Ramsey: A Military Bad Boy Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance (The Bradford Brothers Book 3) (3 page)

As Ramsey and I head back over to the table, I can’t believe I’m doing any of this. Meeting this guy for a drink, hanging out at a bar with a bunch of guys who clearly don’t want me here, letting him touch me.

And touching him back.

It’s not like me. But I can’t seem to help myself. What started out as curiosity— or was that just an excuse?— has grown to become something closer to interest, with a lot of attraction thrown in for good measure.

Maybe I’m tired of being the good girl, doing everything right. Maybe it’s time for a change.

I feel sure that things will still be awkward with everyone, and I wish that somehow Ramsey and I could be alone. But the attitude at the table is more friendly and fun than it was when I first arrived.

Apparently the alcohol has kicked in, and everyone has loosened up a bit.

“Long Island, nice choice,” says one of the guys, nodding at my drink.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Ramsey says.

Every time I hear his voice, my spine tingles; my whole body tingles. I’m glad that he likes my drink choice, because I just ordered what my college friends and I used to get on special during girls’ nights out. I don’t drink often, but I need some liquid courage in this situation.

“So is everyone here going on the next deployment?” I ask, trying to get to know them, even though what I
really
want to ask is how long the couples have been together. But I know that’s way too much of a “girl question” to ask around a bunch of guys who already make fun of me for being too “girly.”

“Everyone but Jensen and Mark here,” someone says. I don’t know any of their names yet, and none of them introduce themselves to me. “They’re private contractors.”

“I see. And I’m guessing by the looks of things that Jensen and Ramsey and…”

Crap. I forget his name.

“Harlow,” his girlfriend, Whitney, fills in for me, gracefully. “And yes, they’re brothers.”

“Brothers in life, brothers in combat,” Jensen says. “I served in the unit until recently. I was there when Harlow nearly got blown up.”

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“Someone who hasn’t heard of the great and heroic Harlow!” Ramsey announces, and everyone laughs.

“Shut up, dude,” Harlow says, but it’s good- naturedly.

They tell me the story of Harlow’s injuries and remarkable recovery. I’m impressed.

The team shares more stories of the brothers’ antics over the years, as well as tales about their unit in general. I’m touched by their comradery and loyalty. And I’m glad we’re all actually getting along.

Midway through some stories, some guys show up— not in uniform but instead wearing leather motorcycle gear. Jensen introduces them as his “motorcycle gang” friends. They look a bit rough, but seem very nice, and I’m glad I’m no longer the only outsider to the group.

After a while, one of the motorcycle guys says, “C’mon Jensen, you know we came to collect you. Let’s head to Louie’s.”

“Not Louie’s,” Harlow groans.

I look at him inquisitively.

“It’s a dive bar that Jensen and his motorcycle friends like to frequent,” Ramsey exclaims.

“Divier than
this
?” I ask, and everyone laughs.

“Believe it or not, yes,” Harlow says. “My girl doesn’t let me go.”

“Very funny,” Whitney says. “You’re free to do whatever you want. You’re just not free to have a happy girlfriend and do what you want, simultaneously.”

We all laugh.

Harlow obediently says, “You boys have fun. And you too, Riley. Hang on tight on that bike. My brother drives like a bat out of hell.”

“Very funny,” Riley says. “And I know your next joke, from hearing it one too many times: the best way to solve the problem of too many lawyers is to put as many as possible on the back of a motorcycle while your brother’s driving it.”

There are laughs all around.

“It was great to meet you,” Riley gives me a wave. “And seriously. I never thought I’d be riding around on a motorcycle. The things we do for love, right?”

“Right,” I say, as if I would know.

The last thing I did for love was wait around on a guy who didn’t really want me. There was no motorcycle involved, nor much excitement at all, by the end.

Most of the other guys get up too, some saying they’re going to Louie’s and others saying that those guys are crazy for staying out late the night before training, and that they themselves are going to be good little responsible airmen and go home and go to bed. Riley and I stand up and exchange a quick hug before they take off.

Soon, it’s just the four of us: Harlow, Whitney, Ramsey and me.

As if sensing something, Whitney elbows Harlow and says, “Honey, let’s go home. You have a very long day tomorrow, and I want to make sure to get in my snuggle time.”

“She calls it ‘snuggle time,’” Harlow says, with a wink. “Isn’t that cute? She doesn’t want everyone to know she’s a lady in the streets but a freak in the sheets.”

“Harlow!” Whitney protests, and slaps him on the butt, playfully.

They’re really cute together.

“I’ll just wait with the lady until she finishes her drink,” Ramsey says, and now it’s Whitney’s turn to wink at me.

I’m on my second Long Island, and it’s hard for me to finish it.

“See you tomorrow,” Harlow says to me, or to Ramsey— or maybe to both of us.

Whitney hugs me and says it was nice to meet me, and then they’re gone.

“They’re a nice couple,” I say, mostly to have something to talk about, now that it’s just Ramsey and me. I don’t want things to feel awkward.

But as I feel Ramsey’s hand reach for mine under the table, I realize that won’t be a problem.

“So how do you like Albuquerque?” he asks.

“It’s… nice,” I say, still unsure of my feelings about the city. “Definitely different from what I’m used to. Somewhat of a culture shock.”

“Where are you based out of?”

“Eglin Air Force base— in Florida.”

“Oh yeah. Seems very different.”

“Much greener,” I say. “More beachy than deserty.”

“Sounds nice. I was born and raised here. I’ve only really been anywhere because of the Air Force.”

He squeezes my hand under the table. I finish my drink, mostly due to nervousness. I feel like something big is about to happen. Like a middle schooler being asked out on my first date.

