Military Romance Collection

by E Cleveland

  “Ahem.”

  I nearly jump from my skin as a man clearing his throat steps in through my doorway.

  “Oh, Mr. Stewart,” I try not to look surprised. “I didn’t think you were going to show up.”

  “Yeah, well, you know.” He shuffles over to the chair across from my desk with his hands stuffed in his tattered jeans. I wait for him to finish his sentence. Surely he has more to say?

  Nope.

  Instead, I put my folders back on the desk and sit down. Jeffery’s father slumps in his seat with the same crooked posture of his son. Just glancing at his face, it’s clear to see that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The Stewart boys share the same squinty eyes and sharp nose. Their pale skin looks like it’s been pulled a bit too tight over their faces.

  “Well anyway, thank you for joining me. As you know, I’m Ms. Taylor, Jeffery’s second grade teacher.” I begin.

  “Of course I know that,” he practically spits the words. I’m not quite sure, but I think the faint smell of alcohol is wafting from him.

  “Yes,” I fold my hands in front of me and try to level him with my stare. The same tactic I often need to use on his belligerent boy. No surprise why Jeffery ended up being the most difficult student I’ve had in a long time.

  “Listen Mr. Stewart, we’re already running late here, so I’m going to cut to the chase. Jeffery is a very bright boy. I can see that his vocabulary skills surpass most of his classmates and that his math is on par with the expectations of the second grade curriculum.”

  “Yep,” he interrupts.

  “However, he has been having some issues with following the rules of the classroom that often cause disruption in the other student’s routines.” I continue, undeterred by his rudeness.

  “Ok, so?”

  Seriously?

  I inhale sharply through my nose and count to five in my head. It’s never hard to see why any of these children are the way they are and Jeffery is no exception. At this age, the parents are still the biggest influence in their lives. It’s always such a damned shame when you can see a spark of potential in a student that you know can either grow into a bonfire with the right tools or be extinguished. I don’t want that for Jeffery. He’s only seven-years-old and far too young to give up on. Especially because his father is an asshole.

  “The problem is that when Jeffery disrupts the class, talks back or refuses to follow the rules, he’s putting everyone at a learning disadvantage, Mr. Stewart. Including himself. There’s only so much time in a period to teach a subject and I don’t have time to waste on trying to teach children the manners they should already have learned at home,” I clench my jaw shut.

  “Well, from what I’m hearing, my boy is doing just fine with the learning part. If you can’t keep your classroom under control, then that sounds like a you problem. Part of being a teacher is knowing how to control the kids, right? Jeffery is just a normal boy. Boys act up. If you don’t know how to deal with that then maybe you didn’t do too hot in school yourself?” His lip curls as he sneers at me. His contempt is overwhelming. I’ve never dealt with such a hostile parent before. I just blink in response, like I’m telling him to fuck off in Morse code.

  “Mr. Stewart! It’s not my job to cater to or discipline your child. That’s something he should know by now. Unfortunately, if Jeffery continues disrupting the class every day, I’ll need to escalate this to the principal. So far, that’s something I’ve been trying to avoid.”

  “You go ahead and take it to your principal then. I’m sure she’ll tell you the same thing. Learn to control your class.” He shrugs.

  “Sir, I don’t think you understand. Jeffery is a bright child and he has so much potential. If I have to continually send him to the principal, eventually he’ll be suspended or even expelled. There’s no reason we can’t work together to make sure that doesn’t happen. It’s still so early in the school year and…”

  “You listen here,” Mr. Stewart stands up abruptly, his finger pointed in my face like a gun, “don’t you sit here and threaten me. I’ll have you fired if you want to play that game; just try me. There’s nothing wrong with my boy. He’s a normal kid and if you don’t know how to keep kids under control in your class then maybe you should find another job!” I watch in disbelief as he storms out of my classroom, his dirty sneakers squeaking with every step.

  What the hell just happened? I don’t even know how to process someone so unreasonable. I shake my head in disbelief. No wonder Jeffery is so impossible to deal with. With a father like that as his role model, I’m lucky he isn’t worse. I pity the teachers that will have to deal with him in his teen years.

