He nods, like that explanation makes sense to him. Then his eyes lift fully to mine, and whatever composure I was holding onto dissolves.
It isn’t anything like the romance books. There’s no fluttering drama, no cinematic sweep. It’s heavier than that. Quieter. Something that settles low in my body and refuses to be ignored, roots me to the spot and makes my breath feel suddenly too shallow.
“If you need orientation materials,” he says evenly, professional to the core, “I can have someone get you a labeled map of the hall and the current timesheet. It’ll save you some unnecessary backtracking.”
Helpful. Practical. Exactly what a Captain would offer.
And yet my traitorous mind immediately supplies a very different image—him standing behind me, guiding me instead, his hands firm at my hips as he shows me where everything is. The thought hits fast and leaves me warm in a way I absolutely do not acknowledge.
I swallow, forcing myself to focus on his face instead of the low, steady sound of his voice.
“That would be really helpful, W-Captain.”
He inclines his head once.
“I’ll be working the bar most nights,” I say, forcing myself to sound casual. “So I’ll be easy to find. And it looks like the Ridgehouse is going to keep me busy anyway. If you need an assistant, you can let Mi—President Trent know.” I hesitate, then add more softly, “Or… you could tell me yourself, if you make a habit of coming by. If you need help with paperwork or anything like that.”
His eyes hold mine as he considers his answer, the pause deliberate, measured.
“I appreciate the offer,” he says at last. “But I prefer to handle my work myself.” Then, after a beat, “Have a good day, Hailey.”
The way he says my name lands heavier than it should.
“Bye… Captain,” I reply, careful with the title, watching as he turns and walks down the hall toward Michael’s office, his posture unyielding, controlled.
I don’t move until he’s out of sight.
God.
His uniform really is meant for him. The way it hugs his muscular thighs, shows off his tight ass …I let the thought trail off without finishing it.
Captainhas a dangerous ring to it. Especially when it seems to erase everything else the moment it leaves my lips. Something shifts in him when I say it—so subtle I might imagine it if I weren’t watching closely. Like he moves closer without actually stepping forward. Like he almost doesn’t want to hear it spoken by me.
And I realize, with a slow, heated certainty, that I don’t want his title on my tongue.
I wanthim.
It’s a silly thought! I barely know him. What am I thinking? Still, I catch myself touching my lips more than once throughout the day, as if my body remembers something my mind refuses to take seriously. I stay busy on purpose, moving from task to task, determined to keep my focus sharp and myself out of trouble. A part of me wants to at least fit in, to contribute, to give this place—and the idea of a future in the military—a real chance… the other part wonders if Wes would be the one who punishes or praises me for a job well done.
The thought makes my lips turn up at the corner.
If I get alone time with Wes for being bad … that doesn’t really sound like a punishment, I think.
I manage to shake it off, losing myself in the steady rhythm of working and living here—until I’m back behind the bar again.
I love the easy connection, the small moments of bonding. Melissa stays close, keeping me focused, calling out orders when the room gets loud, making sure I don’t fall behind. I’m mid-pour, handing off a drink, when I feel it.
The shift.
A pair of deep blue eyes catches mine, and everything else fades.
It’s honestly a miracle I don’t spill the glass in my hand. Wes doesn’t simply appear—he moves through the room like he belongs at its center, parting the crowd without effort, as if space has learned to make room for him. Melissa smirks knowingly, but I’m already stepping away from the bar, drawn forward before I can talk myself out of it.
I stop in front of him and look up, forcing my breath to steady, my pulse to slow. His presence presses in on me—his height, his stillness, the weight of his gaze holding mine.
“Captain,” I say, my voice careful. “A beer?”
He studies me for a beat, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
