The Lieutenants' Online Love. Caro Carson
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slid right down to the carpet again. Jeez. The most romantic words she ever heard weren’t spoken, but typed.
Drummer was the perfect man, and she was so glad to have him in her life. Normal or abnormal, she couldn’t help but spin fantasies about a man who was so open with her. Her latest was that he might be a billionaire, for example, so determined to find out who she was and where she lived that he’d buy the company that ran this pen pal app. Then he’d find her when she wasn’t expecting it. He’d stride up to her and say, “Hello, I’m Drummer. I wanted to meet you, touch you, kiss you and take you away from all this.”
Of course, even a billionaire couldn’t tell the US Army they didn’t own her for the next five years. She would stay a lieutenant no matter whom she met and fell in love with. Frankly, she wouldn’t want to go anywhere. She’d been sworn into the army as a new cadet just two weeks after she’d graduated from high school, and she’d been training ever since to be an officer. She wanted to do what she’d been trained to do.
She looked up from her laptop. Through her sliding glass door, past the edge of her little concrete balcony, she could see the swimming pool in the center of the complex. It was crowded. There’d been a flyer posted by the mailboxes about free burgers at the pool today. It looked like a full-on party to her.
This was where she lived now, and even if a billionaire named Different Drummer went to extremes to find her and then declared his undying love for her, she would not only stay a lieutenant, she would continue to be stationed right here in Texas. For years.
She ought to make friends here.
Drummer’s icon flashed, indicating he was typing. Her heart did a little happy flip. They could type back and forth like this for an hour or two or more. They’d done just that many times.
Ok, Miss John Wayne, you said you were burning daylight. Big plans?
Chloe looked out to the pool. She had no doubt she was typing to a real person, but he wasn’t a billionaire and he couldn’t come sweep her off her feet.
I’ve been invited to a party. I want to take a nap, but I think I should go.
Why?
We just established that we don’t have any close friends except each other. I love
Chloe stopped typing. She deleted the word love. They’d agreed that they were either normal or abnormal together. She didn’t want to cross that line from abnormal to freaky-girl-with-fantasies. She typed like.
I like our long chats. I would miss you, too, if we couldn’t write one another. But it wouldn’t hurt to have friends around here. I might need a ride to the airport, you know, or need to call someone to jump-start my car battery. I know you’d reach through the clutter of all these pink and blue letters to lend a hand if you could, but since you can’t, I ought to go to this party just to meet the people in my neighborhood. Could be a fireman or a postman in my neighborhood, you know? Right here on my very own street.
She hit Send. Good grief, she felt like she was cheating on the man, or at the very least suggesting to a boyfriend that they start seeing other people. She’d paraphrased what she could remember from an old song from Sesame Street, as if sounding like a cute child would soften her words. Abnormal was a mild term for her.
You should go. You’ll make friends fast, I know it.
Oh. Chloe blinked at her screen in surprise. He wanted her to sign off and go to the party. What had she expected? That he would beg her to stay by her computer and talk to him and only him this weekend? He hadn’t caught the reference to the children’s show, either. She felt lonelier than ever. She couldn’t exactly tell Drummer that she’d rather type to him than meet real people, even though it was true.
She wrote a different truth. I appreciate your vote of confidence in my ability to make friends, but I don’t go to many parties. I doubt I’ll make friends fast. I’m not really a “life of the party” kind of girl.
That was an understatement. While it seemed everyone else was pulling keggers at their civilian colleges, alcohol was forbidden in the barracks at West Point, and cadets weren’t free to come and go as they pleased on or off post. Cadets who were caught breaking those rules faced serious punishment, even expulsion. Ergo, her party experience was about four years behind the average twenty-two-year-old’s.
Drummer’s answer was kind. Anyone who quotes Sesame Street is sure to make friends. How could anyone not like a person like you?
She felt a pang in her chest. He’d gotten it. He got her. If only...
I wish I knew you’d be there. It would be so much easier to put myself out there and say hello to strangers if I knew, at some point as I worked my way through the room, I’d eventually end up next to you. I’d be so glad to see your friendly face, and we’d kind of huddle together in a corner and ignore everyone as we updated each other on who was who at the party. I’d tell you not to leave me alone with the guy who just spent ten minutes lecturing me on the virtues of colon cleanses, and you’d say “What? That wasn’t the start of a beautiful friendship?”
One swift, blue word: Casablanca.
LOL. Yes, and we’d spend the rest of the party hanging out together and talking only to each other, nonstop, and I’d be so glad I came.
Chloe looked at her little pink scenario fondly. A little sadly. This was an even better fantasy than the silly billionaire one, but neither one could come true.
If that’s what you want, Ballerina, then let’s do that. There’s an event I could go to today, too. We’ll find each other afterward, and tell each other who was who at our respective outings. I want you to have a friend to call if your car battery dies. I could use one, too, for that ride to the airport. Let’s do this together. Deal?
Chloe looked at the friendly blue words, happiness and sadness warring within her. He was the perfect guy and he’d come up with a perfect solution, but the bottom line was that they both needed to find someone perfect outside of this app.
If she went out, he’d go out. So, for his sake as well as her own, she started looking around her apartment for the box most likely to be hiding her bathing suit.
It’s a deal. Talk to you later.
Looking forward to it, Baby.
Life was better than she’d expected it to be.
The realization hit Chloe as she stood on her third-story balcony, performing a recon on the party down below. The Central Texas landscape was brown and sparse when she looked in between the identical buildings toward the horizon, but if she looked down, she saw a sparkling blue swimming pool. It was fall, but this was Texas, and there was plenty of warmth and sun to be had. Maybe Central Texas was more desert than tropical, but the whole apartment complex felt like a resort hotel to her.
Life had been pretty Spartan for the past four years. Room assignments at West Point had changed every semester; she’d had no choice but to move from one end of the same barracks hallway to the other, again and again and again. She’d always had a roommate, and they’d always slept in their assigned twin beds in alphabetical order. When she roomed with Schweitzer, Chloe Michaels slept on the left side of the room, because Michaels outranked Schweitzer alphabetically. When she roomed with Chavez, she slept on the right, but always, no matter which semester and no matter what her rank, she slept on a twin bed made up with a gray wool blanket that was stretched taut and tucked tightly into hospital corners, every single day for four years.
After graduation, the Basic Officer Leadership Course had housed her in the BOQ, the Bachelor Officer Quarters, at Fort Leonard Wood. The mini-apartment had seemed like a luxury despite being furnished in institutional army style with a vinyl couch and a chunky, square coffee table that had survived a whole lot of boots resting on it. Once more, she’d had an