Reporting for Duty, My Love

Drunk on a train, I threw my arms around a Marine colonel and burst into tears. "When is the government FINALLY gonna assign me a boyfriend?!" He pointed — dead serious — at the bestlooking man in uniform. "Cross.

Front and center." Chapter 1 I was drunk on a train when I threw myself at a Marine colonel, latched onto his arm, and wailed: "When is the government finally going to ASSIGN me a boyfriend?!" And he pointed at a man and said, "Cross.

Front and center." That's the part of this story that ends my dignity. Now let me back up. They say if you're a bridesmaid three times, you'll never get married yourself. Cute.

This was my ninth. Seven roommates. Seven weddings.

I caught zero bouquets and every single hint. "Thank God for you, Cass," one of them said, patting my shoulder like a good sport. "You've basically done your duty.

So — when do you get married?" Love to. Small problem: I'd need a man first.

Growing up, my mom used to promise me that if I studied hard and got good grades, someday the country would just… hand me a husband. Reader. I believed her.

By the time I finished my master's, she was staring at me like I'd blown a fuse. "Why aren't you dating anyone?" "I'm waiting for the country to assign me someone.

Like you said?" She looked at me the way you look at a smoke detector at 3 a.m. Then she turned to my dad. "We broke her. She's ours forever now." She wasn't wrong.

Thirty years old, and I still hadn't found a single guy who fit. Which brings us back to the train. I'd had a couple glasses of wine.

Stonecold sober boarding — and then, somewhere past the first stop, it all caught up with me at once. Which is when I started hallucinating. Had to be.

Because in front of me sat a whole row of men in Marine dress blues. Tall. Straightbacked. Criminally squaredaway. Especially the one — second row, left.

Sharp brows, clean jaw, radiating enough restraint to qualify as a public hazard. My DNA sat up and took notice. All these men. Not one of them mine.

It felt deeply, personally unfair. So — drunk, tragic, and thirty — I stood up, wobbled over, grabbed the older man who was obviously in charge, and sobbed: "Sir. Sir.

When is the government finally gonna assign me a boyfriend?" The colonel blinked. Then grinned. "You in the market? How old are you?" I gave him my entire résumé.

Job, degrees, probably my blood type. His grin widened. "Well, would you look at that. I've got just the guy." He turned his head. "Cross.

Front and center." And the sharpbrowed one — second row, left — stood up. Walked over. Stopped in front of me.

Snapped off a salute so crisp it echoed. "Captain Cross reporting, sir." God, he was even taller up close. He looked down at me and the whole aisle fell into shadow.

The colonel clapped him on the shoulder, thrilled with himself. "Cross, you're not getting any younger either.

Nice girl right here — educated, gainfully employed — and she's asking. You're the best man I've got. Well?" It was a joke. The entire car knew it was a joke. Cross didn't laugh.

He looked at me — really looked, one beat too long, the way you memorize a set of coordinates you fully intend to come back to — and something in his face went quiet, and certain.

The wine drained out of me all at once. Regret flooded in behind it. Oh no. He thinks I'm an idiot.

The other Marines hadn't twitched a muscle, but every one of them was sideeyeing us, biting back a grin.

I curled my toes into my shoes and forced out a laugh. "So, uh — obviously I was kidding, I—" "I'm in, sir." Clear. Calm. His call. … ???? I just stared at him. That easy?

Chapter 2 Turns out my mom never lied to me. The government really does hand out boyfriends. The whole car lost it — Marines clapping, hollering. "What a day.

Captain Cross walks out and comes back with a girlfriend." "Sir! I want a girlfriend too.

When do I get issued one?" "Sit down, you're twenty, you can wait." I ducked my head and stared hard at the floor. Then a hand appeared in front of me. Long fingers.

Clean, blunt nails. Knuckles like something out of an anatomy lecture I actually would've shown up for. "Hi, girlfriend. I'm Roman." Low. Clear. A voice with a pulse in it.

My brain flatlined. I gawked at him for a solid five seconds before I remembered hands are for shaking. "Hi— hi.

I'm Cassidy." Home is a little coastal town called Harlow Bay, and every summer Roman's unit rolls in for four months of training on the water.

We traded numbers, got off the train together, and he swung himself up into the back of a Marine truck and lifted one hand. "I've got a day of leave next weekend.

I'll come find you—" I stood on the platform and watched the truck pull out, dust lifting off the road, his face vanishing into the haze until the whole thing felt like something I'd dreamed.

I was still in a fog by the time I got home. Mom took one look at my face and went straight for the kill. "Fiona got married too, you know.

