Page 11 of The Commander
I turned, walked to the door but stopped when I heard my name.
“Quinn, that should—”
“It didn’t happen.” Noah nodded at my confirmation, but then his nostrils flared as the following words fell from my lips. “You touch me more when I’m on the back of your bike.”
He never came to the bar again.
“Ugh,” I flop my arm over my forehead as my alarm starts beeping, and I return to reality. One without Noah.
He was discharged six months ago, and I think about him every day. Which is unsurprising, given the way we left things on the night of his leaving party.
It drew a line in the sand.
One we can never take back.
The things he said. The things I said.
Now my best friend is having a baby, and here I am with my amazing career. Which I am very proud of but thoughts that have no place in my head are sneaking in and making me question what I want.
It’s not Mark, that’s for sure.
Climbing out of bed, I walk to the bathroom and stare at my naked body in the mirror. Cupping my B-cups, I run my hands down over my small hips and then study my face and long, dark wavy hair.
I’m beautiful.
I’ve been told that all my life.
Most women would never dream of being less beautiful, but at times I’ve suppressed my beauty, as it’s been a curse. I might be a soldier, but I am still a woman. I like feeling feminine and shouldn’t have to change that because of the profession I chose.
The men I serve with think I use my looks and body to get ahead, and I’m hit on constantly, which just supports the sometimes-unspoken accusations.
I know for a fact some of the guys have hit on me to test my rule of not sleeping with anyone in uniform, but it’s unshakable.
Damn jerks.
When I get to base and log in to my computer, I clear my emails and start looking through the documents we’ve been sent for next week’s training.
Fort Irwin is a training base, but the directive has come through to upskill in niche skills by military contractors outside of the standard military curricula from up above.
Opening the email I’ve been expecting, I scan through the program: hostage rescue, urban warfare and tactical training on new tech gear.
Not going to lie, I’m excited.
While my team of over two hundred GIs won’t be attending the two-week course, myself and fifteen other XOs from around the country will.
Ex-oh or ma’am is what most of the infantry refer to me as now that I’m a Company XO.
I note the address and details in my calendar, share the update with the appropriate platoon leaders and my CO, then hesitate for a moment when I notice the contract company name.
Black Hawke Security.
Why does that sound familiar?
CHAPTER FOUR
NOAH
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