Not in six months or in a year. No, that would be too convenient. Nope, I’m deploying at the end of next month and I have no idea how long I’ll be gone for. It could be weeks or it could be months. I won’t have regular access to a computer or a phone. I won’t even be able to tell anyone where I’m going. I’ll just be gone.
And that’s the life of an airman.
I try not to think too much about it. This is what I signed up for, after all. Still, it irks me that I can’t honestly pursue something with her right now. She just seems so damn perfect.
“Dude,” James’ voice brings me back to the present. “You need to calm down. You’re salivating.”
I don’t bother saying anything back. He’s right. I talked his ear off about the cute coffee shop girl and he told me to text her, but I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Not after that news.
She deserves better than me.
“I’m thirsty,” I finally say. We’re sitting at our desks, but our shift ended half an hour ago. We’re just waiting on one more person from the next shift to arrive before we’re clear to leave, and I see her heading toward us.
“Hampton’s here,” he says, jerking his head in her direction. “Why don’t we get a cup of coffee?”
“Did I miss the party?” Airman Hampton says, hurrying into the office. Neither one of us says anything. She’s perpetually late and it’s annoying as hell. She glances at the clock, then back at us and shrugs. “Sorry,” she mumbles.
Jason and I get up and grab our stuff, then head outside. We take my car and head over to Drinks on Me. Even if I can’t ask her out, even if it wouldn’t be fair, I want to see Bailey. I want to talk to her. I want to have a cup of coffee and tell her how damn cool I think she is.
“Why do you like this place so much, anyway?” He asks as we pull into the parking lot. “I mean, I know your dream girl works here, but what else?”
I don’t say a word as we get out of the car and he looks around the parking lot. Drinks on Me is right ahead of us, and to the left is a two-story brick building with “Club Kitten” scrawled on the front in black cursive.
“What the hell?” He asks, staring at it. A couple of young women wearing tank tops and leggings are walking out of the building laughing. “Is that a strip club? Next to a coffee shop?”
“Don’t be stupid. It’s a pole dancing club. It’s not the same thing.”
“How is it not the same thing?” He asks as we walk into the coffee shop.
“Strippers do it for money. Pole dancers pay to do it,” the woman of my dreams answers his question when we step inside. The shop is completely empty, save for us.
“Well, hello,” Jason says with a smile, and I punch him in the arm.
“Hey, stranger,” I swagger up to the counter.
“Mocha?” She asks, ringing it up. She bites her bottom lip, but doesn’t make eye contact.
“And a scone,” I say, handing her my money. My hands linger on hers for just a moment, and then she does it.
Then she looks at me.
And she stops biting her bottom lip.
And she smiles.
“You’re friendly today,” she murmurs, but doesn’t move her hand. I don’t move mine either. We’re at some sort of weird touching stand-off where neither one of us wants to move first.
“Fuck her or I’m going to,” Jason suddenly stage whispers next to me, and Bailey drops the money on the counter. Her mouth forms a tiny “o” and she looks shocked. Fucking airmen. We don’t think twice about the type of language we use while we’re hanging out. I always forget it’s different around civilians. Things aren’t as crass in the real world as they are in ours.
“Sorry about my friend,” I say, cringing.
“Don’t be,” she says, to my surprise. “I was kind of thinking the same thing.”
“What?” I manage to squeeze out.