14. Alex
CHAPTER 14
ALEX
R eal life never lived up to fantasy. The real thing was always a letdown from the fantasy. Always .
When I’d accepted Connor’s invitation to come inside after driving him home, I’d reminded myself of that. I’d told myself that hooking up with him was exactly what I needed to get my mind back on the rails. Give in to that attraction, indulge in the sex I’d been fantasizing about, and then walk away and move on. Once I broke through what I’d imagined it would be like and experienced the real thing, I wouldn’t be so hung up on that unrealistic mental porno I hadn’t been able to shut off.
Yeah.
About that.
Three solid days after I’d slept with Connor, I wanted him even more than I had before I’d ever laid a hand on him.
I kept asking myself, was the sex really that good?
And… yeah. Yeah, it had been that good. He’d been generous and responsive and vocal, and oh my God, I wanted more .
Several times, I’d considered hitting up Isidoro, but each time, that thought hadn’t lasted. He’d always been fun in bed, but I knew to my core that sex with him would just leave me aching for more of Connor.
What the fuck? Since when did I get this hung up on anyone? Especially after I’d gotten it out of my damn system? There’d been times I’d left so satisfied that I was looking forward to the next time, but not like this. Never like this.
Maybe it was because I couldn’t have him again?
Except… no.
The whole forbidden fruit thing had never really been my thing, mostly because the consequences were usually more of a headache than they were worth. This time, the consequences would derail my whole damn life. Connor’s, too. If our CO really wanted to be a dick and make an example of us, she could slap us with an Article 92 and boot us out of the Navy. It probably wouldn’t be a dishonorable discharge; a Sailor had to fuck up way harder than blowing an officer to score one of those. No, we’d likely get administratively separated, which did not look good on a résumé and could cost us our veteran benefits. Connor might be able to just retire since he was past twenty years, or the powers that be could decide to fuck us both equally.
Either way—not ideal.
A pile of potential consequences like that was usually more than enough to deter me from pursuing something I shouldn’t. While I had done plenty of clubbing and partying in high school, I hadn’t done any with my military peers until the fourth year of my first enlistment because I’d been too afraid of getting hemmed up for underage drinking. I’d curtailed my speeding while I was stationed in Japan because tickets and fender benders were international incidents that I hadn’t wanted to deal with (my lead foot still existed in Spain, mostly because I could just pay the cop right then and there and be done with it).
And as it happened, today I was treated to a reminder of yet another forbidden thing I wasn’t the least bit tempted to do.
My patient was on crutches, miserably favoring his right leg, and he looked like he’d taken a beating, too. There was a big scrape on his cheek, a bandage on his forehead, and another peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his blouse.
I took the order from him and skimmed over it.
X-ray. Right hip. Puncture wound on right buttock, possible bone chip or fracture to pelvis.
What the?—
Oh. Ooh .
I fought hard to keep my military bearing and not let a chuckle slip through. “Let me guess—just got back from Pamplona?”
His eyes went huge. Then he groaned. “Oh God. Did my doctor put that in the notes?”
“No. But it’s that time of year.” I grimaced and tried to sound playful as I asked, “You know you’re supposed to run ahead of the bulls, right?” I didn’t bother mentioning we weren’t supposed to run with them at all; if he hadn’t already gotten an earful from a superior, it was coming when he handed over his light duty chit.
Rolling his eyes, he nodded. “Yeah. I know. I was doing good until I tripped. Fucking uneven streets…”
“I’m sure. Well, let’s take you back and see what’s going on in there.”
Running with the bulls was definitely one of those situations where the consequences outweighed the thrill. I’d entertained the idea for a hot minute when I’d taken the orders to Spain, but quickly decided against it when I realized all the ways it could go spectacularly wrong. Plus I’d realized they were fighting bulls, and I was vehemently against bullfighting, so… no.
And that was all before I’d gone to orientation upon arrival, and the base CO had made it very clear that, “If you run with the bulls, I will find out.” He’d held up a Spanish magazine with a photo on the cover from the annual running of the bulls … with three Sailors’ faces clearly front and center.
Message received, Captain.
