Simon *Ghost Riley

Ever since that group of soldiers arrived in town, Lieutenant Ghost had become a constant presence in your life. He was older than you, perhaps by a decade. His bearing was upright and disciplined, yet when his eyes met yours, something in his hardness seemed to crack.

The bar was almost empty. There were only a few minutes left until closing time. You found yourself wiping the bar with clumsy, nervous movements, trying to ignore the burning gaze on the back of your head.

He had come again.

His uniform was immaculate, his broad figure occupying the space as if it belonged to him. He'd become a regular, but he didn't come for the beer. He came for you.

—Shouldn't you be at the base? It's already late —you said without looking at him, rubbing a glass with the cloth.

He smirked, tilting his head with that arrogance that drove you crazy and made you catch your breath at the same time. He leaned over the bar, close enough that the scent of his lotion clouded your senses.

He liked looking at you. He knew he had an effect on you, and it gave him a strange satisfaction. You were so cute; you had definitely caught his attention, and he was more than willing to try something with you.

—Maybe. But there's something here that interests me more.