“I won’t play games with you, Cleo. That’s why I came here this morning. Yesterday in the shower felt too close to playing games, and it made me feel horrible. Talking to you about how I’ve been feeling isn’t something I find easy. But with you…it’s different.”
“Maybe next time don’t bark orders at me. I was this close to walking the other way,” I say, holding up my thumb and forefinger.
“Sorry. I’ve felt off kilter, and I’ve struggled to get control. I’m always in control.”
“Oh, I know.” A moment of silence passes. “So…how do you want to do this?”
“Well, how about I take you on a date?”
“Where? We’re on a tin can!”
She grins. “Hey now. River ‘Romeo’ Dawson doesn’t shy away from a challenge. Let me plan something. Tomorrow night?”
Blowing out a final breath of resistance, I embrace my decision. “Tomorrow night. Now, though, we have work, and none of this will be discussed.”
“Aye, aye. Understood. I think that goes for telling Kit and the gang, too.”
“Oh definitely. We both have a job to do, and Ido notwant our private business broadcast across the ship.”
“Agreed. Plus, WO Benson would absolutely use it to get me into the shit. He hates me.”
“Noted. So…we’re doing this?”
What am I doing?
River gives me one of her best lopsided grins. “We are. I’m going to date the shit out of you, Cleo Carter.”
What the hell have I just got myself into?
11
River
Okay, so that justhappened. We gave each other a small smile after I boldly declared I’m going to date the shit out of Cleo. My heart’s still racing. What the fuck did I just agree to? Dating. Me. River “I don’t do relationships” Dawson.
I have no clue how to do that, fyi. Well, not in the way she would want. I can do a few hours of romance in order to get her into bed, but that’s strictly forbidden. Rightly so, because I’m coming to learn that side of me isn’t all that great.
Don’t get me wrong, I love sex, and I love women. But I wonder if I’ve been a littletoocavalier with both. After the way I’ve felt these past few days, I can only imagine what some of the women I’ve fucked must’ve felt like after I so casually dismissed them, or literary snuck out of their room to avoid any interaction. I arrogantly thought they’d begrateful for a night of orgasms and wouldn’t give a shit. Like that woman in Portsmouth—what was her name? Sarah? Sophie?—who’d asked if I wanted to grab breakfast. I’d made up some bullshit excuse about an early shift and was out the door before she’d finished her sentence. The look on her face…I’d pushed it out of my mind. Told myself she was fine with it.
Was she though?
I’ve been an idiot!
I was thinking about it all last night. After the shower incident, I headed straight for my bunk and drew the privacy curtain. I felt Kit, Boot, and Cheddar’s eyes on me. They know I’m going through something right now, and no doubt it has them worried. Kit had even knocked on the frame, asked if I wanted to talk. I’d told her I was fine.
I wasn’t fine.
As I lay there staring at the top side of my bunk, I started to feel angry. Angry that Cleo had made me feel so messed up. Irrational, I know. No one is responsible for my state of mind except me. But I wasn’t being rational. I’d actually thought about marching to her cabin right then. Demanding she explain why she’d got under my skin like this. What gave her the right to make me feel so…unmoored?
Thank fuck I didn’t. That would’ve gone brilliantly.
I’d just crossed a line with a crew member, after having a failed hookup in a bar, and all because I couldn’t get Cleo Carter and her assessment of our night together out of my head.
That led me to this morning, where I found myself marching to find her. No clue what I wanted to say. I just knew I had to get it off my chest. I needed her to understand what she was doing to me.
Which led to our discussion in her cabin. I hadn’t planned to date her. Or anyone. Ever. But as the idea formed, the more obvious it became that it was the perfect solution.
Until the conversation was over, that is, and now I’m outside her cabin waiting for her to grab whatever kit she needs to get this interview done. Now…I think I’ve made a colossal mistake, and I’m possibly on the verge of a panic attack. My chest is tight. My hands are clammy. I wipe them on my trousers for the third time. What if I can’t do this? What if I try and it’s not enough? What if Cleo realises I’m exactly what she thought—a player who can’t change?