Not everyone got that message, though, and once in a while, somebody got hurt, as was the case with the kid I was X-raying. A lot of people did fly under the radar. They ran with the bulls, came away unscathed, and didn’t get caught.
This was my third year in Rota and the second service member I’d seen with injuries from that event. There were probably plenty of others. Those who hadn’t had so much as a scratch, and those who hadn’t been caught by anyone who cared.
If they were caught, though, whether by a bull or their superiors, they were pretty well fucked. The military did not take kindly to people damaging government property, and getting your dumb ass hurt doing something stupid was an express ticket to Captain’s Mast or even court-martial.
Not worth it in my book.
But getting your dick sucked by a lieutenant commander before plowing him into his mattress is worth it?
I shook that thought away and focused on my patient.
It was a challenge, getting him reasonably comfortable for the X-ray. He was sore all over, and naturally, the area I was X-raying was tender thanks to the sutured wound. I managed to get three good, clear images, though, and I sent him on his way.
From the looks of the X-rays, he’d been lucky. His doctor had been concerned that the horn and the resulting fall might’ve fractured or chipped a bone, but everything was intact as far as I could see. If there were any concerns about soft tissue damage (beyond the obvious), he’d have to go off-base to one of the Spanish hospitals.
Something told me his sore ass wouldn’t be his biggest problem in the coming weeks. There was no hiding an injury like that from his chain of command, and I’d seen people go to Captain’s Mast for less. A corpsman I used to work with had spent two months on restriction and had her pay docked because she’d let herself get excessively sunburned. Another had been disciplined hard for getting alcohol poisoning, both because it compromised his readiness for a few days and because he’d been underage. On my first combat deployment, another corpsman and I had helped a Marine hide the fact that he’d sliced his hand open playing with a knife; we’d seen it happen, stitched him up, and solemnly told his superiors that we’d watched him trip and accidentally grab on to some razor wire.
Taking a horn through the butt cheek and getting knocked around during the running of the bulls? There was no hiding that, and God help him if the base CO found out about it, which he probably would.
This patient was going to be regretting his life choices for a little while. His ass needed to heal, and he’d probably be on restriction and lose some pay. He wouldn’t get a Good Conduct Medal, and it would take several years longer for the stripes on his dress uniform to turn from red to gold. If he didn’t have a pattern of bad behavior, that would probably be the end of it. I’d seen plenty of careers come back from a hell of a lot worse.
If I got caught fraternizing with Connor—with Lieutenant Commander Marks—the fallout would be far more dire. It would’ve been anyway, but I knew for a fact we had a CO who liked to be a hardass about doing things by the book.
I dropped into my chair at my desk and swore into the silence of my office. I needed to get the hell over him. It was just sex. It was just a one-time thing, and we’d both known it. We’d wanted to make it count, and we had, and there was nothing left to do but move on like adults who valued the careers we’d worked for all this time.
I couldn’t have him. End of story.
The sooner I accepted that and forgot about him, the better.
* * *
As much as I was struggling to concentrate on anything that wasn’t Connor, I did at least have something to look forward to that evening. About once a month—or, well, usually less often than that—I FaceTimed with my parents back home. Not as often as I would’ve liked, but they were the West Coast was nine hours behind Spain and they traveled a lot, so it was challenging to schedule calls.
After a light dinner, I settled on my balcony with a glass of wine. From here, I had a gorgeous view of the ocean and Playa de Cruz del Mar, a popular Chipiona beach. The pale sand was crowded with people soaking up the sun and playing in the water; they still had a lot of daylight left, and the most brutal heat of the afternoon had eased considerably. I loved the view, and I loved that my balcony was situated just right to be in the shade during the hottest hours. It was a great spot for my calls with my parents, too, especially since my mom always enjoyed seeing the gorgeous view.
And they should be calling soon, shouldn’t they?
I checked my phone. It was a few minutes past 1900, which was our agreed upon time. I put the phone back on the table and sipped my wine as I gazed out at the beach. They were busy these days; I joked that retirement had them running around more than they ever had while working and raising three kids. For all I knew, they were on their way home right now after visiting with friends or attending one of a million classes they took at the local art center, senior center, and any other place that could keep them busy.
