The Admiral’s Daughter

Chapter 11 River

River

Okay, so that just happened. We gave each other a small smile after I boldly declared I’m going to date the shit out of Cleo. My heart’s still racing. What the fuck did I just agree to? Dating. Me. River “I don’t do relationships” Dawson.

I have no clue how to do that, fyi. Well, not in the way she would want. I can do a few hours of romance in order to get her into bed, but that’s strictly forbidden. Rightly so, because I’m coming to learn that side of me isn’t all that great.

Don’t get me wrong, I love sex, and I love women.

But I wonder if I’ve been a little too cavalier with both.

After the way I’ve felt these past few days, I can only imagine what some of the women I’ve fucked must’ve felt like after I so casually dismissed them, or literary snuck out of their room to avoid any interaction.

I arrogantly thought they’d be grateful for a night of orgasms and wouldn’t give a shit.

Like that woman in Portsmouth—what was her name?

Sarah? Sophie?—who’d asked if I wanted to grab breakfast. I’d made up some bullshit excuse about an early shift and was out the door before she’d finished her sentence.

The look on her face…I’d pushed it out of my mind. Told myself she was fine with it.

Was she though?

I’ve been an idiot!

I was thinking about it all last night. After the shower incident, I headed straight for my bunk and drew the privacy curtain.

I felt Kit, Boot, and Cheddar’s eyes on me.

They know I’m going through something right now, and no doubt it has them worried.

Kit had even knocked on the frame, asked if I wanted to talk. I’d told her I was fine.

I wasn’t fine.

As I lay there staring at the top side of my bunk, I started to feel angry.

Angry that Cleo had made me feel so messed up.

Irrational, I know. No one is responsible for my state of mind except me.

But I wasn’t being rational. I’d actually thought about marching to her cabin right then.

Demanding she explain why she’d got under my skin like this.

What gave her the right to make me feel so… unmoored?

Thank fuck I didn’t. That would’ve gone brilliantly.

I’d just crossed a line with a crew member, after having a failed hookup in a bar, and all because I couldn’t get Cleo Carter and her assessment of our night together out of my head.

That led me to this morning, where I found myself marching to find her. No clue what I wanted to say. I just knew I had to get it off my chest. I needed her to understand what she was doing to me.

Which led to our discussion in her cabin. I hadn’t planned to date her. Or anyone. Ever. But as the idea formed, the more obvious it became that it was the perfect solution.

Until the conversation was over, that is, and now I’m outside her cabin waiting for her to grab whatever kit she needs to get this interview done.

Now…I think I’ve made a colossal mistake, and I’m possibly on the verge of a panic attack.

My chest is tight. My hands are clammy. I wipe them on my trousers for the third time.

What if I can’t do this? What if I try and it’s not enough?

What if Cleo realises I’m exactly what she thought—a player who can’t change?

What the bloody hell do I know about dating? Nothing. Zero. Not just dating, but seriously dating. Cleo made it clear she wouldn’t tolerate games, and I agree.

There’s a reason I don’t date. People are messy.

They fuck each other up with their own baggage.

Relationships look fun on the outside, but dig down and most of them are garbage.

Sniping and sarcastic comments replace loving words.

Days spent snuggled together get fewer and further apart.

Instead, it ends up with two people sharing a space but nothing else.

I’ve seen it. My parents, for one. They stayed together “for the kids,” but by the time I was a teenager, they barely spoke. Mum would make dinner. Dad would eat in front of the telly. They’d sleep in the same bed but might as well have been on different continents.

That’s what relationships become. Why would I want that?

My chest rises a little faster as I contemplate the decision I’ve just made.

Cleo told me she had her heart broken by a shitty partner who probably is a lot like me, and yet I still convinced her to give this a shot.

And for what? What am I really trying to prove?

It can’t just be about my ego and sex, right?

No, I think I’m…curious. At the possibility that having a close relationship can alter how sex feels. It can’t be like that for everyone, but it is for Cleo. She needs to feel an emotional connection, and I want to be the one to try it with her.

Don’t ask me why her, or why now. Is it the red hair? The sharp wit? The way she looked at me like she could see right through my bullshit? Or is it just that she’s the first woman who didn’t fall for my charms, and my ego can’t handle it?

