Page 30 of The Captain
My cock shifted, unbidden, and I cursed under my breath. She was surrounded by her team—three of them, two women and a guy, their table cluttered with beer glasses and a basket of hushpuppies.
Disappointment flickered. I’d hoped to find her alone, maybe waiting for me. I almost turned around, figuring I’d track her down tomorrow, play the liaison Marcus had saddled me with.
Almost.
But something about her—the way her laugh lit the room, the way her tank top clung to her curves, the fire in her eyes even from across the bar—kept my feet rooted.
I tried to play it cool, feeling anything but. My head was a mess, the day’s tidings—Marcus’s billions, Caleb’s secrets, the Navy’s bullshit—churning like a storm.
Fuck it.
I’d sleep when I was dead.
I crossed the deck, duffel slung over my shoulder, and stopped at the rail near their table. Camille’s eyes flicked to me, surprise flashing before she masked it, but her colleagues lit up, especially the women. The taller one, with a braid and a grin that said she didn’t miss much, leaned forward. “Well, damn, he’s real,” she said, her voice carrying a playful edge.
The other woman, younger, blonde, blushed but smiled. “Becca,” she said, sticking out a hand. “This is Tamika, and that’s Miguel.”
I shook her hand, nodding at the others. Miguel, the guy, eyed me with a protective glint, his posture stiff, like he was sizing me up. I kept my face impassive, setting the duffel down.
“Jacob,” I said. “Marcus sent me with some gear for your team. Tent, some other stuff.”
Camille’s gaze sharpened, but she didn’t speak, just sipped her beer, watching me over the rim. Tamika grinned wider. “Marcus, huh? Haven’t met that one yet. Sit, Jacob. Tell us about your day.”
I hesitated, my body screaming for a bed, but Camille’s presence was a current, pulling me in.
I slid onto a stool, keeping the duffel close. “Long,” I said, keeping it vague. “Yours?”
They launched into it, their voices overlapping, animated. Miguel warmed up fast, his protectiveness easing as he talked about the whale—a pygmy sperm whale, they called it, small and stubborn, fighting to breathe in their quiet pen.
Tamika chimed in about a false alarm at the Washout, some pelican stealing a churro, and Becca rattled off numbers—lactate levels, respiration rates—that went over my head.
I didn’t understand half of it, but I didn’t need to. Camille was in her element, her eyes bright, her hands moving as she explained something about a tonal ramp and the Navy’s lies. She commanded the room without trying, her voice sharp but warm, her laugh cutting through the bar’s noise.
My need for her built, a slow burn turning to a roar. I tried to focus on their words, but all I could see was her—naked, gasping, mine.
I told myself to cool it, to take a damn chill pill, but my body wasn’t listening. Her tank top hugged her breasts, her lips parted slightly as she spoke, and every gesture was a match to the kindling in my chest. She didn’t know what she did to the room, to me, and that made it worse.
I gripped my glass—water, not whiskey, because I needed my head clear—and forced my eyes to the table, to the hushpuppies, to anything but her.
Then the musclehead showed up.
He was big, the kind of guy who lived at the gym, his T-shirt stretched tight over pecs he’d probably flexed in the mirror before coming here. Karl, fuckingKarl, I heard one of his buddies call him. He had two friends with him, not as big but cut from the same gym-rat cloth, their eyes glassy from too many beers. They’d been at the other end of the bar, loud and posturing, but now Karl made a beeline for Camille, nudging in close, his beer breath overpowering. He was oblivious to me staring, my gaze hard enough to bore holes. Karl flexed, trying to make it look casual, but it was pathetic, like a peacock strutting for a lion.
“Hey, baby,” he said, leaning into Camille’s space. “This a work thing? Ditch the nerds and come hang with us.”
Camille’s eyes narrowed, but her voice stayed calm, edged with steel. “Like you said, it’s a work thing. I’m good here.”
Karl didn’t take the hint, grinning like he’d already won. “Come on, baby, you don’t need these geeks. We got a table over there, better view.”
I felt the snap building, my fingers tightening on the glass, but Miguel stepped in first, rising from his stool.
“She said she’s good, man,” he said, polite but firm. “Let it go.”
Karl’s mistake was pushing him. A quick shove, hard enough to send Miguel stumbling back. I caught him before he hit the deck, my arm steadying his shoulder. Then I turned, facing Karl, my voice low, controlled.
“Time to head back to the gym, or wherever you call home.”
Karl bristled, his buddies closing in, their postures shifting like they thought this was a game.
