Duty: A Secret Baby Romance Page 3

  “I won't, Sarge,” I told her then. “Can I ask why? They aren't officers.”

  “They are and they aren't,” she told me. “You're right, they are technically wedged in this alternate reality world of cadet-land. Any other post, they don't hold rank to do a damn thing. But remember, the Corps might be a bunch of college students, and in a lot of ways, they act like it too, but they're officers in training. And once the firsties march through Michie in late May and suddenly find themselves Second Lieutenants . . . well, let's just say I've seen and heard a few stories about people who found out too harshly that their down-low but still UCMJ-okay relationship got them dumped with a quickness once that butter bar got pinned on their shoulders.”

  At the time, I didn't think it'd be a problem. I didn't like the Corps. In fact, since then, I’ve come to dislike the Corps even more. Besides First Captain Bitch-face, Greene's words were right. I don't mingle with the Corps a lot, but I've gotten my fair share of guy cadets trying to hit on me when I've been around Highland Falls. Then again, I'm of the sincere and utter belief that male cadets will hit on anything that has a vagina if they think they've got a shot. And the arrogance is off the charts on some of them, too.

  Maybe that's why I gave my number to Aaron. He came across as confident, but not so strongly that it turned me off. Maybe I'm just overthinking things. I mean, it’s just a damn bike ride. It's not like I agreed to go out for an actual date.

  The door to my room opens, and my roommate, Jo Hall, comes in. She's a Specialist that works for Garrison Command too, although she's a paralegal who works with the Law Department. “Hey Jo, how was the day?”

  “Fucking asshole stared a hole in my tits,” Jo grumbles, going over to her side of our shared barracks room and starting to unbutton her shirt. “I fucking hate Monday to Thursdays.”

  I hum in understanding. Monday through Thursday, those of us who work anywhere near Central Post have to dress like the cadets, which means in our blue and white class B uniforms. Thank God they issued us all two more sets for that, but I feel more comfortable on Fridays or non-football weekends when I can wear a real Army uniform, field fatigues. “Why not just wear a sweater?”

  “In the law department?” Jo asks, giving me a raised eyebrow. I feel bad for her. She’s got large breasts that usually could be used as an asset, but she gets a lot of unwanted attention. “First off, the sweater is itchy as hell. Secondly, the Colonel likes to keep it warm all the time. If I wear that sweater, I'm going to drop from dehydration in two hours.”

  I laugh at the image, and she joins in. “Well, at least you have something to show off,” I reassure her.

  “I guess we both have our problems. You and that ass that has the women's lacrosse team salivating,” Jo shoots back. It's a long-standing rumor that the women's lacrosse team is filled with lesbians. I don't think it's true . . . probably started by some of the asshole male cadets that neither of us can stand that got shot down by the lax team, but it still sticks around. “I think that's why you like that bike of yours so much. You can tease every man on post and still get in exercise.”

  “Gotta do what you gotta do.” I laugh in reply, my laughter fading as I think of the way Aaron looked at me. “So what's on your agenda for tonight?”

  “Me and the University of Phoenix have a date,” Jo replies, stripping off her shirt and undoing her sports bra. She sighs as her boobs finally get to tumble free, and she rubs her shoulders where the straps have cut pink lines into her skin. “What do you think of me getting a reduction? I'm sure I could talk Kellar Hospital into doing it.”

  I tsk my tongue, shaking my head. “To quote the Dread Pirate Roberts: There's a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. 'Twould be a shame to damage yours.”

  Jo laughs and grabs a t-shirt, pulling it over. “You're too much.”

  “Hey, I'm going to grab some food. You want anything?”

  I should’ve known better even before I opened my mouth. Jo fights her weight constantly, and she shakes her head. “Not tonight. Didn't you hear? First Sergeant's doing tape tests Friday morning. Think I'll be eating light for the next few days.”

  I sigh, nodding. She looks good, but Jo and the Army weight standards don't get along too well. “Okay. Have fun with whatever you're working on.”