No. It’s more than that. It has to be.

If I knew that answer, I wouldn’t have just promised to give dating a go.

With the admiral’s daughter, of all people. If I fuck this up, I’ll more than likely torpedo my career, too. No pressure.

I’m lost in my mind when someone stands directly in front of me. By the smell of his odorous cologne, I know it’s WO Benson. Snapping back to reality, I come face-to-face with the man.

“Dawson, haven’t you got something better to do than loiter in the passageways?”

Of course, Leading Hand Grey is a few feet behind him.

I’d love to wipe the smug smile off her face one day.

She’s been gunning for me since day one.

Every mistake I make, she’s there to report it to Benson.

Every success, she tries to take credit.

I’d respect the ambition if she wasn’t such a backstabbing twat about it.

“Yes, sir. I’m waiting for Ms Carter. She should be out momentarily.”

It seems my answer isn’t what he wanted to hear. No doubt looking for an excuse to get me on latrine duty or something.

“Ah yes. You managed to get out of a full week’s worth of night shifts.”

Holding back the scoff I have forming in my throat, I take a beat before answering. “Ms Carter requested my help this week, sir. I was told to be at her disposal.”

The door behind me clicks open, and Cleo steps out looking lovely. She’s wearing practical cargo pants and a T-shirt, but somehow still makes it look like she’s just stepped out of a fashion show. Her delicious red hair has been scraped back into a low bun.

“Good morning, Warrant Officer Benson.”

“Ms Carter. How are you settling in?”

“Oh, perfectly, thank you. I have to say, offering Dawson up as my guide was brilliant. She’s just the person for the job. It seems you know your crew well. I’ll be sure to pass on my experience to my father, he’ll be very happy to hear you know the value of your sailors.”

It takes everything in my power not to snigger. WO Benson offered me up as punishment and nothing more. It’s not like he can admit that, though.

And Cleo knows it. She’s playing him like a fiddle, and it’s fucking brilliant.

He schools his features well, but he can’t stop the rising crimson tide washing over his face right now. “Of course. Dawson is a fine sailor. I knew she’d be the right person for the job.”

I bet that physically hurt him to say.

Cleo offers him a brilliant smile. “Perfect. Well, we must get on. I have a long list of things to get through. Have a good day, Warrant Officer.”

“You too Ms Carter. Dawson.” He flicks his gaze to me and then leaves. I stare down Grey until she’s out of sight.

“Come along, Dawson.”

I dutifully follow Cleo. She’s commandeered the officer’s lounge to conduct her interviews.

“Hey, hang on,” I say just before arriving. “You didn’t get any breakfast.”

I totally rear-ended her plans this morning.

“I can wait until lunch,” she replies, stepping into the lounge.

“No. It’s hard enough navigating all the ladders and walkways on a full stomach. You need fuel. Please let me fetch you breakfast.”

The ship is huge, and if we end up doing any amount of exploring, she’ll get tired fast without food in her.

“Fine. I’ll get set up.”

Bolting out the door, I set out to do a bit of hunter-gathering. Suddenly, the only thing I want to do is make sure Cleo is taken care of. It makes no sense to me, and I should probably question my sanity or go for a full physical to make sure I’m not ill or anything.

This isn’t me. I don’t fetch breakfast for women. I don’t worry about whether they’ve eaten. I don’t…care.

Except I do. With Cleo, I do.

With every step I take, I feel my confidence return. The weird mood I’ve been carrying around lifts. For the first time in days, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.

Cheddar is waiting to grab her breakfast, so I piss everyone off and cut in beside her. “Morning, sunshine.”

She looks at me with questioning eyes. “Morning. You’re…chipper.”

I shrug and smile. Yes, I’m still a little freaked out by the arrangement Cleo and I have made, but not enough to douse my mood.

“It’s a nice day. Benson can suck a dick, and Grey can gobble a bag of balls. I’m off night shift. Got a relatively stress-free day ahead. Yeah, I’m happy.”

Grabbing a tray and two plates, I stack eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast. Followed by two mugs of coffee. That will keep us going for the day.

“Hungry much?” Cheddar chuckles.

“I’m taking a plate for Cleo. We’re doing the interview today. She didn’t get breakfast.”

