Caro Carson - The Lieutenants' Online Love

“No, sir. Not OCS. Not ROTC, either. The word is that Lieutenant Michaels is fresh out of West Point.”

“Are you kidding me?” The third way to become an officer was by attending the United States Military Academy at West Point, one of the country’s oldest and most elite schools. Elite meant there weren’t very many West Pointers in the army in general. Thane had worked with several, of course, and he couldn’t honestly say he’d ever had a problem with a West Point graduate, but anything elite was automatically met with suspicion by everyone else, including him.

“Monday morning, sir, you get to share all your special secret lieutenant-y wisdom with a brand-new West Pointer. I’ll be over in Ernesto’s office if you need me.”

“You’re so helpful.”

“You’ve been up since yesterday morning, sir. The CO hasn’t. You should go home now.” But as Lloyd left the office, he stopped and turned around. “Oh, and one more thing. Your new butter bar West Pointer office buddy? Word is that Lieutenant Michaels is a girl. See you Monday, Boss.”

* * *

I wish I could sleep another four hours, but I’m burning too much daylight as is.

Thane glanced at the pink words as he poured raw scrambled eggs into a cast-iron skillet. Ballerina was going to have to dig deeper than that if she was going to stump him today. He’d slept until noon. The duty schedule had finally coincided with the right days on the calendar, and Thane had a whopping forty-eight hours off. He’d left the office Friday evening and didn’t have to be anywhere until he took over at the police station on Sunday evening.

He typed on his phone with one finger while he kept his Saturday morning eggs moving around with the spatula in his other hand. John Wayne. (Too easy. Really.) Why so tired?

Late night.

His flash of jealousy wasn’t easy to laugh off. A single woman out late on a Friday night? Thane knew, somehow, that Ballerina would have no shortage of interested men around her. He had no idea what she looked like, but she was so full of life, so fun and quirky, men must find her as attractive in real life as he found her online. She must laugh and smile a lot with her real friends; there was nothing more attractive. Or maybe she was shy, making intelligent wisecracks under her breath only to the one friend standing next to her. Also attractive.

This old app had no photo features. It didn’t matter what she looked like, anyway. She was attractive to him in a way that went beyond blonde, brunette or redhead. Not only did it not matter, it would never matter. Other men would compete to get her smiles and hugs. He had no chance of being one of those men, the one who would pursue her until he was her favorite out of them all, until he was the only man she wanted to be with.

He should be satisfied that he was the man who got her thoughts and words, at least for now. When she found someone to love, he wouldn’t even have that. Thane grabbed a fork and started eating from the skillet, standing up. Jealousy over a pen pal was stupid and he knew it. But...

She hadn’t been able to chat with him last night, because she’d gone out somewhere.

He stabbed the eggs a little viciously. All right, so Ballerina had a life. He could keep this in perspective. She’d said something last night about working off that bag of tater tots she’d eaten. Maybe she’d had a rehearsal or even a performance. If she wasn’t a ballerina, he still suspected she was involved with dance, maybe a dance instructor, or a choreographer. Like him, she often mentioned going to work out or being tired from a vaguely described workout.

He shoveled in more eggs and began to type. Out late for work or play?

There was a bit of a pause before she answered. Is this a trick question to see if I’ll give you a clue about what I do for a living? Do I work at night?

Busted. Of course it was.

Of course not. How about this—did you enjoy your late night or were you gutting it out?

I loved it. I’m a natural night owl. I wish more of the world was. Even as a little kid, I hated going to bed for school. Kindergarten is misery for night owlets. Owlings. Whatever the term is. Why couldn’t school have been from 8pm to 2am, instead of 8am to 2pm?

He put down the fork to type with two thumbs. You should’ve been a vampire. Do they have school-aged vampires? A kindergarten full of little ankle biters—literally, biters—who want school to start at 8 at night.

That doesn’t seem right, she answered. I think you have to be a grown-up and choose to become a vampire. I don’t think I would, though. I feel isolated enough already. If I became a vampire, I’d be so sad, watching everyone I know going to bed and knowing by the time they woke up, I’d be done for the day. I’ll just have to stay a human night owl. (Is that an oxymoron? A human owl?) I don’t have many night owl friends, though. In fact, you’re the only one I can chat with at 3 in the morning. And because I know how to follow the ground rules, I’m not going to ask why you’re sometimes awake at 3.

I’m a vampire.

Ha ha. I’m just glad that you’re a night owl, too. You really are the perfect pen pal for me.

Thane finished his eggs and left the iron skillet to cool. At least one woman out there thought he was perfect because of his crazy military schedule, not despite it. His last girlfriend, a civilian he still ran into too often in the small world of an army town, had pouted every night and weekend that he had to work. Pouting wasn’t as cute as it sounded.

Do you know the longest amount of time I’ve gone without talking to you? Ten days. And by talking, I mean writing to you in hot-pink letters, of course. Stupid app. It’s so cliché, pink ink for girls and blue ink for boys.

I know. I’m so used to it now, I get startled when I type anywhere else and the words are black instead of blue.

I love this app, though, because it made us pen pals. I enjoy talking with you as much as with any friend I’ve ever had.

Thane smiled down at the phone screen. After a long pause, more pink appeared.

Do you think that’s normal?

He stopped smiling. The answer, of course, was no. It wasn’t normal. He took the phone out to his balcony, all four feet by two feet of concrete perch, three stories above the earth, and looked down to the complex’s central swimming pool. Management had posted signs by the mailboxes that there would be a party today with free food. That party had started without him.

He didn’t care. There was no one down there he’d rather be talking with. If it isn’t normal, then we’re both abnormal. It’s easy to talk to you.

Agreed. Real people are hard.

I’m real, he wanted to write. But he didn’t.

Do you have a close friend in real life? she asked.

Define friend.

I think that means no. If you had a close friend, you’d just say yes. You wouldn’t ask me what a close friend is.

She had him there.

But I think you’re normal...for a blue ink person. I read somewhere that the majority of married women will say their female friends are their best friends, when asked. But the majority of men will say their wife is their best friend. I remember that because I thought it was sad that there are apparently a lot of husbands out there who think their wife is their best friend, but she prefers a female buddy. Are you really best friends with someone if that person doesn’t think you are their best friend, too? It’s too much like unrequited love.

Who was his closest friend? His platoon sergeant came to mind immediately. They worked together every day, aiming for the same goals. They relied on one another. But Sergeant First Class Lloyd was not someone who would catch a famous quote in conversation—or who would laugh about it if he did. Heck, the platoon sergeant couldn’t even call Thane by his first name. Thane was addressed as Lieutenant Carter or Sir. Sometimes LT, the abbreviation of lieutenant, or, if they were being really casual, Boss. That was it.