When the bells ring out reveille the next morning, my head is cloudy with the drink and the memory of the kiss. God, I hope Jack doesn’t remember. I hope he somehow managed to sleep off the taste of my lips and forget the press of my body against his, even though my skin burns where we touched. I hope he doesn’t remember and I hope that things are still cool between us, because he’s my best friend and I can’t imagine how I’ll ever make it through these next few years in the service without him by my side. Please forget that moment of weakness, I pray as I roll out of my hammock.
His own hammock is empty beneath mine, which means he’s already up and probably already eating on the mess deck, and it also means he remembers because he always waits for me. Always. And the fact that he hasn’t