  I try to push it away. I don’t want this asshat to ruin my whole night. Man, I can’t wait to get out of here and go enjoy a couple of drinks with Cameron. I’ve done enough adulting for one day. Some down time at a frat party might be fun after all this bullshit.

  I stuff the folders in my desk and grab my bag. After I dry erase the whiteboard, I turn off the lights and try to shrug off the interview I just had as I head out for the night.

  I stop by Mrs. Gibbon’s office to let her know that I’m finally finished, but she’s already gone. Figures.

  Whatever. I’m done. I make my way out the double doors to the almost empty parking lot. Making my way to my car, I grab my keys and hit the button to unlock the doors.

  Beep-beep!

  I reach the driver’s side door and yank it open, just as my eye is drawn down to my tire.

  Are you fucking serious?

  I look over my shoulder to see if there’s anyone around me. Anyone like Mr. Stewart. It’s just me though.

  I crouch down to my flat tire and run my hand over the rubber the ugly slash gaping like an open wound. That son of a bitch! I know exactly who did this, but I have less than zero proof.

  Sighing, I pull my cellphone out and call AAA. I glance at the time. It’s almost eight-thirty. I told Cameron I’d meet him at nine. Great.

  Could this night get any worse?

  19

  Cameron

  “Fuck, boys, if we want our shot at the Rose Bowl this year, we gotta start playing like we mean it!” I yell across the locker room. “Tonight was pathetic, our only saving grace was that it’s too early in the season for scouts. We gotta pull it together. This shit isn’t on!” I bang my fist into my locker.

  “Whoa, dude, just chill,” Driscoll puts his meaty hand on my bare shoulder. “It was one game. Let’s just hit the party up for a few hours and we’ll regroup tomorrow. Shake it off, man!” He nods his head sagely, like he’s sharing pearls of wisdom.

  “Fuck, Driscoll! Not all of us are just playing for the ‘experience’ or whatever. Some of us want to make a career out of this shit. So, shove your fucking Taylor Swift song up your ass,” I shrug him off and storm to the showers.

  I quickly adjust the water and step under the rush of steamy warmth pouring from overhead. I close my eyes and try to let the shame of our defeat disappear down the drain at my feet. It clings to my skin, surrounding me like an aura.

  The train wreck of a game we just had keeps running through my mind. Each terrible play. Each fumble. Every miscalculation on my part. I’m no fucking rookie, but tonight, I couldn’t get out of my own way. What the hell was wrong with me?

  My gut twists up as I remember looking to the season seats I wrangled for Chelsea. The empty seats. Better off that they were empty with the game we had. No need to embarrass myself in front of her too. Yet, a small part of me wishes she was there. A small part of me was distracted by her absence. The empty seats were like a stain on my peripheral vision, drawing my eye over, ruining my focus.

  The tap squeaks as I turn off the water and let the droplets drip from my body. I know it’s not Chelsea’s absence that made us lose. There’s so many other things I can point to, like a weak fucking defense. However, I can’t shake the irrational feeling that if she had been there tonight, things would’ve played out differently.<
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  I grab my towel and press the soft cotton against my face before drying the rest of my body off quickly. Whatever. I do need to let it go, at least for tonight. What’s done is done. We’ll have plenty of time tomorrow with the coach to rehash every single wrong move we made. Tonight, it’s time to focus on having a bit of fun. I’m meeting Chelsea at Sigma in less than an hour. If our last night together was any indication, my luck is about to get a lot better.

  Wrapping the towel around my waist, I head back to my locker and get dressed. The guys left in the locker room are avoiding eye contact. They probably don’t want me biting their heads off. I sweep the room and see Driscoll eyeing me like a sad bulldog. I should apologize to him before he gets all upset.

  I quickly get dressed and grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. Clutching my iPhone, I head out the door and jog lightly to catch up with my center. We both walk out the front doors of the building into the pissing down rain.

