Befriending others will not keep me here, though, so what is the point in making the effort? I’m content to be on the outside of their bubble for now.
Instead of spreading throughout the available seating, they cluster together in the middle rows, leaving a conspicuous gap around me. Not one of them chooses to sit beside or even near me. I want to feel embarrassed, but I’m only relieved. On one hand, their avoidance stings the deepest parts of my heart. On the other, it means fewer opportunities to notice something wrong about me.
Kellen peers up, his eyes briefly meeting mine before scanning the rest of the group. I think he mutters ‘never change’ under his breath, but the words are so soft I can’t be certain my ears aren’t fooling me.
“Fundamentals of mission planning,” he begins without preamble, his voice carrying effortlessly through the space. “Analyzing intelligence. Risk assessment.” Each phrase drifts with the burden of experience behind it. “Before I begin, I want to gauge what you already know about these topics, so I can tailor our training accordingly.”
His arms cross, and I’m suddenly fixated on how the uniform fabric stretches across his shoulders, how it tapers at his waist. The muscles in his forearms tense visibly when he focuses on the back of the room, where the others have begun whispering among themselves like children.
A strange sensation flutters through my abdomen, a tight pressure that spreads warmth along my neck. I shift in my seat,uncomfortable with the feeling yet unable to ignore it. The physiological response suggests attraction, with subtle changes in my heartrate and blood flow, but experiencing it is bizarre.
I’ve touched myself before, exploring sensations described in the forbidden romance novels I love. Those books were always more thrilling than the bland approved texts—full of emotions and physical experiences I could only imagine. Those reactions were not this, though; more curiosity sated by clinical exploration of my own body’s responses.
I study Kellen carefully, noting details I hadn’t registered before. His hair is close-cropped at the back where a portion of it is visible, dark but not black. His eyes reflect a deep gray each time he raises them where the light can catch—cool like a storm, but sharp and intelligent. He’s rolled his sleeves a bit, exposing the map of veins rising along his arms, more pronounced in his current position.
It’s an odd thing to find attractive, yet my mind does. There’s something fascinating about those lines, about the evidence of blood and life flowing just beneath the surface.
Would his skin be rougher than mine? Warmer? My fingertips tingle at the idea of running them through his hair. I’ve never felt the texture of a stranger’s skin or warmth of their body heat?—
These thoughts are dangerous. Inappropriate. And yet they flow through my mind unbidden, impossible to contain.
“ASHFORD!”
I jolt in my seat, heart pounding as reality crashes back. Kellen stands directly in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to see him. My mouth dries. Was I just fantasizing about my instructor while he was speaking? Right in front of him?
Yes. Yes, I was.
Laughter ripples from behind me, and someone calls out, “Sleeping with your eyes open, Ashford?” More snickers follow.
I ignore them, focusing on my leader’s impassive mask. His head tilts to one side, and I imagine his brow raising behind the black barrier.
“Were you paying attention?” he asks, voice measured and low.
I should lie. Nod and repeat whatever he just said; but my mind is blank, and I’m lost in the strange sensation of being caught in such an intimate daydream. So I swallow thick saliva and shake my head mutely.
He leans closer, voice dropping further until only a breath of a whisper greets my ears. “What were you paying attention to, then, recruit?”
Stars kill me.I would be surprised if he didn’t already know the answer…his voice captures something rough and primal, a shiver racing through my spine that has nothing to do with fear. My heart hammers against each rib, blood rushing to my face beneath the blessed mask. There’s no way I’m admitting I was mentally cataloging his body like some specimen to study.
My head shakes again, words failing me.
His arms uncross as he shifts to grip the armrests on either side of my chair, inclining his body until we’re a mere inch from each other. This close, I catch his scent—clean sweat and something sharper, like pine and metal melded together. Little obsidian flecks near his pupils catch my attention before he speaks again.
“Let your thoughts stray again and you’re out,” he mumbles just barely above a whisper.
I manage a single nod, holding my breath to steady it.
Kellen straightens, addressing me at normal volume. “Ashford, what do you know about today’s topics?”
I scramble through the library of my mind, searching forsomething—anything—suitable to say. My thoughts are still scattered, thrown into disarray by the proximity of his body to mine and the lingering embarrassment of before. The recruits behind me keep muttering, their commentary a distracting buzz that makes focus impossible.
I’m furious with myself. This is the kind of training I should excel at—mental exercises, strategic thinking, the application of knowledge. Instead, I’m sitting here like an idiot, speechless, because I can’t control my physical responses to a man I barely know and who cannot ever know me in return.
Then it dawns on me—this is part of his lesson. Focus under pressure. The ability to think clearly while distracted or intimidated. Perhaps my incapability to answer is exactly what Kellen wants to demonstrate.
I speak before my head flusters more. “I cannot think of any relevant information at this time, sir.” Though not confident, my voice is steady and unwavering.
Kellen goes still, as if my response surprised him. After a moment, he hums and steps back to his podium.