You're the last one left out of that whole dorm. What — everyone pairing off finally getting to you?" I shook my head. "Mom. I have a boyfriend." "Ha. You.

From where?" "The government issued him." She rolled her eyes so hard I heard it. "Sun's still up and you're already daydreaming." Honestly? Felt like a daydream to me too.

Then I pulled out my phone — and there it was, sitting right at the top of my messages, quiet and undeniable: Roman. I opened his profile. Scrolled his posts.

Three solid pages of policy headlines and news links. Riveting. Zero personality. I clicked out. A minute later, his profile updated.

I clicked back in so fast I nearly dropped the phone. "Off the market.

Officially taken." And the photo — me, in a white dress, waving at him from a distance, face soft and out of focus. He must've taken it from the truck.

This stonefaced man, who posts like a government press office, had gone and announced me to the entire world. My heart went off like a drumline. Heat crawled up my neck.

I sat there grinning at my phone like a fool. Was he serious? So it wasn't a dream. And it wasn't a joke.

Mom came in with a plate of fruit, took one look at me, and bared her teeth in disgust. "Ugh. That lovesick face.

Which movie star are we drooling over now." I ignored her, carried my phone to my room, and opened our chat. I drafted, deleted, drafted again.

Finally hit send: "Hey — you around?" Sent. Nothing. I checked every few minutes. Screen on. Screen off. Screen on. Still nothing. The days went by like that. Radio silence.

I went from giddy to deflated, one dark screen at a time. Fine. Maybe he'd been kidding after all. That weekend, my best friend Nadia dragged me out for a latenight seafood run.

Halfway through a pile of crab, she grabbed my sleeve, eyes shining. "Okay — there's a guy over there. Cass. He is gorgeous.

Want me to go grab his number for you?" Chapter 3 I turned to look. White tee, shorts, clean buzz cut — okay, sure, goodlooking. Also weirdly familiar. I shook my head.

Roman flickered through my mind. "Pass. Not interested." "Oh, come on. At this rate you'll be single till the heat death of the universe.

I'm telling you — strike while the iron's hot." Nadia is a menace in social settings.

She shoved her sleeves up, marched over to the next table, and launched into an entire speech, jabbing a finger back at me every few seconds.

I kept my head down and refused to look that way. A minute later, the guy stood up and came over. "Cassidy?" Familiar voice.

I lifted my head, stared at him blankly for a beat, and then it landed. "Wait— Roman?" Roman frowned. "You don't recognize me?" "You had clothes on.

I didn't recognize you." The instant it left my mouth, the whole table sucked in a breath. "No— no, I mean you changed outfits, you look completely different—" Deeper and deeper.

My friends heckled us, gleeful, and I seriously considered walking into the ocean.

Roman raised an eyebrow. "So you know the uniform but not the man." He took my arm and steered me off toward the quiet stretch of beach. "Then I'd better make a stronger impression." The sea and the grey sky bled into one, the tide creeping up silent and slow until it soaked all the way to my feet.

My heart kicked into a sprint.

Absolute chaos. "So— Roman, my feet are drenched, could you maybe let go of my hand." Water and fine grit had worked into my shoes, clinging to the canvas.

My hand sat swallowed inside his — warm, feverish, hot enough that I couldn't line up two words in a row. Roman huffed a quiet laugh and let go. "I called you all day.

Why didn't you pick up?" "Oh— my phone died." I smacked my own forehead. It'd been low when I left, and then Nadia hauled me around shopping for hours and I completely forgot.

Roman let out a breath, relieved. "Then it's fine. I thought you were angry. I was out on a week of training at sea — we hand in our phones the entire time.

I wasn't ignoring you on purpose." That just made it worse. Roman's job is what it is; the first real shot we get at a date, and I'm the one who ghosted him. "I'm sorry, Roman.

And it's so late now—" "It's not too late." He cut me off, voice low and rough — but his eyes on mine were bright.

He leaned down, close to my ear, his breath stirring the loose hair there. "It's not too late.

There's still time to do the things a person might want to do—" My stomach swooped clean off a ledge.

I stumbled back a step, flustered, rolled my ankle — and Roman's arm came around my waist. Startling heat came through the thin cotton of his sleeve.

We were pressed flush together, my heart slamming — his, mine, impossible to tell. "This week I'm on vehicle watch, right near here. No going out to sea.

No handing in my phone." "I'll answer every single text." He gave me one hard squeeze, then let go and took my hand instead. "Come on. It's late.

I'll get you home." It took me a second to catch up. "The things you wanted to do… that was it?" Help. Mom. How did I let that thought walk straight out of my mouth.

