Chapter 22 – Ramsey

The sun is beginning to set as Monica and I are seated. I don’t think the sunset is ever as beautiful anywhere as it is in Albuquerque, but I still think I have the best view, because Monica is here. It’s rather chilly, so I give her my jacket.

“What do you recommend?” I ask her, as I look at the menu, rather lost. I’m definitely not a seafood guy.

“We can try the seafood platter,” she says. “It should have something that even a land- locked person like you might like.”

“Very funny. But why not? Let’s do it. I’m feeling adventurous today.”

“You must be,” she says, “to have flown all the way here.”

I smile at her, but I’m kicking myself for not deciding to do it sooner. It’s silly that I have to fly back tomorrow, when I could have been with her all week, or even longer.

“You know,” I tell her. “My brothers wanted to take me on a ‘last hurrah’ trip to Vegas, but I wanted to come see you.”

She stares at me, a little confused, and I guess I don’t blame her.

“I’m saying that, because I wish I had more time to spend with you. I decided to come here, to Florida. I had no interest in Vegas. I just wanted to be with you.”

She smiles, and I reach across the table to hold her hand.

“I have a couple things I have to do back at home before I leave,” I continue. “Or else I would have come sooner. I found a place for my mom, but then my brothers decided on something different. But anyway. We’re going on a mini family trip in a couple days, and spending a little time together before Harlow and I leave. Otherwise I would stay longer.”

Monica nods, and smiles.

“Ramsey, I’m really surprised by your trip, and I’m just glad you came at all. Was it the soundtrack?”

I nod. “I can’t resist the pull of music.”

But really it was just my instinct, my crazy desires. I couldn’t go on deployment without seeing her one more time. As crazy as it sounds, listening to the music and remembering our time together, while knowing that was it, was just too unbearable.

I can’t tell her that, though. I have to respect her wishes. She doesn’t want a relationship. She doesn’t want commitment.

Our waiter approaches and asks if we’d like something to drink, or an appetizer.

“I’ll take a Jack and Coke,” I tell him. “And whatever the lady wants, of course.”

He smiles at her, but she just says, “I’m good with my water, thank you. And we already know what we’d like to eat.”

“Sure,” says the waiter, and she orders the platter.

I raise an eyebrow at her, because I haven’t known her to not order a drink. We definitely had our share of alcohol together in Albuquerque. And she seems a little rushed. Is she trying to hurry through our dinner date?

Stop overthinking everything, I tell myself. It’s a bad habit of mine. But I can’t help but try to bring it up.

“Taking it easy?” I ask her.

“What?” she says, looking as if I’d accused her of a crime.

“I mean, you don’t want anything to drink?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m kind of going through a healthy phase.” She smiles, as if a bit embarrassed, and I feel stupid for putting her on the spot. Not everyone drinks on every date, I remind myself.

“That’s cool,” I tell her. “Do you have some more training coming up? A PT test?”

“No, not really.” She looks out towards the bay. “I just…”

I wait for her to continue, but she looks hesitant.

“Actually, since you’ve mentioned work,” she says, but then takes her hand away from mine and rubs it nervously on her glass. “I just, I’ve been thinking about whether or not to continue.”

“To continue?” I ask, as our waiter brings my drink.

Just in time, because I think I’m going to need it. I know she mentioned “work,” but I can’t help fearing the worst: that she’s somehow talking about us, about continuing to date me. Which makes no sense, since I’m about to be overseas, and we’re not exactly “dating.”

“In the Air Force, I mean,” she says. “With my career. I’ve been thinking about retiring.”

I look at her, trying not to let my eyes bulge. It just wasn’t what I was expecting.

“I mean,” She continues, “I’d still work for the Air Force in some capacity, but maybe as a civilian. Maybe I’d capitalize on the educational benefits and go on to get my PhD in engineering or something.”

“Cool,” I say, although it’s only because I’m at a loss for words.

I’ve never really considered retiring. I just figured that jumping out of planes would be something I do until I die, either in combat or as an old man.

“With everything that’s happened with my brother, and with seeing the daily toll it takes on Susan, and on Becky, although she’s still pretty young… I don’t know,” she says, shrugging. “It’s hard to explain. But life is short, and I’ve already lived it pretty hard. I want to see the world— not just war zones.”

“Yeah,” I say, able to relate to that sentiment. “That’d be nice.”

