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★☆★☆★
The weekend passed by way too quickly. Cara informed me that I had to leave Sunday afternoon because her son was coming back. I wanted to question her, to ask her why that meant I had to leave, but I didn’t. I figured she didn’t want me to meet her ex, her son, or both. She could tell me about her son and the whole sordid story when she was ready. I was patient; I could wait, even if the curiosity was killing me.
As she dropped me at the barracks, I planned on leaving her with another hot, sensual kiss, but she surprised me by giving me one that made my dick jerk in my pants. It was one that made me almost come in last place during our sprints in PT the following morning, and I knew I was in deep shit with this girl if I didn’t get her pretty face out of my head and back into my job.
Yeah, that lasted all of a few hours. After dinner at the mess hall, I slogged back up to my room and lay on my bed, flipping through crap on my phone. I admittedly looked Cara up on Facebook but didn’t friend her. I saw a pic of her and her super adorable son in her profile photo. The kid looked to be about two or three and had a seriously mischievous glint in his eye. His hair looked auburn, almost red, and I could just tell I would get along great with this kid—if I ever met him.
I decided to send her a text. She had given me her number on Friday when we’d met, but I don’t remember giving her mine.
I miss you already, I typed out.
She didn’t respond right away, and I hoped I had punched in her number correctly. I set the phone down and decided to pull out a magazine I brought with me for extremely boring nights like this one.
I had barely opened to page one when my phone vibrated on the bed. I looked at it: Who is this? :)
Seriously? She didn’t have my number, yeah, but I still had my Tucson area code, and a quick internet search would have told her that’s where 520 came from. But I guessed not everyone was as resourceful and internet-savvy as I was. Ha. I tried to formulate a response that would sound nice but not too creepy, but I only managed: Your sexy soldier.
She responded right away: Well, now I have your number. You can’t escape me now!
Oh, little did she know, I wanted no part of escaping from her. She was the one who’d better watch out because I had no intentions of escaping anywhere except straight back into her bed, if she’d have me.
★☆★
The following weekend sucked badly because I had duty. I was bored out of my skull, stuck in a military police car with nothing but my phone to occupy me. Earlier in the day, Cara had told me she was going out with her friend, and when I had asked where she told me some club called Cowboys. I grinned and found this amusing, since I could only assume this was a country bar. I thought about how she had balked at the country music I had “polluted” her radio with. I Googled it and saw it was indeed a country bar, a very large, popular one from the looks of it. I definitely wanted to check it out while I was here.
I sighed as I sat back in the driver’s seat and wondered what she was doing. If she was dressed the way she had been the weekend when we’d met, I was sure she was getting lots of male attention, especially if she was with that tall friend of hers. Dan was still talking about how hot Miranda was, but part of me thought he was doing it more out of surprise that he could get someone like her while still being married, more than him thinking she was actually the hottest girl on the planet. She wasn’t, and while I could admit that Miranda was probably more the type I usually went for, something about Cara that drew me in the instant I’d laid eyes on her and wouldn’t let me look away. And when I spent that first night with her, I had no expectations of anything further.
I’d had women want something more after a night together, and usually, I wasn’t interested. After my divorce, I had taken out all my hurt, frustration, and anger onto any cute female willing to take me home for the night. Sure, they’d give me their numbers. Still, those little slips of paper never made it past the trash can set outside their apartment buildings or condos, and any that did, fell victim to the washing machine when I’d forget to check my pockets during the week’s laundry. So imagine my surprise when it was me wanting to see Cara again.
I had to ask if this was something I was doing out of boredom. I was stuck in the damn barracks for weeks. I had contemplated flying home and driving my truck back here so Cara wouldn’t have to cart me around in her little car, but I wasn’t sure. Having her drive me everywhere would solidify a commitment that I wanted to see her more throughout the summer. And while I knew it in my head, I wasn’t ready to admit that to myself yet.
I stared down at my phone and wondered if I would seem too clingy if I sent her a text. I was so absolutely bored. So, I took a quick look around the dark surroundings of this small base, saw it was absolutely quiet, and then threw caution to the wind and said, screw it:
Me: Having fun?
