Valentine from a Soldier(3)

I suddenly wanted to get to know him though. A guy who’s mysterious, tall, dark, and handsome does that to a girl. “Are you here on vacation?” I asked. “I assume if you lived in San Francisco, you wouldn’t be hanging around in this tourist trap.”

He smiled and glanced over at me again. “I’m on leave,” he replied.

“Oh, like military leave? Are you in the Marines or something?”

“Special Forces.”

I nodded, realizing he wasn’t really willing to give me any more information. Maybe he was just on vacation and needed a break as much as I did. Here I didn’t want to be bothered and now I was the one asking all the annoying questions. I took a sip of my wine and looked around. The group of women to my left was growing louder and louder, but as I tried to focus on them, I could feel Ryan’s eyes on me.

“How about you?” he asked. “You seem awfully dressed up for an evening with your best friend.”

“Oh,” I said, looking back over at him. “Bachelorette party.” I gestured to my dress as if it were something only worn for that type of occasion.

“Yours?” he asked, glancing down at my left hand.

“No,” I said, laughing again. “My best friend’s. She’s getting married next weekend.”

“Valentine’s Day,” he said knowingly.

“Yep. I’m the maid of honor and her wedding planner—that’s just a one-time gig though.”

“You’re a good friend. My sister went crazy planning her wedding; I don’t know how you women do it.”

“I think that’s why Morgan put me in charge,” I said with a grin. “She didn’t want to deal with all the stress of it either.”

“Are you bringing a date?”

“To the wedding?” I asked, puzzled.

“Yeah.”

“Is that a roundabout way of asking if I have a boyfriend?”

“Maybe,” he said with a sheepish grin. As I looked over at him again I couldn’t help but think that if I was looking to meet someone tonight, he was just my type. And for someone who claimed he wasn’t even hitting on me, he was certainly making my heart pitter-patter an awful lot.

“Nope, no boyfriend,” I answered, and it looked like he relaxed somewhat.

“Of course not,” he teased.

Now I raised my eyebrows at him, waiting for an explanation.

“It just figures that now that I’ve sworn off women forever, the perfect woman shows up.”

“Now that was a cheesy pick-up line,” I protested. “Besides, I was here first. You’re the one who showed up.”

“I’m kind of glad that I did,” he said, eyeing me again with that smoldering gaze.

“Just kind of glad,” I mused.

“Well, I don’t want to come on too strong.”

I smiled, thinking how easy this guy was to talk to. I didn’t even know his name; maybe that’s what made our entire conversation feel so effortless. I could pick up and leave right now, a warm feeling inside of me thanks to his flattering attention, and not have risked a thing. We’d had a few laughs, exchanged a few glances. The safest thing to do would be to go on my way and ignore that pounding feeling in my chest each time I looked at him. I didn’t want to leave though, despite my earlier hopes to sneak in and out without having to talk to anyone. I’d come down for a drink expecting a lot of things, but certainly not him.

“I’m Sarah Cooper,” I said, holding out my hand.

“Ryan Bradley,” he replied, his muscular hand enveloping mine. A warmth surged through me at his touch, and I didn’t want him to let go. In fact as soon as he did, I was imagining him touching me again—maybe accidently brushing up against me as he leaned closer, or reaching out and affectionately caressing my arm. Or better yet, wrapping those muscular arms right around me, which certainly wasn’t about to happen, but a girl can dream, right?

“So you still didn’t tell me what you were doing in San Francisco,” I hinted, hoping to get him to open up a little more.

“I was in California a few years ago,” he said with a shrug. “I’d planned to come back, so here I am.” He took a swig of his beer, and I sensed there was more to the story. He didn’t seem to want to share though, and I didn’t see any need to press the issue. I swirled the remaining wine around in my glass, and he glanced down at it. “Can I buy you another drink?”

“Sure, why not?” I agreed. I never let men I didn’t know buy me drinks, but despite my being undeniably attracted to him, he felt more like a friend or proper date than a stranger I’d run into at a bar. He wasn’t leering at me or making suggestive come-ons. We were having an actual conversation.