I’d never even been to Florida, to such a beautiful place as this beach.

“I want to spend time with those I’m closest to. I want to re-assess everything I guess.”

“I can understand.”

And I finally do.

“You’re young to be thinking about these things,” I tell her. “Retirement. Death. You sound much older.”

“But I get it,” I say quickly, as an offended look passes across her face. “It makes sense, knowing the life we’ve both lived.”

It hits me then, how much we have in common. She’s been through many of the same experiences I’ve been through, or even worse. She’s flown a fighter pilot into enemy territory. Who knows what all she’s done and seen? She even lost her brother, whereas I only just almost lost mine.

I feel like she understands me in a way that no one else does. Not even my own brothers.

But I can’t say that, because that’s more like a Serious Relationship Discussion.

So instead, I just say, “I can definitely understand where you’re coming from. I’m not exactly in the same spot, but I can relate.”

And then our food arrives, a large platter that I’m afraid we’re not going to be able to finish.

“Here, try this fried shrimp first,” she says, lightening the mood as she dips a piece in cocktail sauce and then holds up it up for me to try. “I’m pretty sure that in the history of Florida, no one has ever not liked fried shrimp.”

She’s right. It’s delicious.

I eat more, and then I move on to crab legs, lobster tail, crawdad and even mussels— which aren’t my favorite, but I’m proud of myself for trying them.

“Please excuse me,” Monica says, mid- way through dinner.

She stands up to go to the restroom, with her hand on her stomach.

I sip my third Jack and Coke— glad that I don’t have to drive anywhere— and hope she’s okay. It was a sudden departure, and she had looked worried.

When she returns, I say, “Everything okay?” and she looks at me as if that’s an odd question.

“Oh yes,” of course, she says, sipping her water. “I just… I have a sensitive stomach. I have to watch what I eat, and drink. That’s part of why I’m on a health kick.”

“Oh okay,” I say, feeling a bit worried. “Well, I hope you feel better soon.”

“Well, now you have a big challenge in front of you,” she says, holding up an oyster.

“Oh my God. I don’t think I can eat that.”

“Oh come on. You said the same thing about the mussels, and you managed just fine.”

“Do you want me to join you in your illness?” I joke, but I slurp the center of the oyster, obediently.

There’s something sensual about the way she’s holding the oyster up to my mouth— and the way I’m taking it into my mouth like a lover, that catapults me right back into the romantic mood I had been in before Monica went to the restroom.

“Good job!” she says. “You make that look easy!”

I take another sip of my drink. “I can’t say I like that taste, but…”

“But I can’t say you were too much of a wimp to try it!” she finishes for me.

“Exactly.”

It’s late when we leave, and to my surprise we managed to eat most of the platter.

“See?” she says, after I pay the bill and come around to her side of the table to take her arm. “Now you’ve experienced a Florida beach, and authentic seafood, and you even liked it.”

“I certainly did.”

We walk back to her house and by the time we get there, no one else is awake. As soon as we’re in her room, I’m tearing at her clothes and kissing her entire body. God, how I’ve missed it.

“I want your pussy,” I say, my lips traveling down as I lift her skirt up. “I want to taste it.”

She spreads her legs for me and I lap at her clit and then suck at her juices, much the same way I did with the food at dinner. But I feel ravenous for her, kissing and flicking and touching and grabbing, until her hips are writhing underneath my mouth.

“Ramsey,” she calls out, softly, yet seductively. “You make me feel so good. I’m about to come…”

Her juices run out into my mouth and I eagerly suck them down. She quivers under my touch and lays back on the bed, still moaning and heaving.

I want to tell her I love her. But that would be ridiculous.

So, I snuggle up beside her and wait for her to be ready for round two.

Everything feels so perfect and right. But I tell myself it has to be too good to be true. What would I tell my brothers, and the other guys in my unit? I’d never live it down. Not to mention the professional ramifications we’d both face.

But I wouldn’t care, if she were into me. This could really work— even if it had to stay secret. It was supposed to be a fling, but isn’t that how many relationships start out? We seem perfect for each other.

Maybe we could be together when I get back. But I don’t know if this is real enough to last while I’m gone.

So, I just hold onto Monica in the dark, and enjoy the little time that we have left together. Whatever she and I might be, we’re experiencing the very best of it right here, right now, and I don’t want to take that for granted.