue in the holiday-colored sea that flowed steadily upward. He’d dressed for an Austin Saturday night at the theater, navy blazer and a dress shirt, no tie, with dark-washed jeans. Like most of the men, he wore polished cowboy boots, because he’d lived in Texas for years now, and he was taking a girl out on the town tonight.

  He reached the top of the stairs. The mezzanine level’s lobby was simple, a carpeted space between the theater doors to his right and a glass wall to his left. Beyond the glass, the view of Austin at night was the star of the show.

  It couldn’t hold his attention. Thane walked straight to the theater doors, waving off the program an usher held out. The house lights were still up. Conversation among those finding their seats provided a background hum of pleasant expectations. Individual instruments were being tuned in the orchestra pit, their random notes adding to that sense of building excitement.

  Thane headed down the aisle toward the balcony railing. Row D would be only four rows from the front edge. Ballerina had preferred being in the center of row D rather than off to one side of row A. She’d written passionately about being able to see the entire scene and symmetry of the choreography from the center; she really loved this ballet.

  Thane put his hand on the railing, feeling a sense of vertigo as he headed down the aisle at the crowd’s pace, keeping an eye on the letters that designated the seating. Row I, row H, row G.

  He hadn’t felt this lightness or eagerness or whatever it was since...well, since that poolside afternoon with Chloe. He’d been so certain, so sure that person was going to be part of his life, a good part. The ground had dropped out from under him when he’d realized she was his fellow platoon leader. That onslaught of vertigo had been sickening.

  This vertigo was intoxicating. This was pure anticipation. This was Ballerina. He’d known her for six months, not one afternoon. He knew her likes and dislikes, her sense of humor, her favorite shows and songs. He knew she cared for him. He knew her heart’s desire was to have more friends, her goal in life was happiness.

  This was it. The real it. The one woman who might end his bachelor days.

  Row D, at last.

  Thane started to sidestep his way toward the middle. D117, 118...

  He lifted his eyes, his heart in his throat. The seats in the middle were still empty. Beyond them, people were coming down the aisle on the opposite side. A white-haired couple, a young family, a beautiful woman in black, eye-catchingly beautiful—

  That woman in black.

  Michaels?

  It took him a second, but he recognized her. Her black dress reminded him of an ice-skater, with a pastel bow tied around her waist before the skirt flared out. As always, just the sight of her made his jaw clench and his muscles tense. Her hair was pinned up, but not pulled back as tightly as usual. It was looser, softer, and a few pieces had come down and were sort of wavy. Tendrils, that was the word.

  Thane stopped as she continued down the far aisle. For the love of—what the hell was Michaels doing here? This was worse, exponentially worse, than the way she’d shown up without warning at the battalion staff meeting. Not only was Michaels at the same performance, she was going to si
t in the mezzanine, disrupting his night like she disrupted everything else. Now how was she going to attack him, undermine him, make him miserable? He didn’t want to deal with Michaels and her damned perfect tendrils when he was dying to meet someone else.

  “Are you going to pass me or not?” A man in the seat before him had twisted sideways to give him room.

  “Sorry.”

  But Thane took only one more step before stopping, watching in horror as Michaels entered row D from the other side. Good God, what were the odds? This was insane. It was the biggest night of his life, the night when he was finally going to meet the woman of his dreams, and Michaels was here to make it all difficult.

  He retreated. He backed out of the row and went back up a few steps, row E, row F, going upstream against the flow of people. He paused there. He’d let Michaels take her seat, then he’d go back in and be careful not to look toward her end of the row as he took his seat in the center. If he didn’t make eye contact, he wouldn’t have to acknowledge her existence at all.

  He watched Michaels pass seat after seat after seat, smiling and nodding thanks as she worked her way into the row, his horror growing as she got closer and closer to the center of the row, right to where he and Ballerina were going to meet.

  No.

  Michaels was wearing black, not pink and blue. It was a freak coincidence that she was standing in the center of the row. She’d probably entered from the wrong side and would keep moving to this end, to a seat near his aisle.

  The house lights dimmed halfway. Patrons started hustling toward their seats in earnest. Michaels stayed where she was, right in the center, and sat down.

  Thane didn’t move as the world dropped out from under him.

  Then anger propelled him. Thane turned to walk up a few more rows. He didn’t want Michaels to see him. He’d wait, out of the way, until he saw Ballerina show up, because Michaels was not, could not be, Ballerina.

  He stomped up to row G. Row H.

  Not. Possible.

  There’d been some mistake. Thane turned around and leaned his back against the wall, leaving room for others to continue past him. He focused fiercely on the row closest to the railing. That was A. The next one back was B, then C, and...D. No mistake. Michaels was sitting in D. In the center.