Collide Into You: A Romantic Gender Swap Love Story (2 page)

“If you’re asking me if she’s cute, the answer is yes, but I can tell she’s as boring as a snail.
Sergeant Prim and Proper.
She probably does twenty push-ups at every Metro stop.”

Ellen arches an eyebrow. “You’ve told me all I need to know, Dillan,” she says in a manner that suggests she believes just the opposite of what I said. Her eyes sparkle. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” I say. “I have no intention of bringing her here. You are mine, Ellen.”

She laughs at my possessiveness. “She’s a soldier?” she asks. I nod yes. “Slim, five-foot-eight, with brown eyes and brown hair? Caramel skin? Is her last name Holtslander?”

I wonder if she has a magic crystal ball behind the counter. “How on earth did you guess all that?”

“Because I’m standing right here, you idiot,” Keira says with a biting tone. Without my realizing it, she was standing at the front of the line. “
Sergeant Prim and Proper
loves coffee, and the sign outside is big enough for a boring snail to see it.”

“So you heard everything?” Even the
cute
part?

Ellen looks back and forth between us with a gleeful smile.

“Like I care,” Keira says as she pours a pound of cream and sugar in her coffee and places a lid on top. She returns her attention to Ellen. “It was very nice to meet you. I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

I watch as Keira puts on her Army beret and leaves the store without acknowledging me at all.

“I like her already,” Ellen says, and smiles so large that I can count all of her teeth. “You could use a challenge, Dillan Pope.”

I nearly glare at Ellen, but then realize it wouldn’t be respectful to glare at her.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I could use a challenge?”

Ellen only laughs. “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”
 

I groan. “See you tomorrow.”
 

I walk to work and take the elevator to the fourteenth floor of the Brookshire Mierkle Building in the Federal Triangle area in Washington, DC, and think,
what have I gotten myself into?

Keira

I
CATCH
THE
BLUE
LINE
to the Pentagon Metro Station and get jostled around in the Metro car for two stops before I eagerly exit and practically run up the escalator. I exit the Metro station and, up top, a Pentagon security guard inspects my military ID and allows me to enter through the visitor’s section.
 

Once inside, I turn immediately to the right, enter the Pentagon badging office, take a number, and wait for it to be called.

I’m supposed to meet my military sponsor at nine. The clock on the wall reads 8:55. Good, I have five minutes to bristle about my jerk-face roommate.

How could Dillan Pope be best friends with my brother? So they went to college together. Big deal. Jon’s my hero. He’s an amazing officer in the Navy, he’s well read, and he has the most amazing boyfriend, Tanner.

Dillan’s hot. I get that. He makes good money. But he’s too sarcastic. He probably has sex with anyone who nods in his direction. And he looks at me as if I’ve got warts all over my face. There is no way on earth he could ever make it in the military. Of the nine years I’ve been enlisted, three have been in war zones. I’ve experienced things that would make his skin crawl.

I am not as boring as a snail, and I’m sure as hell not
Sergeant Prim and Proper
. I can be fun. I can be sexy. I like to hike and bike and run marathons. Those are definitely
un
boring things. I just can’t do anything that will jeopardize my security clearance, like binge drinking, gambling, or stripping at parties.

Not that I would do those things even if I didn’t need a security clearance.

An automated system calls my number and two minutes later, I walk out with my unsmiling face pasted on a white badge. I clip it to the pocket on the front of my uniform. Congratulations to me: the Pentagon has welcomed its newest member.

“Staff Sergeant Holtslander?”

I turn around to face the voice. If I’m not mistaken, it had a Texas twang to it.

A male staff sergeant shakes my hand. “I’m Justin Hauten. I am the junior enlisted advisor to the Chief of Staff of the Army and I’m your sponsor.”
 

If anyone can give Dillan a run for his money in the looks department, it would be Staff Sergeant Justin Hauten. The way he said his last name, it sounded like Hot-In.

Yes you are
, I think. I inspect him. He looks great in a uniform. I wouldn’t call him classically handsome; I can tell he’s had his nose broken a few times, but he’s ruggedly good-looking with a lopsided smile that could easily melt hearts and land him on the cover of a few “most handsome” magazines.
 

I notice the black ring on his ring finger, which declares: Not available.