  “I will. See you later.”

  I leave the room and head out, wondering what I'm going to eat. Garrison enlisted mess isn't all that tasty, but it’s part of my benefits. Might as well eat for free when I can.

  Chapter 3

  Aaron

  “So how was your test?” Lindsey asks as we push up and over the hill. The mid-winter chill bites through our tights and our jackets, but it's Saturday, and she knows the only time I get to do these rides is on Saturdays. That's nine Saturdays in a row, not including Christmas break, that we've gone on a ride together. She's even been willing to flex our ride times to fit the realities of cadet life, delaying them to after parades or other 'mandatory fun' that the Corps likes to have us do. “Think you did well?”

  “Pretty sure I did well enough,” I reply. We're not pushing the pace. The goal is distance today, not time, so even if we're not trying to rip the rubber off our tires, I'm going to be aching by the end. “Maybe even an A if some of my guesses fall my way.”

  “Nerd,” Lindsey teases, smirking. “I thought you guys were all brawn and no brains?”

  “Only when we wear camo,” I tease back, and she laughs. “What about you? Where do your brains lie?”

  “Mostly in writing,” Lindsey replies. “Growing up, I was a big ice hockey fan, and I actually wrote about my high school team for the local paper. Made me fifty bucks a month that way.”

  “No shit?” I ask, and Lindsey nods. “I tried out for the Corps Squad hockey team, but my puck handling wasn't good enough. That’s what got me into triathlon, which is probably a hell of a lot better for my long-term health. Fewer concussions and more teeth, you know.”

  “So I guess you've got brains and brawn?”

  I feel warmth creeping up my neck, and I can’t help but wonder how serious she is. We haven't done much about it. I think Lindsey's kinda shy about telling whoever she's living with that she's going on these rides with a cadet, but as we ride, we like to flirt.

  At the top of the hill, we coast, enjoying the break. “So you wrote? Do you still do it?” I ask, and Lindsey shakes her head, blushing. “What?”

  “I got some bad reviews the few times I tried to submit stuff for publication after high school,” she finally says, shrugging. “I guess if I wasn't talking about hockey, nobody wants to listen to what I have to say.”

  “That's not true,” I tell her, and she looks over, her eyebrow raised. “I like listening to what you have to say.”

  It sounded smooth in my head, but maybe it was a little too mushy. I know I can't talk with her like I would the guys around the Corps, or even the girls, where the phrase 'fuck off' pretty much works for 'you're welcome.' I'm trying my best to be an actual gentleman, even if I feel stupid doing it.

  “Thank you,” Lindsey finally says before reaching down and grabbing her water bottle and trying to take a drink. She does okay with it but stumbles with putting it back, dropping the bottle on the pavement. “Damn!”

  “Hold on,” I say, putting on my brakes. “No rush.”

  We pull off the road and put our kickstands down, but before we can reach the bottle, a guy in a Nissan pickup drives over it, sending it flying away into the woods that border the highway. “Asshole!”

  “He probably didn't see it,” I remind her, patting her shoulder.

  “Still, it's two in the afternoon,” Lindsey grumbles, but she smiles when she feels my hand on her shoulder. “I guess this is the point where I'm supposed to ask if you mind sharing your water with me?”

  “If you don't mind catching anything I have, I sure as hell don’t.”

  “I'll take the risk,” Lindsey replies, laughing. “I doubt you've got cooties anyway.�
��

  “You never know,” I tell her, handing her my bottle. “Here. There's a rest stop up ahead. We can refill there, and then head back. Wow . . . are we really thirty miles from post?”

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Lindsey asks, and I nod. “You won't get in trouble doing this?”

  “I checked out my bike, saying I was going on a long training ride,” I tell her. “As long as I have it back by six o'clock, I'm golden. I mean, I'm sure I'm breaking some rule or another, but nobody cares unless I get hurt or crash or something.”

  “Well, you've now done more than your race distance,” Lindsey reminds me, taking a deep drink and handing it back. “So at least you know it's possible. Just try to remember that you've gotta do it after swimming for a mile and some change. That'll be fun.”

