She’s right. Everyone is scampering around in a rush. They must know something we don’t. Not surprising, none of us in the sapphic bunkhouse has any sort of importance. We’re just part of the machine. Lowly Able Rates with no responsibility apart from doing our jobs correctly.
“Let’s look lively. I don’t want Benson up our arses for being late. He’s just itching for a reason to keep hauling us over the coals,” Cheddar huffs.
Picking up our pace, we race back to our bunks. Kit practically carries me to the shower the second I have my wash bag in hand. Rolling my eyes, I let her shove me into the cubicle.
“Five minutes, River,” she barks.
So maybe I’ll need to do a bit more to get back in Kit’s good graces.
“I’ll need three,” I shout back. She’s in the stall next to me, humming. We’re used to quick dips. The Navy doesn’t really afford long hot showers.
Smelling a lot fresher, I haul my arse back to the bunks. My hair will have to stay damp. I don’t have time to dry it fully. A quick blast will do. Unless there’s an inspection, no one will notice when it’s up in a bun.
I’m dressed before everyone else. My beret sits snugly on my head. Kit runs in with a towel drying her body. I’ll admit I peek a little, because I’m only human.
“Chop, chop, Kit,” I tease. She throws me a scowl, but there’s no heat in it. We hustle out to the flight deck and join the growing crowd. There are a lot of curious looks. Most of the crew are laughing and joking. That is until Benson barks out an order.
He’s not even an officer, and yet he seems to think himself God Almighty at times. I’d love to see him taken down a peg or two.
“Attention on deck,” he screams.
It’s an impressive sight. Hundreds of sailors coming to attention at the same time. It sends a thrill down my spine, even after all these years.
My eyes stare straight ahead. Silence descends as we wait patiently. I wonder if the visitor is the reason we’ve been delayed a couple of days.
The sun’s beating down on the flight deck, and I can feel sweat already gathering under my collar. My legs are screaming from the PT session, and I’m trying not to lock my knees. Last thing I need is to pass out in front of whoever this VIP is.
The wait stretches. Someone behind me coughs. Benson’s eyes sweep the formation like a hawk looking for prey.
Then, movement to my port side draws my attention. Bloody hell, is that the fucking Admiral of the Royal Navy? Shit, this must be important.
A ripple of excitement crosses the deck as we’re told to stand at ease. Even though we can’t talk, the energy shifts as more people catch sight of the admiral. He’s flanked by Captain Morley and—oh, for fuck’s sake. It’s her!
The woman I took to bed last night. Everything floods back to me in a nauseating wave. Her laugh—low and surprised when I kissed her neck. The way she’d gripped my hair when I went down on her. Her thighs trembling around my head. The taste of her. The sound she made when she came the second time, breathless and broken.
Fuck.
She’s just as gorgeous as I remember. How could I have possibly blockedthatface out? Oh, and her body. Christ, she has a body to die for. I remember worshipping her for hours. I think I gave her some of my best moves.
But why is she here? Fuck, did I pick up a bar bunny? It goes without saying there are people in the world who really like the uniform. It’s not just women, men are just as bad. Bar bunnies like to hang around popular military drinking spots waiting for sailors, soldiers, and airmen to tumble in looking for a good time.
I’ve had many a good time with bar bunnies, but I know better than to pick one up in Portsmouth. Abroad…no problem. After all, we’re usually only in town for a few days at a time.
Cleo, that’s the woman’s name. Yeah, she didn’t come across as a bunny. Yet she’s here, on my ship. Fuck, what do I do?
The admiral starts talking but I can’t take in a word he’s saying. Not when Cleo is standing there. Her eyes pass over me and there’s a flicker of recognition. For half a second, our gazes lock. My stomach drops. Does she remember? Is she going to say something?
But then her eyes move on, blank and professional, like I’m just another sailor in the formation.
Maybe that’s a good thing. The last thing I want is a stalker. Or it’s possible she didn’t really recognise me in my uniform. I was dressed very differently last night, and my hair was down.
The crew comes to attention again and then falls out. Voices rise as the Admiral, Captain Morley, and Cleo leave the deck. I’m still standing like a lemon, unable to move.
“River?” Cheddar stands directly in front of me.
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I say, not really talking to her, but to the bloody universe.
“What’s going on, you’re as white as a sheet.”
