“Staring. Are you afraid to look at me, Caiden?” he asks. I whip my head around to look him in the eye because I’ll be damned if I give him the satisfaction of thinking I’m scared. Big mistake. His wet hair is slicked back, water running in a thin line from his throat down his chest, over the stark lines of his ribs, lower — I wrench my eyes back up so fast I give myself whiplash. He smirks, knowing exactly how low my gaze travelled before I managed to slam the brakes on.
“Relax, Caiden,” he murmurs, switching to softer English. “If you keep frowning like that, your face will get stuck. Bad for your career. Terrible for your... other prospects.”
“I don’t have other prospects,” I say, too quickly.
His eyebrows rise. “Now that would be a tragedy.” I should say something else, shut him down, or walk away. Instead, I stand there under freezing water, brain off the rails and heart hammering, while he calmly soaps his shoulder like we’re having a normal, casual chat.
Fuck this.
I reach for the tap and twist it off. The spray cuts and the cold air attacks my wet skin. I step away, grab my towel, and wrap it around my waist in one desperate motion. My body doesn’t know whether it’s freezing or burning, but I don’t look back. If I do, I’ll grab him.
The mess later is loud enough to make my teeth vibrate. I sit with my lot because that’s what you do. You sit with your team, swap insults, complain, and pretend you’re not all wondering which of you is going to die first when the joint training becomes joint operations. Mason drops his tray opposite me as he sits leaning an elbow on the table. “Youwent solid on the carry,” he says. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, poking something that might be beans with my fork.
“I mean, Iknewyou could carry one of our lads,” he adds. “But that Russian sergeant looked like he weighed more than three men.”
My left eye twitches. “He’s not that heavy,” I say.
Mason smirks. “Oh,not that heavy, eh? You two swapping weight stats now?”
“Fuck off,” I say.
Collins leans in. “He’s the one from the briefing, yeah? The one with the eyebrows and the war-crime smirk?”
“Collins,” Mason groans, “you think anyone with a bone structure is flirting with you.”
“I didn’t say with me, fucking weirdo,” Collins says. “I meant in general.”
“He’s just Russian,” I say, which is apparently my new favourite non-explanation. “They all look like they’re about to either kiss you or stab you.”
“Some ladies like that,” Collins says. “Keeps things interesting.”
I stab my food harder. “You’re all deranged.”
Collins shrugs. “Joint exercises will do that to you.”
Niko appears at the end of our table a little while later, his tray in hand, and my pulse does its old familiar little jump, the one it used to do when he walked into a room. The one that meant — safe, competent, handsome idiot with the big smile and the effortless charm.
My crush feels different now. Muted, off-key. Like someone changed the instrument. “Move up,” he says, nudging Collins with his tray. “You’re in my spot.”
“I’ve never seen you sit here before, sir,” Collins says, but he moves anyway.
“I sit where the best gossip is,” Niko says, his eyes flicking to me. “Well done today, Caiden. That carry was clean.”
“Thanks,” I say, because that’s easier than thinking about what that actually did to my head.
“Are you and Ari getting along?” he asks casually, digging into his food, as if he’s asking whether I’m happy with my bunk allocation.
I nearly choke on whatever the hell this meat is. “We’re working,” I say. “He’s engaged.”
“You’ll get used to him,” he says. “He’s a pain in the ass, but good at what he does.”
“That’s... one way of putting it,” I mutter.
“What’s the other way?” Niko asks, eyes glinting.
I shake my head.“Not saying that in the mess hall, sir.”
