What the bloody hell do I know about dating? Nothing. Zero. Not just dating, but seriously dating. Cleo made it clear she wouldn’t tolerate games, and I agree.
There’s a reason I don’t date. People are messy. They fuck each other up with their own baggage. Relationships look fun on the outside, but dig down and most of them are garbage. Sniping and sarcastic comments replace loving words. Days spent snuggled together get fewer and further apart. Instead, it ends up with two people sharing a space but nothing else.
I’ve seen it. My parents, for one. They stayed together “for the kids,” but by the time I was a teenager, they barely spoke. Mum would make dinner. Dad would eat in front of the telly. They’d sleep in the same bed but might as well have been on different continents.
That’s what relationships become. Why would I want that?
My chest rises a little faster as I contemplate the decision I’ve just made. Cleo told me she had her heart broken by a shitty partner who probably is a lot like me, and yet I still convinced her to give this a shot. And for what? What am I really trying to prove? It can’t just be about my ego and sex, right?
No, I think I’m…curious. At the possibility that having a close relationship can alter how sex feels. It can’t be like that for everyone, but it is for Cleo. She needs to feel anemotional connection, and I want to be the one to try it with her.
Don’t ask me why her, or why now. Is it the red hair? The sharp wit? The way she looked at me like she could see right through my bullshit? Or is it just that she’s the first woman who didn’t fall for my charms, and my ego can’t handle it?
No. It’s more than that. It has to be.
If I knew that answer, I wouldn’t have just promised to give dating a go.
With the admiral’s daughter, of all people. If I fuck this up, I’ll more than likely torpedo my career, too. No pressure.
I’m lost in my mind when someone stands directly in front of me. By the smell of his odorous cologne, I know it’s WO Benson. Snapping back to reality, I come face-to-face with the man.
“Dawson, haven’t you got something better to do than loiter in the passageways?”
Of course, Leading Hand Grey is a few feet behind him. I’d love to wipe the smug smile off her face one day. She’s been gunning for me since day one. Every mistake I make, she’s there to report it to Benson. Every success, shetries to take credit. I’d respect the ambition if she wasn’t such a backstabbing twat about it.
“Yes, sir. I’m waiting for Ms Carter. She should be out momentarily.”
It seems my answer isn’t what he wanted to hear. No doubt looking for an excuse to get me on latrine duty or something.
“Ah yes. You managed to get out of a full week’s worth of night shifts.”
Holding back the scoff I have forming in my throat, I take a beat before answering. “Ms Carter requested my help this week, sir. I was told to be at her disposal.”
The door behind me clicks open, and Cleo steps out looking lovely. She’s wearing practical cargo pants and a T-shirt, but somehow still makes it look like she’s just stepped out of a fashion show. Her delicious red hair has been scraped back into a low bun.
“Good morning, Warrant Officer Benson.”
“Ms Carter. How are you settling in?”
“Oh, perfectly, thank you. I have to say, offering Dawson up as my guide was brilliant. She’s just the person for the job. It seems you know your crew well. I’ll be sure to pass on my experience to my father, he’ll be very happy to hear you know the value of your sailors.”
It takes everything in my power not to snigger. WO Benson offered me up as punishment and nothing more. It’s not like he can admit that, though.
And Cleo knows it. She’s playing him like a fiddle, and it’s fucking brilliant.
He schools his features well, but he can’t stop the rising crimson tide washing over his face right now. “Of course. Dawson is a fine sailor. I knew she’d be the right person for the job.”
I bet that physically hurt him to say.
Cleo offers him a brilliant smile. “Perfect. Well, we must get on. I have a long list of things to get through. Have a good day, Warrant Officer.”
“You too Ms Carter. Dawson.” He flicks his gaze to me and then leaves. I stare down Grey until she’s out of sight.
“Come along, Dawson.”
I dutifully follow Cleo. She’s commandeered the officer’s lounge to conduct her interviews.
“Hey, hang on,” I say just before arriving. “You didn’t get any breakfast.”