Cheddar eyes me a little more. “You good, Riv? Last night—”

“I’m fine. I promise. Just had something to work through, but I’m all squared away.”

“It’s more than just last night, mate. You’ve been off for a while. Anything I need to worry about? Anything you want to talk about?”

Cheddar knows me better than anyone. She knows it’s unlikely I’ll want to talk.

But I appreciate the offer anyway. Maybe further down the line I’ll tell her what’s going on.

But not now. I promised Cleo to keep things just between us.

No way I can fuck things up this early on.

It feels wrong, keeping this from Cheddar.

We tell each other everything. But I can’t fuck this up before it even starts.

Cleo needs to trust me, and that means keeping my mouth shut.

“I know where to find you,” I reply. “Up for some Xbox tonight?”

Her concern is replaced with childlike joy. “Hell yeah. Kit and Boot are on nights, so it’ll just be the two of us.”

“Perfect. I’ll see ya later.”

The food is almost cold by the time I get back to Cleo. I should’ve just asked the officers’ chef to prepare something for her. No doubt she gets the perks of her dad’s station.

Shit. I should’ve thought of that. Some “date the shit out of you” I’m turning out to be. Can’t even manage to get her a hot breakfast.

The food temperature doesn’t seem to bother her though, because she’s tucking into the bacon like it’s the last batch on Earth.

“Bacon fan?”

While I’m laughing, Cleo stops mid-bite and blushes. It’s cute.

Something in my chest loosens. This is easy. Natural. Just two people eating breakfast and talking about bacon. Maybe I can do this. Maybe it doesn’t have to be complicated.

“Sorry. Bacon is my downfall.”

I wave my cutlery around, dismissing her apology. “Never apologise for loving bacon. There would be a mutiny on board if we ever ran out. It’s universally loved.”

For the first time in days, I feel my stomach lose enough tension to enjoy eating again. I can’t believe I’ve been so wound up. My eyes gravitate to Cleo. This woman has somehow affected me so much, I couldn’t eat. I’ve hardly slept either. Fascinating.

Actually, it’s been shit. But now, sitting here with Cleo, watching her demolish that bacon like it’s her last meal…I feel normal again. Better than normal.

What is it about her? I know I’m a sucker for red hair, but I’ve been with plenty of women with flaming locks, and not an iota of interest past the one night of fun surfaced in me.

Is it simply the fact Cleo didn’t fall for my charms?

Will we do this dating thing and find out I’m no different from the person she met that night?

I just simply had to conquer her. Ew, that’s not a nice thought.

However, I need to be realistic. My track record isn’t indicative of someone with deep emotions.

“You’re staring at me.”

Cleo has finished her breakfast, whereas I’ve still got half a plate. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

Licking her lips, she wipes her mouth with a paper napkin. All the time, her eyes are on me. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No. I guess I’m a little nervous. Are you?”

She laughs, but it sounds choked. “Only every ten seconds or so.”

Oh, well, that’s not good.

But also…kind of reassuring? At least I’m not the only one freaking out.

“But I want to try, River. God knows why, but I do.”

“It’s my smile, isn’t it?” I smirk. “You’re a sucker for the lopsided grin.”

“I see your confidence is coming back.”

Piling two sausages between my toast, I take a giant bite. “You like confidence,” I respond through my food.

Cleo grimaces. “Chew and swallow first, please. And yes, I like confidence. But there’s a difference between that and being cocky. One I like. The other not so much.”

Washing down my sandwich with some coffee, I let her words filter in. “I get that, and you might have to be patient with me. It’s like a natural state for me. Being cocky, that is.”

She looks amused. “I’m well aware.”

“But,” I say, holding up my index finger, “I promised I’d give this a real shot. So, if my player makes an appearance, it’s totally involuntary.”

She chuckles, and I like it. “Like I said earlier. I don’t want you to change who you are, River. If you’re being authentic with me, then you do you.”

“And you’ll be authentic with me? Tit for tit and all that, Ms Carter.”

“There will be no tits in the equation for some time, Dawson. But yes, I’ll be authentic.”

I already like what I see with her. She’s fiery and passionate. I know there’s so much more to see. But that goes both ways.

What if there’s nothing more to see in me?