“I do know one thing,” he says. “They sure have pretty girls in Florida.”

I blush and he brings his face closer to mine, until our noses are touching.

“All I want to do is kiss you.”

And then he does. His kiss is soft, and gentle, but when I lean in to meet him, passion takes over and we’re making out like middle schoolers. He makes me
feel
like a middle schooler, that’s for sure.

“Ramsey. Wait. Hold on.”

I gently back away, even though I don’t want to. All I want to do is keep kissing him.

“This is dangerous. I mean… I’m having fun, sure. But we could get in big trouble. I’m an
officer
. We start training early tomorrow morning. And we’re in
public
.”

“I agree,” he says, quickly, surprising me.

Maybe I was building this whole thing up to be more than it really is. He just wanted to flirt and steal a quick kiss and be on his way. Silly me.

“Let’s make it private,” he finishes.

“What?”

“You can’t drive, you’ve had strong drinks and I can tell you’re not used to them.”

“How so?” I ask, rather offended, even though I’m secretly glad he wants our night together to continue.

“Because you’re kissing an enlisted airman, in public.”

“Well, that’s true.”

We both laugh.

“You need a ride. Let me drive you home. To my place.”

“What if we get in trouble?”

I can’t help but wonder.

“It’s nothing. People do this. You know they do. Tomorrow we’ll act like we don’t even know each other. Everyone came here and had a drink and then went their separate ways. That’s all that anyone will know about tonight. Nothing else will have happened, as far as anyone else is concerned.”

“Okay,” I say, feeling crazy, but also excited.

He’s right. What’s one night of passion— of freedom?

Do I not deserve that? I haven’t been with anyone since Peter. And I will never have to see Ramsey again. There’s something exhilarating in that knowledge, bringing me back to college. Just like the last time I drank Long Islands.

“You’re right,” I tell him. “I need a ride.”

And some hot, random sex.

“And we can’t really go to your hotel,” Ramsey says. “I know there are a lot of old of town airmen and officers staying there for the training, who could see us. And that wouldn’t be good. We’ll have to go to my house.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I say decisively.

My heart pounds as we walk towards the door, and Ramsey keeps a tight grip on my waist.

We’re really going to do this.
I’m
really going to do this. This is happening.

I’m going to love it, and then I’m going to forget about it. Or keep it as one of those crazy things I look back on when I’m an old, lonely lady, with only my memories to keep me company.

As I drive Monica to my house, close to the base, the air feels light and fun. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt so carefree, so excited.

To make the mood even better, a David Bowie song starts up on my random MP3 player shuffle.

“Oh, I love this song,” I say, turning it up. “Heroes.”

I start signing, under my breath, about how he can be a king and she can be a queen.

“I love it too!” she exclaims.

I look at her, skeptical, until she joins me in singing the refrain, about how they can spend twenty- four hours together, as heroes.

“
What
?” she says, upset that I was initially dubious.

“There aren’t many girls who like Bowie,” I say. “May he rest in peace.”

“Oh come on. Labyrinth? Every young girl liked that movie.”

“All right. Well, that’s not exactly the same.”

“I’ll admit I only initially heard of a lot of his music from Moulin Rouge,” Monica says, with a laugh. “Including this song. But I liked them so much I went and looked him up, back in the Napster days, and downloaded a bunch of his music. I really do like this song.”

“That’s awesome,” I tell her, reaching across the center console of my Jeep to hold her hand. “I love to play the refrain on my bass.”

“You play the guitar?”

She seems surprised.

“Just a little.”

“You’ll have to play something for me! That’s amazing.”

“I’m not very good yet,” I tell her, embarrassed. “I played at Jensen and Riley’s wedding, but it was simple, cheesy stuff.”

“Wow. I bet they loved that.”

“I’m not good like Bowie. I’ll let this song play itself, much better than I can. George Murray plays the bass on this, and it’s great.”

I blast the music, with the windows down.

“This song could be my theme song when it comes to love,” she says, loudly, trying to be heard over the music. “I mean, it even describes tonight.”

“How so?” I ask.

“Oh you know. In real life, we’d never work out. We’d do things to drive each other crazy and drive each other away. We wouldn’t stay together. But hey, we have a day, right? That’s more than enough.”

I laugh, amazed to find someone who feels the exact same way as I do about relationships. Still, it makes me a bit sad to hear her being so cynical.

“Well, we do have tonight, right?” I ask.

“Yes,” she agrees. “Let’s change the lyrics to ‘Just for one
night
!’ To be each other’s heroes. Although no one else in the world knows about it, or they’d be discouraging it. So we’d best enjoy it.”

The chorus comes back on and we both shout out about how we’re each other’s heroes “just for one
night
!”

It’s refreshing to say it like it is, without the games and the manipulation that usually goes along with getting a girl into bed. We have one night, it’s great, we’re heroes, and then it’s over.

And it’s a reminder, too. A pact among ourselves, that better hold up stronger than the no- commitment pact my brothers and I entered into so long ago, and that the two of them recently broke. Monica may look awesome at first sight, but we both know we can’t get too involved.

We’re still exuberant, like two giggly kids, as we head up my front walkway and I open the door to my house.

It’s not until I hear the sharp, confused voice calling out, “Ramsey? Is that you?” that I realize there’s something— or someone— who could put a crinkle in our nicely laid- out plans.

“Mom?” I ask, squinting to see her sitting on the couch in the living room, in the darkness. “You’re still awake?”

Oh great
. Just what I need, to ruin my game. I’m sure Monica’s going to stay hot for me when she thinks I’m a guy who still lives with his mom.