In the car on the way to pick up her friends we slowed to a stop at a traffic light. “So,” she said, “does this mean we can’t join the military?”

Over the next week, we made out in Fort Lauderdale, Boca Raton, Miami, Key West. She’d drop a quick kiss on my cheek when no one was looking, touch my thigh under tables, climb into my sleeping bag after everyone else had passed out. We returned home and continued, finally having sex.

Three weeks after Florida I watched her leave the bar with Blake in the middle of my set. I’d never seen him before, and I asked the bartender who he was. Apparently he was a local craftsman. He’d been in Costa Rica for the past few months on an extended surfing trip. He had honey-colored dreadlocks and a deep tan. I kept eyeing him, watching him order a succession of Red Stripes and greet the numerous women who came up to hug him. He seemed equally excited to talk to each of them, and I imagined that every last one of them walked away feeling wanted. I noticed him noticing Kate, which triggered deep panic. I kept looking over as he subtly inched his way closer to where she was sitting. I wanted to cry when I saw him tap her on the shoulder, then offer a little wave when she turned around to see who it was. A good move, I thought to myself. I overheard him ordering another beer, and asking if she wanted one as well, which she did. “Hey!” the chef called out to me. “Order up. Orders, in fact.” I looked to the kitchen window and saw several steaming plates waiting to be carried out. I had no choice but to turn away from the horrific scene of Kate and Blake, just as they were laughing about something. Before heading to the kitchen I reached over the bar and poured myself a shot of Jägermeister, then another.

The place was packed, and I could only catch snippets of them talking. Why did they keep laughing? What was so funny? I thought I might die when she tapped his stomach, the lines of his six-pack visible through his shirt. But no, that came later, as I watched him drop a twenty on the bar, take her hand, and lead her out the front door.

After they left I drank three Rail Royales, the house specialty consisting of a shot of every liquor in the rail and a splash of Sprite. I clocked out, got in my car, and backed into a dumpster.