One grumpy boss. One dare. One perfect disaster. Life on an oil rig in the North Sea is no joke.
Add in a supervisor who is as grumpy as hell and making our lives a nightmare because he’s not been laid in months, and you get… Well, you get a drunken card game with the crew, where the loser has to go offer himself to the supervisor and take one for the team.
I’ve never been a loser, but apparently there is a first time for everything. So here I am, knocking on the boss’s door.
When he answers wearing just a towel, my mind measures my manliness against his and concludes, yep. Time to roll over. Looks like the oil isn’t the only thing getting drilled. FML. Except.
He remembers things I say in passing. He checks the weather forecast so I won’t miss the Northern Lights. He makes the world go quiet in a way my brain never manages on its own.
He runs on procedure, while I’m chaos in steel toe caps, but somehow we fit together in ways I cannot explain. It started as a dare.
It’s rapidly becoming the Northern Lights and breakfast porridge and the other half of my soul. This can only be a disaster.