I stared at the phone and sighed when I didn’t get a response.
My radio chirped, and I heard Dan’s voice. “Forrester, there’s a POV on the perimeter road. Go check it out.”
I put the car in gear and went to check out this “personally owned vehicle” Dan was talking about.
Dan was a fellow MP, military policeman, and while we were supposed to be in training on this base here for the summer, I was convinced they had just sent us here because they were short on MPs. I thought so many times about getting a street cop job when I had gotten out of the military, but I didn’t want that, not now. I took that crappy construction job because, subconsciously, I was biding my time until I could convince myself to go back into the Army fulltime. I knew I risked another lengthy deployment, but the pull was too great. I was born to be a soldier. The pull I felt for Cara was comparable to the one I felt, drawing me back into a life of camouflage and rifles.
I flicked my red and blue lights on behind the Honda minivan and watched as the driver cautiously pulled over to the side of the road. I waited a minute before getting out and walking up to the driver’s window in full uniform. I adjusted my beret to make sure it was straight.
A pretty brunette, biting back a smile, leered up at me with wide hazel eyes. “Why did you pull me over?”
“I’ll need to see your driver’s license, ma’am.”
She nodded and handed me her California driver’s license, and I looked it over. Lisa Jenkins, local. “The speed on base is twenty miles per hour.” I peered into the van and saw a very cute blonde in the passenger seat and another in the backseat, an empty baby seat next to her. “What are you ladies doing here?”
The driver bit her lip. “Um, we were just visiting the bar.”
I raised a dark eyebrow at her. “Really?” I slowly ran my gaze over her minivan.
She nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry we were speeding, officer.”
I sighed. “Slow it down, ladies.” I handed her license back to her.
“Okay, sorry. We will.”
She drove off, and I could hear giggles and a “He was hot!” coming from the van before her window was all the way up.
I keyed my radio. “Forrester to Lakin, POV was just someone heading to the bar.”
It was silent for a minute, then he replied, “Got it. Hope they get lucky.”
I shook my head and decided not to engage Dan in any over-the-radio banter. I had gotten in trouble for that before on Ft. Carson and chose not to risk it, even though I knew there was probably nobody listening.
I drove the patrol car around to the bar on base and decided to park in its parking lot, seeing what people were up to and making sure nobody drank and drove.
I saw the minivan in the lot and hoped the desperate housewives were having fun on their night out. I couldn’t figure out why they’d chosen to come here, but hey, as I’d been told by a chick I’d banged a few months ago, some have serious fantasies about screwing military men—so who was I to crush anyone’s fantasy?
I sat in the patrol car, chewing my thumbnail. I couldn’t get Cara out of my mind, and I decided to send her another text: Whatcha doin?
Thirty minutes went by without a response, so I tried another tactic: You ignoring me?
That sounded a little passive-aggressive, but I wondered what type of girl I was dealing with here. Some chicks responded better to that type of behavior. Even though I knew long-term, I could never pull it off. The truth was, I was too nice and had been told that by way too many women, my ex-wife included.
I was surprised when my phone vibrated with a text back from Cara: No of course not. The club is dead. We’re leaving.
I smiled and picked up my hand-held radio. “Forrester to Lakin.”
“Lakin, go.”
“I’m taking off. Cover me.”
Silence.
“Do you copy?” I asked, my finger twitching over the call button.
“Yes, Forrester, I copy. Why should I?”
“A certain blonde with long legs and a red Civic ring a bell?” I asked, reminding him of the dirt I had on him.
“I got your back, Forrester.”
“Your car keys in your room, sir?” I asked, pushing my luck.
He sighed over the radio, and I had to swallow down a laugh. “On the dresser.”
I steered the patrol car to the garage and parked it, locked it, and walked back to the barracks.
I quickly packed an overnight bag and then plucked the keys to Dan’s little sports car off his dresser. I hoped he didn’t need it, because I certainly wasn’t coming back until morning.