So… I could wait. It wasn’t like this was a terrible imposition, sitting out here on the balcony with some good wine.
I was kind of twitchy, though, and it took a while to put my finger on why. Though I usually enjoyed the peaceful solitude of my balcony, it was bugging me tonight. For reasons I couldn’t quite pin down, it felt less like solitude and more like… solitary confinement? Was that it?
No, that was a bit dramatic. I wasn’t confined or being kept away from anyone. If anything…
I sat up as the piece clicked into place.
I wasn’t being kept away from anyone, but no one was exactly volunteering to be here.
I didn’t have a boyfriend. I didn’t have a lot of friends. My family was on the other side of the world. My neighbors didn’t speak English.
And I’d recently had a taste of intimacy, even if it had just been sex and conversation, with someone I absolutely couldn’t have. Connor’s absence made perfect sense, but it sat like a grain of sand in my shoe—irritating and unavoidable.
Deflating against my chair, I sighed and reached for my wineglass again. It was empty already, so I went back inside to refill it. As I settled back into my chair and took a sip, I reminded myself that I could still go out tonight. I could hit a nearby club, or connect with a local on the app. Once I was done chatting with my parents, I could go out and do something about this obnoxiously lonely feeling.
Speaking of chatting with my parents…
I checked my phone again. 1932.
Okay, that was odd. They could be late sometimes, but not usually half an hour late. Not unless…
My heart sank again, adding to this funk I was in. The only time they’d been more than ten or fifteen minutes late was when they’d forgotten.
With my good mood draining away, I opened my text app and sent my folks a message.
Hey, are we still on to FaceTime?
Then I let my phone clatter onto the table, picked up my glass again, and drained it. I knew the answer already. I could feel it to my core. I honestly hoped they didn’t try to make any excuses this time, because those hurt a lot worse than when they just forgot. It was usually something about being out with the grandkids, or one of my siblings dropping by or… something. Something that they thought was a perfectly reasonable explanation for missing my call. And the explanations were perfectly reasonable.
I just wished they understood how much it hurt to hear all the different things that could pull them away from our rare phone calls.
I was halfway through my third glass of wine when my phone pinged. For a second, I let myself fantasize that Connor was hitting me up to screw around. Or that Isidoro wanted a booty call. Hell, I knew my mood was in the toilet when the thought of getting a message from Tobias didn’t sound half bad.
But I knew it wasn’t any of those men.
Oh, honey! I’m so sorry! We planned a day at the zoo with the grandbabies and won’t be home for a few hours.
Yeah. That tracked.
I sent back a bland message about how it was fine, we’d reschedule, and I hoped everyone had fun at the zoo. Two of those were true. We would reschedule, and I did hope everyone enjoyed the day. It was fine? I didn’t know about that. Being this far away from my family was hard enough without always being the last priority.
But was I really surprised? No. No, I was not. Because this wasn’t the first time, and it sure as shit wouldn’t be the last time.
I went into the kitchen for more wine. This time, I brought the bottle out with me, and I had every intention of finishing it before the sun sank into the Atlantic.
I wasn’t worried about being too drunk for a hookup. I felt too much like shit to even think about being with someone tonight.
My thoughts drifted to Connor again, because of course they did. Probably because he was the last man I’d touched. The last person to make me feel like I was worth any kind of effort.
Of course I couldn’t have him. Of course he was off-limits. On the other hand, maybe that saved us both the awkwardness of him explaining that he wasn’t interested in me now that the novelty had worn off screwing dudes. God, I should’ve just left instead of going into his house. I never should’ve gone to Sevilla. I never should’ve…
Well. Whatever. Every choice I’d made to spend time with him, I shouldn’t have, and I shouldn’t again. In the military, there were certain non-negotiable truths: bored Sailors shouldn’t run with the bulls, and lonely ones definitely shouldn’t hook up with officers.
Sitting here on this beautiful balcony overlooking that gorgeous beach, with a bottle of good Spanish wine, my silent phone, and a conspicuously empty chair beside me, I swore into the breeze before taking a deep gulp from my glass.
And all the way to the bottom of that bottle, I wondered if the kid with the punctured butt cheek was regretting his life choices tonight as much as I was regretting mine.