  “Oh, I’ve got a plan for that.”

  “Tell me, Eisenhower,” Lindsey jokes, getting back on her bike. “Got a motor you're not telling anyone about?”

  “No.” I laugh, remounting my bike and starting off again. “Nothing rocket science worthy—I’m just going to use my upper body more for the swim so my legs will be fresh for the ride.”

  We reach the rest stop and refill my water bottle after getting a deep drink from it. “Hey, Lindsey?”

  “What's up?” Lindsey asks, wiping her face with her sleeve. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I have a question,” I ask, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. Holy shit, I’m out of practice. It's been over a year since I asked a girl out on a date, and my tongue is practically glued to the back of my throat right now. Face it, I’m rusty. “Uh, you've mentioned before that you really like hockey, right?”

  “Right,” Lindsey replies. “Why?”

  “Well, I know from the sticker that you live on post, so I was thinking . . . would you like to go to the game Wednesday night over at the arena?”

  She stops, surprised, and I can see that she wants to say no. I'm just about to laugh it off and try to wiggle off this big fucking hook that I've put myself on when she smiles and shakes her head at the same time. “No, I can't say I'd like to do that . . . but what about going to the Rangers game next Saturday at the Garden? The Penguins are in town. We can call Crosby names together.”

  The Garden? As in . . . New York City, Madison Square Garden? “Um . . . that'd be great,” I say. “But . . . well, I don't have a car. You know, rules and all.”

  “I can take care of that,” Lindsey replies, smiling. “Just one rule. I know you don't have a lot of chances to take leave, but . . . separate hotel rooms, capiche?”

  “Of course,” I answer at once, both relieved and disappointed. Still, I’ll take what I can get. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky. “So how do we get tickets?”

  Lindsey laughs and goes back over to her bike. “Come on, we'll talk about it as we ride back to post.”

  We cross the GW bridge and into New York City itself, and I'm enjoying the feeling of freedom I'm still buzzing on from leaving post. I came down here once as a plebe and spent the two days feeling like a total hick. Not only was my haircut out of place, but my clothes too. Everything was like a neon sign saying that I’m not from New York and I'm just a goofball from the Midwest.

  It's a little better this time. I intentionally made sure to get some decent civilian clothes over Christmas break, but still, there's no disguising my haircut or the fact that I sit like I've got a steel rod jammed up my ass. At least I've had ten days to let my hair grow out a little bit, it's not too bad right now.

  “So do you come down to the city often?” I ask as we enter. “I mean, you don't have the same rules I do.”

  “No, but I don't have a lot of spending money either,” Lindsey says, giving me a look that I can't quite read. “By the way, you aren't paying for everything. It’s not that kind of date.”

  Going halfsies? Well, it’s a start. “Sure, I guess. So, where do we park?”

  The hotel isn't the best in the city, but we’re not exactly working with a big budget here. Still, it has parking for guests, and we're only staying one night, so it's not too bad.

  “We'll leave my car here. The Garden's not too far away, and we can use the subways if you want to go far,” Lindsey says after we check in. “What time is it?”

  I check my watch and see we've still got three hours to game time. “Only about four. How do you want to kill time? Sightseeing?”

  Lindsey laughs and shakes her head. “No way in hell. Actually, I could eat a good burger. You ever notice that it's nearly impossible to get a good burger in Highland Falls? And don't tell me you're happy because McDonald's delivers either. Only damn McDonald's that delivers in the country, but still, it's Mickey Dees.”

  “I can do that,” I say, adjusting the collar on my jacket. I've been fiddling with it for the past forty-five minutes, trying to not make it look like I'm a military guy who's not wearing military clothes, but finally, I give up. “Can you give me a hand with this?”

  “Why?” Lindsey asks, smiling. “I think you look handsome in it. But here, try this.”