  Perfect. Why couldn’t we get a thunderstorm two hours ago when it could’ve gotten the worst game of our season cancelled?

  “Hey man, sorry about the Taylor Swift dig,” I nudge Driscoll in the ribs as we walk down the front stairs together. “I know you meant well. I just needed some time to cool off,” I glance up at him.

  His big cheeks round out even further in a smile and I feel better. There’s something special about the relationship between a quarterback and the center. Must have something to do with my hands being shoved up his ass all season. That and with him being a freshman, he feels like a little brother to me. I look down and swipe my thumb across my phone screen to check for texts from Chelsea.

  Fat drops of rain splatter across the screen, making it impossible to read. I can see that I’ve missed some messages though. I rub the screen across my shirt, walking down the sidewalk with Driscoll toward the party.

  “Aww, OK,” his face lights up with his big cartoony grin. “Yeah, no problem, it’s cool,” he slaps my shoulder and my phone jumps from my hand like it’s attached to a slinky, plopping down into a huge puddle at our feet.

  “Fuck!”

  “Oh, shit. Sorry man!” His face clouds back over as he quickly reaches down and scoops up my cell. It’s literally dripping wet as he hands it off to me. I watch as the screen flickers and the turns black.

  “Are you serious, man? This night is total shit!”

  “Hey, I heard if you just stick it in a bag of rice for a week, it’ll fix it right up. Good as new, man,” Driscoll tries to be helpful.

  “Awesome,” I spit the word like it’s bitter on my tongue, jamming my useless phone into my pocket. Clenching my jaw and balling my hands into tight fists, I briskly walk to the frat house. It’s hard to imagine how this night could get any fucking worse. All I know is there’s tons of booze flowing with my name on it.

  I walk in the door of the oldest fraternity house on campus and shake my head like a dog that just retrieved a stick from a lake. I flick my brown hair back from my eyes and smooth it with my hand. The scene welcoming me is already chaos.

  Girls in bras dancing close to each other, putting on a good show for the guys. Dudes standing around a table doing shots, others shotgunning beers. I search the entire room, looking around the shadowy corners and quiet spots for Chelsea, but I don’t find her anywhere. Where is she?

  I’ll tell you where she’s not--fucking here.

  Fantastic. First we lose the game, then my phone gets ruined and now Chelsea is MIA.

  I make my way to the table of hard liquor, adding myself to the group of guys orbiting around it like Saturn’s rings. “Two Jager bombs,” I instruct the young pledge in charge of keeping us inebriated for the evening. He nods and grabs the emerald green bottle, pouring the German cough medicine into a red plastic cup for me.

  I toss it back like a man taking his first glass of water after crossing the Sahara. After the hard game we just ran, I can feel it muddy up my brain a bit.

  Searching the room, I realize that there’s a good chance Chelsea is a no-show tonight. She might not be running late. Maybe she changed her mind about coming at all. It’s not like she seemed overly enthusiastic about meeting up here when I’ve been mentioning it to her. My eyes confirm what my gut is already telling me; she’s not here.

  “Two more,” I throw my fingers up like a peace sign and the pledge splashes more Jager into my cup. Gulping it down, I watch the girls on the floor grinding up against each other. They’re such teases. They know damned well that the guys in here are taking in the show.

  My head feels a bit fuzzy and I put my cup down on the table. I think I’m still dehydrated from the game. I should slow down on the liquor.

  “Hey, aren’t you Armstrong?” A young raven haired girl with particularly perky tits slides up to me.

  “One and the same, sweetheart,” the words pour from my mouth like the booze free flowing into plastic cups around the room.

  “Come dance with us,” she looks up at me from under her ridiculously long eyelashes. I scan the room for Chelsea once more, but again come up empty. She stood me up. Disappointment washes over me and I shrug at the girl watching me. Nothing wrong with just dancing, right?

