Chapter 2 – Monica
After my dramatic entrance and impromptu speech, I join the crowd of troops to listen as Colonel Marshall continues to fill us in on the upcoming training session. I stand close to— but a bit behind— a Navy SEAL whom I had noticed staring at me while I gave my speech.
At over six feet tall with a head of dark, curly hair and piercing green eyes, he was definitely worth staring back at. The name tag sewn onto his uniform said “Bradford”— but then again, so did the name tags on the uniforms of the two men standing close to him, who look nearly as handsome as he does, and who are obviously his brothers.
Three brothers working on one joint task mission together? I guess stranger things have happened.
I want to concentrate on Colonel Marshall’s words but I know the drill of these training sessions by now— I’ve helped lead plenty of them myself— and I can’t help but let my curiosity get the better of me.
I realize that one of the brothers is in a different uniform, and appears to be a private contractor. He’s probably not being deployed. But to have obtained such a job, he had to have vast prior experience, likely working alongside his brothers.
Brother fighters, I think. Fighting brothers. How perfect.
Commander Marshall talks about the procedures and protocol for the training mission.
“Starting tomorrow morning, and for forty-eight hours straight, you will be in simulated enemy territory with simulated battlefield conditions.”
He explains that some of the men will be on the ground with lasers, showing me and some other fighter pilots where to land. Still others will be jumping out of the planes, climbing up and down mountains and finding simulated crash victims to rescue, all the while surviving in the mountains in simulated active combat conditions.
“We are lucky to have the F-35 Lightning II jet for this training, as that model will be one of the planes going to Afghanistan. It won’t be flown by Lieutenant Colonel Carrington, but by any number of other similarly qualified fighter pilots involved in the joint mission.”
“Thank goodness the girl’s not coming with us,” says one of the guys standing near the Bradfords.
“Yeah,” says another guy. “Shouldn’t her plane be painted pink, anyway?”
“With Hello Kitty decals prominently displayed,” someone else chimes in.
“It’s probably a mess inside, since women can never take care of their vehicles.”
“She’s too busy texting, applying makeup and drinking sparkling bottled water while driving it.”
I just roll my eyes, although I don’t think they even notice me amongst them. I’m used to such remarks in my career. I’ve had to deal with them since I first started out. Such comments just make me even more determined to prove myself and to do my job to the best of my ability.
These are just little boys who don’t know how to compete against women, I remind myself. In fact, I’m used to the teasing since before I even joined the Air Force. I grew up with three older brothers, and a competitive father. Everything was some sort of game, and I often ended up winning.
I know how to deal with fellow co-workers who happen to be men, but sometimes the problem is that they don’t know how to deal with me.
I notice that the one Bradford brother who had been staring at me isn’t chiming in. In fact, it looks like the comments from his buddies upset him. His handsome, chiseled face is scrunched toward its center, his lips puckered and his eyebrows curled in disapprovingly.
Oh honey, I want to say to him. Don’t get upset on my behalf. I can handle myself. And don’t ruin your pretty face about it. You should smile more often— you look better when you smile.
Honestly, though, he looks good no matter what he’s doing. I wouldn’t mind kissing those thick lips of his, or reaching my hand down to feel the package in his pants.
One of the men, breaking me out of my fantasy land thoughts, calls out, “How many tampons do you think are strewn around in the back of that plane?” and the object of my attention seems to just snap.
“Hey, Buddy,” he says, taking several steps forward to the guy who had made the comment— obviously a new recruit— and giving him a not-so-gentle shove. “How about you just shut up with those sexist comments?”
“Whoa, a social justice warrior!” The new recruit remarks, rather loudly, causing several other people to turn and pay attention. “I didn’t realize you were so politically correct. I’ll try to keep my realistic comments to myself and otherwise like-minded…”
“Airman O’Connell,” a stern voice says, and everyone in the vicinity turns and looks at the authoritative person.
It’s another one of the brothers— the private contractor one. He must be in charge of the trainee.
“Did you forget your rank? Your respect?”
“No Sir,” says the trainee, his head hanging down like a regretful puppy who had upset its owner. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
“I don’t want to hear anyone here backtalk anyone who is ranked above them,” the brother continues. “And that’s enough of the annoying and sexist comments as well.”