“Hi, yup, that’s me, Keira Holtslander, Sergeant Prim and Proper.”

“I’m sorry, what? Is that a nickname?” His thick eyebrows furrow briefly.

I laugh. “No, sorry. I was thinking of something else and it slipped out. Let me start over. I’m Keira Holtslander.”

Sergeant Hauten nods. He seems friendly, but not overly friendly.
 

“Let’s walk and talk. I’ll give you the quick tour since I know that this is your first time at the Pentagon. Then you’ll meet the team. Your introductory office call with Colonel Benson is at thirteen hundred. He’s a great guy and you’ll like him a lot. He just returned from Kabul, Afghanistan. I read your file. You’ve been deployed a couple of times, right?”

I like that he didn’t feel compelled to discuss the weather or other inane facts. Instantly, I can tell that he didn’t see a
female
in front of him, he saw a
soldier
. From this point forward, I know that he’ll be an ally.
 

He leads us through a turnstile. I swipe my new badge and we go up another set of escalators. When we get to the top, he halts in a large hallway that he calls “the concourse.” It reminds me of an airport, but without the planes. The hallway is huge, and it appears you can buy anything from food to greeting cards. You can even open a bank account. Also, while I’m not entirely sure, I’m fairly certain I smell roasted nuts.

I tell him about my overseas deployments. “I had a tour in Bagdad in 2006 and two twelve-month tours in Afghanistan. One in 2009 and the other in 2012. Before my reassignment here, I was stationed at Fort Bragg and worked for the JSOC intelligence chief.”

The sergeant cringes. “I have a feeling you are going to be a bit out of your element here.” He leads us down the hallway and we walk up an inclined ramp.
 

“Why do you say that?” I ask. He’s not good at hiding the fact that he doesn’t think I’ll enjoy my new assignment. Or maybe he doesn’t think I’m qualified. I try not to bristle at the thought.

“The billet Colonel Benson has placed you in isn’t an intelligence billet.”

I think about this for a second. It isn’t unusual to work in a different field from what you are trained in, but it generally isn’t too far from the norm. For example, the Army would never put me in an infantry position. I don’t have the training.

“What will I be doing, then?” I ask.

He cringes again. I can tell that Sergeant Hauten is an intelligent soldier, but he’s not an intelligence specialist. He comes across as an infantry soldier, which seems a little out of place in a place like the Pentagon. I wonder how he got his position.
 

“Colonel Benson will brief you on your job description at thirteen hundred today.” He pauses as if he expects me to question him, but I don’t, so he continues. “Anyway, let me orient you.”
 

We stop at the top of the ramp. It’s a junction of sorts. In front of us, there is a massive set of stairs as well as three different hallways. Also, from this vantage point, I can see outside into the inner courtyard. My brother told me that the Pentagon often holds concerts there in the summertime.

But I can already tell that I’m going to get lost. What I need is a map.

Sergeant Hauten starts pointing and explaining. “This is the innermost ring, the A Ring, and we’re at the beginning of the 9th Corridor. Each office has a unique number that identifies where it is in the building. Think of it like a spoke of a bicycle wheel.”

“Uh huh,” I murmur. I can imagine a bicycle easily.

“There are five rings, A through E; five floors, one through five, but if you count the basement and the mezzanine levels, then it gets a bit complicated. I’ve been here a year, and I still get confused if I have to go downstairs. Anyway, for each corridor, one through ten—i.e. the bicycle’s spokes, generally speaking—if you’re walking from the inner ring to the outer ring and the office number ends in 0-50, go left at the office number’s corresponding ring identifier. If it ends is 51-99, go right. If you’re walking in the opposite direction, do the opposite. I’m sure you get the idea.”

Okay. The Army has not trained me for this system. “Should I be taking notes? I feel like there’s a test at the end of all this.”

He laughs. I didn’t think it was possible, but when he smiles, it makes him even
more
attractive.

“You’ll get the hang of it. Everyone gets lost. All I want you to care about right now is how to find our office and how to find the Metro entrance. Our office is 2E801.”

“Two echo eight oh one,” I repeat.

“It’s located on the second floor, the E Ring, in Corridor 8, room 01.”

I process the sentence. “Oh, now it makes sense. That doesn’t sound too hard.”

