“Can I walk you? I…I can’t drop you off at your doorstep, so this is the next best thing, right? That’s what happens after a date isn’t it?”
Fuck, she’s too cute. I’m secretly thrilled we are on a ship surrounded by hundreds of other people because if this was a date in the civilian world, I would one hundred percent invite her into my bed, even though I said I wouldn’t! But I think I’ve established I have no fucking willpower when it comes to women in uniform—and even less, if that’s possible, where River Dawson is concerned.
17
River
I’ve never suffered fromseasickness, but this rolling in my stomach makes me think that’s what it must feel like. I know this hasn’t got anything to do with the ocean and everything to do with Cleo and the way she affects me.
Tonight went better than expected. I was so nervous we’d get busted or the conversation would dry up. It got a little rocky at one point, but we managed to steer through it and come out the other end in a better place. The conversation gave me some clarity. I admitted to Cleo that I came to this whole idea with little thought, and up until tonight I was still freaking out over possibly making the biggest mistake ever. But…now I know Cleo is worth feeling out of control for.
I can’t predict if what she says about having feelings for someone makes sex better. Maybe it’s just a “her” thingand doesn’t affect everyone the same way. It’s possible I will develop feelings and nothing will change for me in the bedroom department, but either way I’m eager to find out…withher.
Back to the date, which is rapidly approaching its end. I’m only calling it when I’ve dropped her off at her cabin door. Ideally I’d give her a chaste kiss, but neither of us can risk getting caught looking anything other than professional. Me walking her back to her accommodation is literally what my purpose as her chaperone is, so no issues there.
I owe Cheddar big time. She’s come through for me tonight, and no amount of baked cheese puffs are going to make us even. I vow to get her laid as often as possible when we get back to Portsmouth. That woman deserves all the bar bunny fun she can have for being such an amazing friend.
“Heads up,” Cheddar calls as we’re about to leave the mess, “Benson was skulking about earlier. Don’t…you know…do anything to get in the shit, yeah?”
“Cheers, Cheddar,” I say, guiding Cleo into the main passageway.
Our date bubble is popped as the noise and vibrancy of the ship surrounds us. Crew members bustle by on theirway to work or their bunks for some kip. I wish so badly we weren’t here right now.
“Shall we?” Cleo asks quietly.
God, I want to take her hand. “Sure, come on.”
Happily, we avoid running into Benson and arrive swiftly at Cleo’s cabin. The air turns awkward as we both try to figure out what to do. Cleo hovers in the doorway, fiddling with her sweater cuff. Taking a quick look left and right, I snatch a cheek kiss.
The kiss is brief, chaste, but it’s enough to make my heart race. I want to pull her back, want to taste her properly, want to show her exactly what I’m feeling. But we can’t. I wish I could take her hand.
“Good night, Cleo.”
She smiles shyly at me and I feel like I’ve won the lottery.
“Good night, Dawson. See you tomorrow.”
Lingering, I trawl my mind for something to say. “Do you need me for anything in particular, tomorrow?” is what I come up with. I don’t need Cloe to give me an itinerary or anything, and I’m not being suggestive, I’m genuinely interested in her work.
“Yes, actually, I need to talk to you about something. It’s not to do with…” She waves her hand back and forth between us.
“Okay, sure. Um…” I hesitate.
“What is it?”
I need to tell Kit and Boot what’s going on. Cheddar was right, lying to them just isn’t an option. “I…I need to tell Kit and Boot,” I blurt.
She looks at me and worries her lip. “Okay. But no one else, right?”
I shake my head. “Lips are sealed. They’re just—”
“Your family, I get it.”
Relief floods through me. “Thank you for understanding. Sleep well.”
The mess is clean of all evidence by the time I get back. Cheddar is lounging on the couch, watching the television.
“Alright, Riv?” she asks without looking my way.
