If it were anyone else, I’d see the red flags and run a mile. But she intrigues me. I know there is more to River than she wants the world to see. That’s the person I want to know personally and professionally. But how do I get her to open up to me without the constant retreat?
I need to type up my interview notes. They’ll be a backup in case I can’t get another Weapon Engineer to sit down with me. I hadn’t planned on interviewing more than one person per job sector. However, River’s answers just won’t cut it. This article needs to stand out. Entice new recruits through the passion these sailors possess for their jobs. Granted, not all the crew on HMS Queen Elizabeth are here because they couldn’t think of doing anything else with their lives. The money will be all the motivation they need. It’s the impression River tried to pass off in her answers, but I’m not buying it.
Regardless of that, it’s my opinion those sailors are far and few between. That is what I want the article to reflect.
I’m halfway done typing up the interview when my phone rings. The name brings a smile to my face.
Honor Blackwood has been my best friend since university. We were paired on an assignment for the university paper and hit it off immediately. She’s outgoing, opinionated, and confident. She’s the only person who can pull me away from work and get me to relax.
She’s also the person who held me together when the ex cheated. Who showed up at my flat with wine and terrible rom-coms and let me cry until I couldn’t anymore. I owe her everything.
“Just checking you haven’t drowned yet,” she says as soon as the line connects.
Smiling, I shake my head. “Nope. Still alive.”
“How’s it going? I thought you would’ve called by now, Cleo. Shame on you making me worry.”
I tut. “I sent you a text yesterday.Youdidn’t reply!”
“Oh shit. So you did,” she cackles. “My bad, honey. I was entertaining a lovely gentleman and lost track of reality.”
Honor has a healthy sex life. Unfortunately, she feels the need to share the details with me. I’ve asked her to refrain many times, but she’s yet to desist.
Last month, it was the barista from her local coffee shop. Before that, a musician she’d met at a pub. Honor collects lovers like some people collect stamps, and she’s equally enthusiastic about cataloguing the details.
“He’s a trainer from the gym.”
“Since when do you go to the gym?” My voice goes up an octave in sheer surprise.
“Since I walked past and saw his fine arse through the window.”
Ah, I should’ve known. The likelihood of Honor joining a gym for health reasons is as likely as me marrying a man.
“You’re bad, Honor Blackwood!”
“I’m thoroughly fucked, Cleo Carter. I suggest you give it a go.”
The minute pause between her saying that and me formulating an answer is all Honor needs. She’s got this uncanny ability to read between the most miniscule of lines, and fill in whatever it is you don’t want to say. Damn it. I should’ve known better than to pause. Honor can read me like a book, even over the phone.
“You got laid!”
“Must you use that term?”
She snorts down the line. “Laid, slammed into the mattress, went to pound town. Whatever term you want to use, it happened. Didn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“With a sailor?”
Fuck, fuckity, fuck. “Possibly.”
“Ha! I knew it. I’ve just won a tenner. I told Maggie you wouldn’t be able to hold out.”
For reference, Maggie is the paper’s secretary and my other best friend from university. She’s the biggest gossip and rivals Honor’s pathological need to know everyone’s business. The pair of them together are a menace, but I love them dearly.
“Betting on my sex life is sad.”
“Betting on your sailor kink just bought me a pint at the pub,” she retorts. “So, out with it then.”
