Chapter 7 River
River
Ribbing each other is our love language, and under normal circumstances I would happily take the invasive questions and mocking from Kit and Boot, without question.
Tonight, though, is not in any way normal.
It started that way. Heading to the club with my girls looking hot as fuck.
Cleo definitely looked good enough to eat.
But that’s beside the point. We were set for a great night out.
We had some shots, and I immediately found a very lovely lady to spend the night with.
Tessa and her friend Lottie, who Cheddar hit it off with, were sure bets.
With enthusiastic consent from all parties, we had some drinks, kissed and headed in separate directions to have some adult fun.
Kit and Boot were a few drinks deep, so I didn’t have to feel bad about nipping off for a little while.
Cleo…well, she found a dance partner pretty quickly. A tall femme who looked like she wanted to devour the admiral’s daughter. I’ll admit I had a momentary surge of something ugly in my stomach before she caught me watching. That dragged me back to reality and to the very hot woman on my arm.
Tessa led me to the toilets, because it was going to be that kind of hookup.
I prefer a bed and several hours, but sometimes a quickie in the loo is all that’s on offer.
Plus, I’m not ashamed to admit that my ego took over.
I had something to prove after my not-so-stellar night with Cleo.
According to her. Nice and fine, remember.
Tessa was going to get my very best work, and I’d prove once and for all I am an excellent lay and therefore worthy of my moniker, Romeo. Everything started off great. Tessa was hot as hell and handsy. She dropped her knickers the second we locked ourselves in the only empty cubicle.
Calling me captain really turned her on, and I was okay with it.
But that’s when it started going wrong. We were kissing, my hands happily tracing her curves.
She was soaking by the time I reached inside her underwear, and hell if she wasn’t responsive to every touch.
Her moans echoed through the stall, and that’s when it happened.
A voice in my head questioning if her cries were as real as they sounded.
I got in my head about every move I made.
The words fine and nice circled on repeat, causing me the worst case of performance anxiety I’ve ever experienced.
To top it off, Cleo’s face swam in front of my inner eye and that ended that. I couldn’t continue. So, my last perfect night on shore ended in embarrassment and confusion.
None of which I want to share with my crewmates as we pass the MPs and head toward the ship, especially since Cleo is still here with us. Seems that Cheddar is having better luck, though.
“I can’t believe you struck out.” Kit laughs for the millionth time.
I can’t even summon a smirk. “Yeah.”
Kit side-eyes me but doesn’t say anything else as we board the ship.
I can’t remember a time where I didn’t want to get to our bunk and fuck about with my friends, laughing about the night. Until now. I’d kill for some alone time.
Boot and Kit know something is wrong. Hell, even Cleo is giving me a weird look.
“Anyone up for one more drink? We’ve got a nice bottle of whiskey in the mess,” Boot asks.
Kit nods, then looks at me. This is the perfect opportunity to get some space. Obviously, they expect me to say yes. I’m always up for another drink.
“Nah, I’m gonna grab a shower and hit the sack.”
Sending a quick smile to them all, I peel off in the direction of our bunk. I just need to grab my toiletry kit. As I leave, I can feel their eyes on my back, but resist the urge to look back at them.
The ship is quiet and I’m able to enter the showers without seeing another soul. Breathing out a frustrated sigh, I let the hot water sluice over me, burning away my frustration. It works for all of two seconds before those two fucking words enter my mind again.
What the hell is wrong with me? Cleo was a fleeting moment in my life. Her assessment of our night together should not be having this effect. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it at all. Not once have I revisited a one-night stand. Not. Once!
Growling, I can’t keep it in any longer. “Argh, for fuck’s sake!”
My voice echoes around the room, as does the wet slap of my palm against the shower tiles.
“Erm, everything okay in there?”
My voice leaves my throat. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. Of all the people on this ship, of course it’s her.
Cleo is in the shower room. For the love of God!
Clearing my throat, I shove my head through the curtain. “All good. I…stubbed my toe.”
Averting my eyes, because Cleo is in a silk robe holding a small toiletry bag, I curl the curtain tightly around my head. I’m not entirely sure why the hell I’m still sticking my neck out instead of getting back to my shower. Seems I’m doing a lot of things recently that are out of character.
“Having a shower?” I feel my face heat because I can’t believe I just asked that.
Cleo cocks an eyebrow. “That was the plan.”
“The water’s hot.”
“Um, great.”
She’s looking at me like I’ve lost the plot. Which, to be fair, I have.
Oh good, it’s super awkward.
“I’m just…” She points to the stall next to me.
“Have fun!” Oh boy. Yup, time to wind my neck in and pretend none of this happened. If that’s possible. My brain seems to want to hold on to shit at the minute.
Ducking back into my stall, I set about washing my hair and body. The club left me feeling gross, and as hard as I try I can’t forget that Cleo is next door, naked and wet.
The water hitting tile. The soft sound of her humming something I don’t recognise. I can picture her—head tilted back, water running down her neck, her shoulders, her—
Stop it.
Okay, so maybe I do revisit one-night stands.
All cleaned up, I dry off in record time. Cleo is still in the shower. I can hear her humming.
It’s fine.
Everything is fine.
My bunk has a little curtain for privacy. I usually sleep with it open, but on the odd occasion I need space, I’ll happily slide that sucker shut.