Chapter 4 Sure enough, Roman's brow lifted, a hint of a smile surfacing in those long eyes. "Girlfriend's disappointed?

Want to go further?" "I'm not— I didn't— don't you dare!" I dropped his hand and bolted.

There's a row of sheds along here, packed with the unit's amphibious vehicles, and Roman's job was running the detail that guarded them.

Which is why he could slip out for latenight food now and then — but never far. "Get you home" turned out to mean walking me as far as my friend, then watching me climb into her car and go.

I waved at him the entire time, reluctant, still staring in his direction long after the car pulled away. "Oh my god, I cannot with you two.

Hot and heavy, huh." Nadia leaned over from the driver's seat, insufferable. "Things got pretty intense out there, right? Bit short, though." "What are you even talking about!

We talked for a while, that's it." "No way. Just talking?

Cassidy, you are a criminal waste of natural resources!" Nadia shrieked, then spent the whole drive emptying an entire landfill of filth into my head.

I clapped my hands over my ears and all but fled the car. Home. I plugged my phone in, and sure enough, a whole string of texts from Roman lit up the screen.

I scrolled them one by one, giddy. The phone buzzed — one more landed. [Roman] Cassidy, are you home? [Me] Yep, home now. [Roman] Good. Get some sleep. Goodnight. …That's it?

Not even one emoji. A little deflated. But then the hug flashed back through my head.

Those broad shoulders — I hadn't paid close enough attention in the moment, and now, replaying it, all I could feel was the solid, unyielding muscle under that shirt, the sheer contained force of him.

Okay. Not a total loss, tonight. I grinned, grabbed a pillow, and rolled around on the bed like an absolute child.

As it turned out, Roman's definition of "not busy" and my definition of "not busy" were two entirely separate concepts. My texts rarely got a timely answer.

When he did reply, the man used the fewest words physically possible — peak stoic, aggressively literal, allergic to a second sentence. I'd fire off dozens; he'd send back one.

I sat and stewed in private more than once. After one more unanswered text, I snapped and straightup FaceTimed him. It rang a few times — and then, against all odds, connected.

Two unfamiliar faces filled the screen. Young. Eighteen, nineteen at most. "Whoa — it's a girl!" "Don't be rude — hi, ma'am. Ma'am, hello!" "Hi, guys.

Is Roman around?" I waved; they waved back in unison, thrilled. Then the camera swung around, and after a second the picture settled.

On screen: one enormous armored vehicle, and a man in camo pants and boots, shirtless, scrubbing down the treads. Tall. Powerful. Structurally unbreakable.

I swear I'm talking about the vehicle. Bronzed skin, a broad back, muscle stacked either side of a spine that dipped in slightly — like a range of perfectly graded hills.

Especially that stretch at his waist, where it cut in, and then— —sssss. Nope. Nope. I can't. "You two slacking off?

Look — you scrub it like this—" Roman turned and started toward the camera, an eightpack sliding into frame. "Looking at what?

You've got the nerve to be on my phone— what the hell—" A beat later his face dropped into view, ears faintly red, knocked just slightly off his usual composure. "Cassidy." And there it was — just my name.

But I'd been caught, dead to rights, and we both knew exactly what I'd been staring at. Chapter 5 I got even more flustered and nodded, face burning. "So— you didn't text me back.

That's the only reason I FaceTimed." While I said it, I was straining to see past the screen, trying to get a read on the parts of Roman that were, at present, not wearing a shirt.

My chin drifted up on its own.

My mouth pressed into a flat little line. "Like the abs?" "YES." His laugh came through, clear and bright, and I went so red I couldn't form a sentence. "Come see me next time.

I'll show you the real thing." He hung up before I could answer.

I flung the phone down, clapped both hands over my face, and screamed into a pillow like a startled woodland creature. God. How is a body legally allowed to be that perfect. Fine.

You're forgiven for the texts. August 16th. Opening day of fishing season.

After threeplus months of the closed season, my mom was up at dawn, pacing the living room like she'd won a prize. "Cass, come out to Reedport with me.

Your aunt married into Reedport, and today we can catch the first boats coming in — we'll eat at her place!" I shook my head. "I'm not—" Nothing worse than making the family rounds.

Wait. Hold on. Reedport? The latenight seafood place. It was one town over from Reedport. "Mom. I'm going.

I'm going." I launched out of bed and started tearing my closet apart for the cutest dress I owned.

Once I'd done my whole face, Mom smirked. "Anyone who didn't know better would think you were off to meet a lover." I was off to meet my lover. I was extremely pleased with myself.

By tradition, on opening day every house in Reedport sets a table for friends and family. My aunt's place was chaos.

