Duty(14)

There's a rumble as people look around, and I try to look as Pete points. Unfortunately, we're on the division’s steps and can't see shit because of the overhang that sticks out from the second floor to cover the walkway. “Hey, Simpson! You’ve got smoke in your room!”

Oh, shit. I turn and run up the stairs, and the smoke is already pouring out of my door. I go inside and see the problem. In my rush, I forgot to blow out the candle I was using for melting my shoe polish, and my World History report that I got back second period fell off my desk and caught on fire. I stamp it out, cursing the whole time, but the damage is minimal, just some charred ash on the floor. Breathing heavily, I grumble, looking down. I hear a cough behind me, and Mel Riordan's standing there, his face grim. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just f*cked up. No harm, no foul.”

“I wish,” Mel says, sighing. “Captain Campos saw the smoke. Sorry, Aaron, I’ve gotta write you up on this one. You know the rules. No candles or open flames in the barracks.”

I sigh, nodding. “Gimme two minutes to get this at least a little cleaned up before I come down and join everyone else?”

He nods, turning and walking away.



“Five hours?” Cho asks, handing the form back to me. “Damn. You didn't even cause any damage. Well, except to your history paper.”

“Yeah, but Campos said that I could have burned down the whole f*cking barracks,” I grumble, balling the paper up and throwing it in the trash. The work detail form is done in triplicate, like most things in the Army. The white original, which goes in Captain Campos's file that he keeps on everyone, the yellow copy, which the company admin desk keeps, and then my copy, pink. “Never mind the floor is hard tile and our walls are concrete and granite. We live in a f*cking fallout shelter!”

“Well for once, I'm glad that you’re the one getting in trouble for shit going down in our room and not me,” Cho jokes, leaning back. “Chill, don't get in a bind about it. That's one Saturday, and this is an A weekend anyway. Besides, you burned one of your passes already last weekend with that trip to New York. What, you're gonna lose all your triathlon conditioning by missing one ride?”

“No,” I growl, turning to my laptop. Nobody knows about Lindsey. I don't need that sort of attention, and Cho thinks I went down to the city by myself to just hang out. “Just . . . oh, f*ck it, you're right. One weekend, and I can do something else afterward.”

“That's the spirit,” Cho says with false good cheer. I wonder how much of that cheer is because he's gotten used to spending weekends under some sort of restriction, or if he's trying to hide a lot of anger and being pissed off at the Academy system because of it. “Anyway, I'm heading over to E-4.”

“Who's over there that you know?” I ask. “Math study session?”

“Yeah, that’s it . . . studying,” Cho says, grinning. “Actually, what I plan on studying is Glenda's legs.”

“Who?” I ask, surprised. I didn't know Cho was seeing a girl.

“Glenda Bell. I started talking to her last time I had hours. It rained, and they had us up in the sixth floor of Washington Hall, just sitting. She's a foreign language major, and I asked for some help with my French.”

“You don't take French,” I note, pointing at the Portuguese textbooks above his desk.

“Like that matters?” Cho replies, laughing. “She thought it was cute, or at least she didn't throw me out of her room. Anyway, see ya.”

Cho disappears, and I laugh, shaking my head. I’ve gotta admit, the man's got style, even if he does get told to get lost most of the time. The man strikes out with women constantly, not that it stops him.

Speaking of women, I'm not looking forward to what I've got to do next. I close my door and pick up my phone. “Hello?”

“Lindsey? It's Aaron.”

“Oh!” Lindsey says, and at least she sounds happy. I still have no damn clue where to go after last night when I'm broke as f*ck, but maybe I can talk to her about that later. “How's it going?”

“Not that great, actually,” I admit, sighing. “I kinda f*cked up and got myself busted. We're going to have to cancel our Saturday ride. I got hours.”

“Ouch,” Lindsey says, sounding genuinely disappointed. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just made a stupid mistake. It’s just one day. But the work detail runs from one to six, and I'm not allowed to leave post until that's cleared out. With sunset like a half hour later, we couldn't even get started,” I add. “Sorry.”

“That's okay, really,” Lindsey says, and in her voice, I hear acceptance and forgiveness that I didn't quite get from my roomie's attempt at humor. “So Saturday's out.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “What about Sunday? You and I, the bikes, and we could head out for a while . . .”

“Sorry, I've got work that day,” Lindsey says regretfully. “But what about Monday?”

Monday? I've got to wait until then? “Monday?”

“I understand,” Lindsey says, lowering her voice to a sexy, kittenish purr. “If it helps, it’s been on my mind too.”