Kit and Boot are still in the lounge, giving me enough time to get settled without interruption. Once my bunk is sealed off from the rest of the room, no one will disturb me.
I’m not stupid enough to try to sleep. My mind is too busy for that. Pulling out the well-worn copy of my favourite book, I open it to page one, for the millionth time. Dragons and pirates are my escape. I love a good sapphic fantasy, and this particular book hits all my spots.
Somehow, though, Cleo invades this part of my life, too.
I’m reading, yet when I picture the character who is trying to escape her evil overlords, I see her face.
She’s my MC. The MC I’ve read about over and over again.
The one that has passionate and graphic sex with the other MC, who is a pirate.
I’m at the part where Captain Thorne pins Lady Elara against the ship’s mast, all heat and desperation.
It’s my favourite scene. I’ve read it dozens of times.
But now Lady Elara has Cleo’s face. Her voice. Her eyebrow raise when Captain Thorne says something cocky.
Great, now my book is ruined.
This is getting out of hand. Am I really that insecure that a simple comment from Cleo has me spinning out? Is my ego that fragile? Will I keep asking the same fucking questions until I go bonkers?
“Jesus fucking Christ.” My book gets launched to the other end of the bed.
“Romeo?”
Shit, I didn’t hear Kit come back.
“I’m fine,” I say through the curtain. I’m not fine.
“You sure about that, mate? Wanna talk?”
Believe it or not, I’m not one for deep conversations.
I live a simple life that doesn’t require much reflection.
I’ve always been the same way. My parents divorced when I was ten.
It was an ugly fight, and it showed me the dark side of love.
They tried to tell me it wouldn’t affect our family, but of course that was a lie.
Being an only child back then was the worst. I had no one to confide in, so I learned to deal with shit on my own. And by dealing with it, I mean I kept it locked up. Until I got old enough to cope with things by having meaningless sexual encounters, that is.
Mum and Dad did couples counselling both before and after they split, and it never helped. I’d say it made things worse, if I’m honest. They always came back angrier than before going. Whoever their fucking psychologist was sucked at their job.
They’d come home from sessions and immediately start fighting about what was said. Mum would cry. Dad would slam doors. I’d hide in my room with headphones on, trying to drown it out.
That’s when I learned talking about feelings doesn’t fix anything. It just makes everything worse.
When I left for the Navy, I knew my life had to be different from theirs.
No way was I going to settle for anything that made me miserable.
To this date, it’s worked out great. Women make me happy.
Sex makes me happy. The Navy makes me happy.
So why are all the things that make me happy suddenly not?
Women still make me happy—or they did until two nights ago. Sex is my go-to stress relief, but tonight it only brought me more frustration. The Navy is still my life, but for once I wish I weren’t on board.
I’d kill to have my own place right now. A place to reset and get myself under fucking control.
“River? You gonna answer me?”
Closing my eyes, I grit my teeth. “All good, Kit.”
My curtain swishes open. I’m genuinely stunned because it’s an unwritten law that when the curtain is closed, you leave the person alone.
Kit parks her arse on the end of my bed. As far as I can see, Boot isn’t here.
“What the fuck, Kit?”
She holds up her hands. “I know, I’ve broken the bunk rules.”
“Yeah, I’d say. What if I was rubbing one out?”
“Not the first time I’ve caught you doing that.” She snorts. “But that was an angry ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ not a sexy one. So come on. I know there’s something going on.”
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I take a deep breath. “Since when do I discuss things, Kit? Come on,” I whine.
She nods, like she already knows. “I get it, and you know I respect your way of doing things.”
“But…”
Kit shrugs. “You were acting weird, Rome. I just wanna make sure you’re squared away before we set sail. It’s just you and me here. I can listen if you have something on your chest. You know it won’t go any further.”
Ah fuck it. My tried-and-tested way of dealing with things isn’t working. And Kit’s not going to let this go.
I take a breath. Force the words out.
“I couldn’t do it.”
She looks at me, confused. “Couldn’t do what?”
“I couldn’t fuck that woman in the bar tonight.”
“Did something happen?”
“Yeah. Cleo fucking Carter happened,” I growl. Reluctantly, I spend the next few minutes regurgitating all the shitty thoughts in my head.
Scooting further into my bunk, Kit lays a hand on my shoulder. “River.”
“Kit.”
She rolls her eyes. “Listen, smart arse. Cleo is the first woman you’ve run into after a one-night stand. Not only that, but she bruised your ego.”
I scowl. Kit raises her eyebrow at me, daring me to argue. I don’t.
“And now she’s going to be invading your space. Of course you’re feeling off.”
“Well, what the fuck do I do?”
She shrugs. “Ride it out.”
I gape at her.
She rolls her eyes again. “River, it’s two months.
Cleo will be working. You will be working, and that’s it.
You just need a bit of time to adjust and you’ll be fine.
You’re overthinking, which is understandable.
But maybe stop seeing her as Cleo the woman you slept with, and start seeing her as Cleo the journalist, here to do a job. Separate them.”
Separate them. Yeah, okay. I can do that.
I nod slowly. It makes sense. Cleo the journalist is just another crew member. Cleo the woman I slept with doesn’t exist anymore.
“And for the love of God, stop obsessing about your night with her!”