“What? You asked.”
“I asked about your job. Your actual job.”
She sighs, and for a moment I think she’s going to give me a real answer. Then: “The hours. Definitely the hours. Hard to maintain a social life when you’re deployed for months at a time.”
“And by social life, you mean…”
“Exactly what you think I mean.”
“So you’re saying the Navy interferes with your ability to sleep around?”
“I prefer ‘meet interesting people.’”
“Is that what you call it?”
“Among other things.”
I set down my pen. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I’m taking it very seriously. You’re the one who keeps bringing up my sex life.”
“I’m trying to understand who you are as a sailor, River. What drives you. What you’re passionate about.”
“I’m passionate about a lot of things.” Her eyes drop to my mouth, then back up. “Want me to make a list?”
“I want you to answer my questions honestly.”
“I am being honest.”
“No, you’re being evasive. There’s a difference.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I think I’ve finally got through. Then she leans forward, elbows on her knees, and gives me that lopsided grin. “You’re sexy when you’re frustrated, you know that?”
I close my notebook. “We’re done.”
“What? Come on, Cleo—”
“I said we’re done. This isn’t working.”
“Because I won’t spill my guts for your article?”
“Because you won’t be honest with me. About anything.”
That lands. I see it in the way her expression shifts, the cocky mask slipping for just a second.
“I am being honest,” she says, quieter now. “This is who I am.”
“Is it? Or is this who you want me to think you are?”
She doesn’t answer. Just stands, shoves her hands in her pockets, and heads for the door.
“River—”
“I’ll see you later, Cleo. For our date. I’ll try to be more…honest.”
And then she’s gone. I learned nothing about her as a sailor. Well, nothing past surface level.
It was strange, though, because I could see her struggling. Again this wall dropped, and she hid behind a persona she’s crafted over many years.