  She holds out her hand, and I realize what she's offering. I put my hand in hers, but as soon as our fingers touch, there's a spark, a connection that I can see shoot through her eyes. “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself,” I say, giving her a wink. “I'd say New York isn't ready for us.”

  She’s not dressed up too much—jeans like me, with a nice leather coat and a dark turtleneck that highlights her blonde hair. She blushes slightly, smiling. “Whatever. I know a Shake Shack nearby that we can walk to and still get a good burger.”

  It takes us about twenty minutes to walk to the restaurant, and the whole time, I can’t help but think of how this night’s going to end. She emphasized it wasn’t that kind of date, but I can tell she’s into me. If things go right, maybe it can become that kind of date. “Hey, Aaron?”

  “Yeah?” I ask as we wait on the corner by the Empire State Building. “What is it?”

  “You've spent three blocks just looking at me,” Lindsey says, her blue eyes gleaming.

  “Sorry,” I apologize, laughing a little bit. “Just . . . gathering wool.”

  She gives me a look, as if she knows I’m not telling the whole truth. Of course, I’m not. I’m thinking about trying to get laid. You don't just come out and say that. But she waves it off, and we grab our food.

  I barely taste my burger, which should piss me off since I paid seventeen dollars for it, but I don't mind at all. I'm just happy to be in the city with a hot date, and the more we talk, the better things get. “You mentioned that you went to community college. What for?” I ask as we sip our shakes. “What'd you study?”

  “Office management,” Lindsey says with a shrug. “It's not the sexiest of degrees, but I wanted to do something. I was hoping at the time to transfer to a four-year school, but that's still going to be a few years off. What about you?”

  “I’m not really decided yet. I want something that’ll be useful. Management might give me the skills to be a better officer. I mean, if I have to do at least five years in the Army after I graduate, I might as well be good at my job, right?”

  Lindsey hums, chewing on a French fry. “Is that what you want to do for a career? The Army?”

  I shrug, then laugh. “Kind of just been going with the flow so far. Haven’t given a lot of thought on what the next twenty to thirty years of my life are going to be like. I've concluded that fate just hits you sometimes, and you’ve gotta roll with it.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.”

  On the walk back, Lindsey looks haunted, and I take her hand, tugging her to a stop. “Hey, is that why you decided to stop after just two years?” I ask her, and she gives me a look. “You know, school. You still don't know yet what you want to do?”

  “A little like that. When I finished school, I was totally lost. I mean, I wasn't sure what was next. Seeing that you've got at least the next seven years kinda planned out is a little bet
ter than me.”

  I sigh, nodding. “I guess. Still, I wonder if I'm missing something by not going to a regular school. Sure, I've got a job after I graduate, but in some ways, I feel like I'm going to come out of that school and not fit in well with civilian life.”

  Lindsey laughs in understanding. “Trust me, I know what you mean.”

  We get to Madison Square, and after taking our seats, I get to sit back and enjoy my first NHL game in years. “When I was a little kid, my dad took me to see the Red Wings once a season,” I tell Lindsey as the teams do their warm-ups. “This is a lot of fun. Brings back memories.”

  “You're welcome. Now which team do we cheer for?”

  I look around and notice a lot of Rangers jerseys on the fans nearby. “I'd say New York. Might be safer.”

  The game starts, and Lindsey proves herself an authentic hockey fan, cheering at the right points, getting into the game, even yelling at the players when they screw up. “Come on, don't let him get inside like that, you pussy!” she screams at one point before realizing what she yelled. She looks over, wincing. “Sorry. Not very ladylike.”

  “But funny,” I reply, putting my arm around her shoulders again. “And right.” We enjoy the whole game, and when the final score ends up being three-one Rangers, we cheer along with everyone else.

  “Oh, I loved that hit that they laid on Crosby in the third period!” Lindsey says as we make our way back to the hotel, grinning before giving me a look. “You never said. What position did you play?”

  “I was a defenseman,” I tell her, smiling. “Usually, I liked playing left side, because a lot of the teams near us loved coming from that direction. Shutting them down was a rush, and laying guys out was even more fun.”