She spotted us, broke away for a second, and grabbed my mom to talk. "God, sis, I nearly died. Barely any wind these past few days, and the old community hall just — went down.

Out of nowhere. Everyone's calling it a bad omen. Half the families hesitated to take their boats out today." "It collapsed? Anyone hurt?" "No.

The town got the Marines from the base next door to come help. They're over there clearing it now." My eyes lit up. The Marines from next door? That was Roman's unit.

I scooped up a bag of fruit. "Auntie, Mom — I'm gonna go thank the troops." "See, this is why I love Cass — a proper gradschool girl. Take this too.

And grab a few drinks." I hauled a giant bag of stuff over to the community hall, and I spotted Roman from a mile off.

He stood in front of a heap of rubble, running the work — steady, unhurried, that clean profile practically lit from within in the sun.

There was a little cluster of local girls off to the side, watching. "Captain Cross—" I walked up and held out my haul with a grin. "Something to drink?" Roman looked up, and his whole face changed. "Cassidy?" "Cass, don't waste your breath.

Captain Cross won't take it. They're strict as anything — the whole town's tried to hand them stuff and they won't accept a bottle of water." A syrupy voice. I turned.

Blair Ashford — from the same town. When I was little I practically lived at my aunt's and ran with a few kids Blair's age; high school and college, we drifted.

Blair's dad ran the town. She'd grown up rich, grown up pretty, and had worn that chinup princess look her whole life.

She drifted over, going a little shy at the sight of Roman. "The captain already said it.

They don't take so much as a bottle of water from civilians—" Before she finished the sentence, Roman had already taken the bottle out of my hand and cracked the cap.

Blair's eyes went huge. She actually stamped her foot. Chapter 6 "Captain— that's not fair.

Why take Cassidy's and not mine?" Roman stood across from me, eyes locked on my face, the corner of his mouth losing a fight it clearly wanted to lose. "She's not a civilian." A beat. "She's family." My face went straight up in flames.

I tipped my head back to look at him, brain filling with pink bubbles. "Sun's brutal here.

Go wait in the shade and I'll come find you." I nodded like a good girl and went to watch him work. The rubble cleared fast.

The mayor — Blair's dad — caught Roman's hand and warmly pressed him to stay for the meal. Roman declined. "Cassidy, I've got to get these guys back to camp first.

I've got leave the day after tomorrow — I'll come find you then." Wait — he's leaving already? We'd exchanged, like, two sentences.

I stared at him, not ready to let go, and my brain overheated. "I'll come with you." Roman went still.

I asked, sheepish, "Am I… not allowed?" "You're allowed." He looked at me, long and level. "You sure?" In the sunlight his amber eyes caught the light, and for some reason they made me think of a wolf out on the open plain.

Patient. Hungry. I climbed into the pickup with Roman, and the other guys started right up. "Welcome aboard, ma'am — here to inspect the troops?" "Ma'am, you remember me? I'm Tyler.

We FaceTimed that one time." A grinning, sundark kid flashed his teeth at me before somebody hauled him back by the collar. "Read the room, man!" They all swarmed up into the truck bed, and up in the wide front cab it was just me and Roman.

I felt a little guilty. "There's room for three more up here.

It's blazing out — Roman, let a few of them in." "Ma'am, it's fine, I'll ride under the truck." "I'll ride on the roof!" "I'll just run alongside!" More heckling from the back.

I went red and rolled the window up fast. At the camp, Roman showed me around.

It was small — a detachment site where the unit kept its amphibious vehicles; the main base was another thirty miles out.

Standing in his room, I was a little floored by how bare it was. A plank bed in one corner. Salt air had peeled the paint off the walls in patches.

A desk by the head of the bed, a locker in the corner — everything squared away like it had been lined up with a ruler. "This is where you live?" I looked at him, aching a little.

He read it right off my face, huffed a quiet laugh, and came toward me. "You have to make company XO to rate your own room. Everyone else is in the open squad bay.

This is the upgrade." "This is the upgrade?

There's nothing better than this?" Roman stepped in close, planted both hands on the desk, and boxed me into the circle of his arms. "There is.

Once we're married, we'd rate a twobedroom on base." I ended up halfsitting on the desk, looking up at him. The space was tiny.

His body heat rolled off him in a startling wave, and the air was all him — sunwarmed cotton, clean detergent, scorching, dizzying. His throat worked.

Those long, narrow eyes held mine, the color going dark. "Trying to upgrade my housing situation, are you." His voice dropped, low and magnetic, the last note trembling — like a hook that caught my calm and my good sense and pulled them both loose