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With a towel hanging low on my hips, I glance at my reflection. Not only am I superior, I’m way too old for her.
I frown.
I need to get a fucking handle on myself.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Caroline
I grab a forkful of the questionable mess hall casserole, but my appetite's hijacked by the memory that's been playing on repeat in my head. Across the table, Sam's chatting about her workout routine, but I can’t stop looking at the quartermaster sergeant with the perpetual five o'clock shadow. He’s on the other side of the hall, and my breath hitches when he looks up from his food, and our eyes meet.
Sam, damn her, doesn’t miss a thing. Her eyes go wide and she grins, resting her chin on her hand.
“Oh my god! You have a thing for Donovan!”
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I mumble, though my cheeks flush warm, and I swear even my heartbeat flutters just thinking about him.
"Oh, come on, Caro, you're practically drooling every time Sergeant Grizzled walks by. And girl, I can’t say I blame you. He’s got that gravelly voice that sounds like it’s been dragged through a field of barbed wire—in the best way possible, of course. And he looks like a modern-day fucking Hercules. Tell me you wouldn't mind being the one to smooth out those rough edges."
I choke on my coffee, sputtering it back into the cup. The heat in my cheeks rivals the steam rising from my tray. "I do not drool," I manage to say once I've regained composure. But the way her words ring true makes my insides squirm with an unsolicited delight.
"Right." Sam's tone is laced with all the incredulity of someone watching a dog walk on its hind legs. "And I'm the Queen of England. Please, your eyes are like heart emojis every time the man breathes."
"Okay, fine." I relent just a little, rolling my eyes for effect. "He's attractive—sue me. But it's nothing more than a tiny, insignificant crush. And besides, he's my superior. That's a line I can't cross."
"Tiny?" She raises her brows, giving me a look that says 'who do you think you're kidding?'. "That crush is about as subtle as a grenade going off. And yeah, rules are rules, but sometimes—you know—rules are also meant to be...tempted?"
"Sam!" I hiss, though I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. Her audacity sends a thrill through me, like we're skirting around the edges of something forbidden. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're encouraging mutiny."
"Mutiny, schmutiny." She flicks her hand dismissively. "All I'm saying is, from where I’m sitting, Frank looks at you like you're the last piece of chocolate in the ration pack. There's something there, deeper than protocol."
"Or maybe you just need glasses." My words come out stauncher than I feel. My heart is a damn traitor, pounding away as if I'm running drills.
"Deny it all you want, but I see the way you light up like Fourth of July fireworks when he's near." Sam leans back, smugness written all over her face. "Just don't let that spark fizzle out before you've even seen where it could lead."
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing convincing comes out. Instead, I fork a piece of lettuce and chew thoughtfully, mulling over the insanity that is my life—and the even bigger insanity that is my heart, apparently enlisting in its own private boot camp with Frank as the drill sergeant.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Frank
Sweat beads on my brow as I lean against the cool metal of the obstacle course's watchtower, but it ain't from the midday sun. It's her.
Private Caroline Caldwell—the spitfire with a rifle in her hands, cutting through the exercise like it's nothing but a dance.
"Move, move, move!" the instructor hollers, voice rough as gravel. But she don't need the push. She's already three steps ahead, focused, determined. She vaults over a wooden barricade with the kind of grace that'd make a ballet dancer weep with envy.
I can't help but smirk. She's poetry in camo gear, every movement fluid and sure. Other soldiers fumble, second-guessing their grips, their aim shaky. Not Caroline. She handles her weapon like she was born with it in her hand—maybe she was.
"Damn," I mutter under my breath, eyes tracing the golden hair slicked back by sweat, sticking to the nape of her neck. The way her muscles flex beneath her uniform tells stories of strength, not just physical, but something fiercer within.
I've seen my fair share of soldiers come and go, their faces blurring into one another over the years. But Caroline? She stands out like a flare in the dark night. She doesn’t just perform. She excels, and it's got every pair of eyes out here hooked, mine included.
"Look at her go," I whisper to no one, feeling that familiar tug deep in my chest. It's admiration, pure and simple—or maybe not so simple, considering she's under my command, making this whole thing a minefield I got no business tiptoeing through.
