Thankfully Nika didn’t believe in running away from problems, or she would have gone looking for a way off the ship—fast—rather than working her way down the evening chow line as if this was just a normal end of shift. Another six months remained on her current tour, so a transfer wasn’t going to happen anyway. Besides, putting in for a transfer to get away from Clint Barstowe was a pansy-ass maneuver.
It wasn’t as if she’d seen him in days. Nika supposed that if she’d really wanted to, it would have been easy enough to arrange. With the light crew aboard the Peleliu, several rules had been relaxed. She could just as easily have eaten up in the Officers Mess as she did here in the Chiefs Mess and been assured of running into him there.
Once she’d caught a glimpse of Clint during an opera