He laughs again, like maybe he’s convinced I’m mental. “I’m glad you feel that way because I’m going to make you lead me there.”

Dillan

M
Y
BOSS
, L
OU
A
NN
B
RITTON
,
CALLS
me into her office as soon as I arrive, which she almost never does. LouAnn is an attractive woman in her fifties who has worked long and hard to earn a corner office and the title of senior vice president of Brookshire Mierkle Industries.

Seven years ago, she took a chance on me right out of college, and I’ve been her senior executive assistant ever since. Many within the company think I’m sleeping with her, or that I
have
slept with her, and that’s how I earned the senior position.

While a somewhat accurate depiction of my womanizing ways—and seven years ago, I might have actually done something like that for a job—the rumors are, however, untrue. I’ve known the gossip for quite a while, and LouAnn only heard about it last year. I think she laughed for ten minutes straight after asking me if I knew what everyone was saying.
 

Another rumor surfaced last week. A rumor that I was LouAnn’s biological son. Obviously, this is something my actual mother would object to hearing, but it’s now out there and I assume that this is why LouAnn practically
ordered
me inside her office the second my feet landed on the fourteenth floor.
 

The receptionist, who hates my guts for some reason, didn’t even have time to give me a curt greeting before telling me my boss wanted to see me.

“I have a job for you,” LouAnn says after closing her office door. We are alone in her office, as usual, and I sit in my normal chair in front of her massive glass desk. Behind her, I can see the Old Post Office Pavilion, a building that’s always nice to look at.

“Hit me with it,” I say, referring to the job, not the building.

“It’s a covert job. I’m loaning you out.”

I smile. Sometimes LouAnn uses me to get the dirt on her rivals. Nothing illegal or even unethical. In LouAnn’s world, she calls them, “integrated business partnerships” and “liaison exchanges” and uses them to build up the young crop of business officials and “cross-pollinate” the industry. So I’m not alarmed that she’s decided to pimp me out again.

The last time she did this, I worked in Senator Murphy’s office for four months,
assisting
in drafting the language for a small-business-friendly bill. Senator Murphy is, of course, a female, and her staff is composed mostly of the female gender. And, yes, other than the senator herself, I dated all of the ladies at some point or another during, or after, that liaison exchange.

In fact, Stacey, the woman probably still asleep in my bed, used to be an intern with Senator Murphy. We happened to bump into each other two nights ago at the 930 Club and didn’t stop bumping into each other for forty-eight hours. We paused only when I had heard rustling out in the living room, which was when
Sergeant Prim and Proper
happened to move in.

I smile as I recall how red Keira’s face had become when I opened the bedroom door to find out what was going on and she witnessed the full glory of my manliness. I’m shocked she could even look me in the eye this morning.

But, at the moment, I really don’t want to be thinking about Keira Holtslander.

“Who am I being loaned out to this time?” I pull out a notepad, ready to take notes. Normally, I have a few weeks to prepare for such a role. LouAnn won’t throw me in willy-nilly.

“Johnson Brookshire’s office. I’ve heard a—”

This wasn’t good. I stand up abruptly, interrupting LouAnn. “Wait a minute now. Johnson Brookshire hates my guts, LouAnn, and you know it.”

“The president of Brookshire Mierkle has never verbalized his feelings for you one way or the other, Dillan. Admittedly, dating his daughter wasn’t your brightest idea. If you’ll remember, everyone, including the janitor, advised you against it.”

I run a hand through my hair. “Are you trying to get me fired? Are you unhappy with me for any reason?”

LouAnn chuckles. “Stop acting like a girl, Dillan. This isn’t about you, it’s about me. Now sit down, because what I’m about to tell you is confidential.”

I sit down. “I’ll never break your confidence, LouAnn. I hope you know that.”

“Why do you think you’re still with me all these years later, kiddo? I’ve heard a rumor that Johnson is retiring this summer. The board of directors will take into account my seniority as well as my thirty-five-year tenure with the company, but I know deep in my gut that Johnson will not select a female. He’ll go for one of the other vice presidents. Probably that asshole Terry Richmond from the New York office. I know I should have taken up golf in order to schmooze with the bosses, but the only balls I’ve ever wanted to hit were the ones between their legs.”