“Finally,” says the brother with the thick lips and big package. “I thought you’d never step in, Jensen.”
“Let’s just pay attention to what we’re here for, shall we?” says the other brother— whose name is Jensen, apparently— and they turn back to Colonel Marshall’s instructions, which he had continued to explain despite the slight interruption of the kerfuffle.
I suppose I should be grateful that my knight in shining armor rescued me. That I should be swooning and begging for him to take me on a date.
But all of this is commonplace to me, and the only thing that surprises me— and, I have to admit, impresses me— is that he or his brother said anything at all. It takes balls to stand up for a woman in a traditional male environment.
And in another lifetime, I would definitely be interested in the hot SEAL who can’t keep his eyes off me and who jumped to defend me. But I’m not that kind of girl.
I don’t date military guys— even if I were allowed to date an enlisted man as an officer, which I’m not— and I don’t have much time or interest in dating much in general. Ever since things ended badly with Peter, my ex, I’d rather stay single than risk heartache.
I just fantasize about them and sometimes I hook up with civilians, but they’re never very good in bed. I want a man who is strong and in charge, but the guys I’ve been with lately seem to be intimidated by me.
Once the instructions are over, Colonel Marshall tells everyone to report at oh-seven- \hundred on the dot, and to be certain to get enough sleep since it will be non-existent for the next two days. I start to head back to my plane, but someone taps me on the shoulder.
I spin around to see him— the hot SEAL— so close that I almost literally jump. My heart definitely does leap out of my chest, in the figurative sense.
“You’ll have to excuse my friends,” he tells me. “I didn’t notice you standing there until right after the little scuffle. I’m embarrassed that you had to overhear such nonsense. Please don’t think we’re all like that…”
“It’s okay, um…”
“Ramsey,” he says, shaking my hand. “Ramsey Bradford.”
“Monica Carrington,” I tell him, then immediately blush and feel like an idiot.
He’s already heard my name. So he knows what it is.
“And don’t worry,” I quickly continue, trying to smooth over my dumb introduction, “I appreciate the fact that you stood up for me. But I don’t need anyone looking out for me. Things always start out this way, but before long I’m one of the boys in no time.”
“Well, we’re meeting at Louie’s for a drink after this, if you want to get started on that goal,” Ramsey says.
His gorgeous green eyes gaze into mine, below his half raised eyebrows, as he extends this invitation that sounds more like a challenge. Is he… hitting on me? Asking me out?
Or is he daring me to put my money where my mouth is and see how much “the boys” would appreciate the new girl on the block showing up not only at their intensive training session but also at their happy hour?
I have to admit I’m surprised that an enlisted guy is inviting me— an officer— anywhere. We’re supposed to avoid even the appearance of impropriety. But since he’s being so daring, it raises the stakes. My competitive nature perks up, and wants to rise to the challenge.
“Louie’s?” I ask, wondering if that’s the name of another SEAL.
“Oh yeah, you’re not from around here.” He winks. “Louie’s Bar. On Menual. They’ve got great burgers and hard liquor on happy hour special.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, in as non-committal a way as possible. “Nice meeting you.”
I head back over to my plane, telling myself I won’t go. I have a pretty cut and dry routine the night before training or any big mission, which basically involves a bubble bath and a YouTube yoga session.
But I can just imagine my curiosity bubbling up faster than the actual bubbles if I were to actually go to my hotel and take a bath, instead of seeing what lays in store for me with the mysterious and blunt Ramsey Bradford. I know I would just fantasize about him all night, and why would I want to do that when I could actually be near him in real life?
I can’t seem to resist his smile. His body. The attraction between us.
Ramsey’s invitation may be a challenge, and I’ve never resisted one. He may be forbidden fruit, but there’s no harm in looking. I’m no wimp, and I can stand the heat of being near this guy for an hour or two, instead of being alone daydreaming about him.
All I need to do is remember that he’s off limits. It would be bad for both of our careers. But good for my curiosity.
That’s the only reason I’ll go, I tell myself. For curiosity’s sake. Not because my pussy is dripping wet and aching just atthe thought of being near him again.