  “I guess,” I trudge over to the group of girls dancing with wild abandon. I’m quickly swallowed into them as they circle around me. Tits and asses are pressing up competitively against just about every part of me. I throw my hands up over my head to try to prevent my hands from being guided somewhere they shouldn’t be. A few weeks ago, I’d have been all over them. A few weeks ago, I’d be trying to make them all my own personal harem. Tonight, I couldn’t be less interested if they were a group of grannies trying to show me pictures of their cats.

  “Oh my God! Loosen up! You’re soooo tense,” the raven haired girl tries to jump up and grab my arm. She loses her balance and trips into me and I throw my other arm backward to steady myself. My flailing hand lands squarely on the tits of some nameless blonde. She smiles up at me and begins to grind up on my leg as DrunkyMcBlackHair turns around and starts twerking her flat ass against my groin.

  I find my balance and my good sense. I’m out of here. I’m not feeling this scene at all tonight. Especially when all I want, all I can think of is…

  Chelsea.

  My eyes snap up to hers. She’s standing about ten feet inside the front door watching me. Watching them.

  I stop dead. My hands drop to my sides and my heart feels like it’s stopped beating. Chelsea’s face twists up, her eyes line with tears and her beautiful lips twist down.

  Fuck.

  “Chelsea, wait, I can explain!” I call out and manage to untangle myself from the desperate web of need surrounding me on the dance floor.

  She doesn’t wait though. She turns on her heel and quickly walks out the front door, slamming it behind her.

  So, this night could get worse. It just fucking did.

  20

  Chelsea

  “Chelsea, wait!” I can hear his feet splashing in puddles to catch up with me. I’m not slowing my pace and I’m not interested in talking. I keep marching down the campus hill toward the gate, my keys clutched between the fingers of my fist like they teach you to do when you have to go into a parking garage by yourself at night.

  “Chelsea! For God’s sake, will you let me explain?” His fingers grasp my arm and I pull it up over my head and then yank it down to my side brusquely, breaking his hold.

  “Not interested,” the words seethe out from between my teeth. “Obviously, I never should’ve bothered coming here. I mean, why did you even invite me?” I swirl around on my heel and my wet hair whips around my face, hitting me in the cheek. The blowout I went to the salon to get yesterday is being destroyed by this downpour. The cold rain is soaking my clothes, ruining my shoes and turning my bone-straight hair into ringlets.

  “I wanted to see you again. I missed you,” water drips off the end of Cameron’s nose and from the ends of his brown, shaggy hair.

  “You missed me?
Funny way of showing me that, by humiliating me with those girls,” I turn around on my path and continue back to my car. I’m not stomping. Toddlers stomp. I’m walking with a fucking purpose.

  “Chelsea, I’m not sure how long you were standing there, but one of those girls lost her balance and we all just kinda got mixed up.”

  “Save it,” I chirp over my shoulder. “It was my mistake, really. I never in a million years should’ve agreed to go to a frat party, of all places. I’m not a kid,” my mind flashes to the pretty, young girls that were just grinding up on Cameron. There have been many days that I’ve told myself I don’t feel a day over twenty-two. Tonight, being surrounded by actual twenty-somethings has cured me of my disillusionment for life.

  “You make it sound like you’re pushing eighty,” I don’t have to look at him. I can hear the smile in his voice. His stupid smirk. My grip on my keys tightens.

  “You don’t have to be pushing eighty to know when it’s time to grow up,” I snap back. “I’m not some wide-eyed young girl, I’m a grown ass woman. I don’t have time for games, frat parties or man-children. I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” the words forming on my tongue practically burn my mouth, “when you play football all day and chase pussy all night. Playing games is probably all you know.”

  “Whoa,” Cameron grabs my arm and wheels me around to face him. His smirk has finally washed away in the rain, although the clouds rolling in over his eyes now rival the ones drenching us overhead.

  “I’m so sorry that when I was in Afghanistan fighting for your freedom I passed the age that you decided it’s acceptable to play football and have some fun.” I try to keep my eyes on his face. I don’t care that his shirt has become a second skin now that it’s soaked. It doesn’t matter to me that it’s painted over his abs, sinking beneath each ridge like Saran Wrap, just clinging to him.