Page 102 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
Her body relaxes, melting back into mine.
I push her panties off all the way and move to pull out.
“No.” Her body tenses and I stop. “Can we… let’s just stay like this a while.” She sniffs, and I realize she’s crying. “Okay?”
Smiling, glad she feels safe enough to let go, I squeeze her in tight. “Sounds good.”
I have to strain and stretch a bit, but I manage to pull the covers up around us while staying seated inside her. We lie spooned like this for some time until her tears stop falling.
After a deep breath, Jules wipes her cheeks with her hand. “Hey, Holt?”
I kiss the top of her head, her curls tickling my cheek. “Yeah?”
“I, uh, love you too.”
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “I know.”
Her shoulders stiffen. “What do you mean you know?” Apparently, I didn’t keep the laughter from my voice.
“I figured it out when I saw the kitchen,” I say soothingly as I run my hand up and down her side.
“Oh.” She’s quiet. When my fingers trace the underside of her breast, she sighs, then shrugs. “Whatever. I got cookies out of it, so I win.”
Chuckling, I kiss her neck, settling into quiet again.
She leans forward and clicks off the light. The movement has me sliding out of her and we both shiver.
I’m almost asleep, my brain and my body warm and fuzzy from having her back in my arms, when she speaks up in a whisper.
“Holt?”
“Mmm.” I tuck her tighter against me. “Yeah, babe?”
She clears her throat, her voice sounding back to her normal badass self. “You tell anyone I cried and I’ll junk punch you.”
I bite down hard on my lip again, nostrils flaring, but I succeed in keeping all traces of amusement out of my voice this time. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Epilogue
Jules
As I predicted,Commander Chip Whipple went down spectacularly.
Three days after the NBL incident, he got taken down by Tom, a sixty-eight-year-old Dairy Queen store manager. Dairy Queen… Chip Whipple… I’m sure there are a lot of jokes there, but honestly, I’m too over it to care.
A teenage girl named Meg, who was buying an ice cream at the time, identified Whipple to the manager. Whipple had been outside pumping gas, no doubt trying to get out of town. While Meg called the police, Tom grabbed his shotgun from behind the counter (as one does in Texas) and held Whipple at bay until the cops arrived.
Evidently, Meg is a big space nut who has been following my career, as well as Jackie’s, for some time. When Jackie saw the girl on the news, she jump-clapped, recognizing her from some incident when I’d been in space. Meg is now the proud recipient of a shit-ton of NASA swag and a VIP tour pass for whenever she wants.
Though I would’ve liked to take down Whipple myself, I’m comforted by the fact that he was taken out by a teenage girl and a geriatric badass with a shotgun.
Plus, the whole thing was caught on the Dairy Queen’s security camera, which is now saved in a video file on my phone to watch whenever I need a giggle.
And I need a giggle. The past three days were torture. Everyone kept me on lockdown at Jackie’s with security surrounding the perimeter like it was Fort Knox.
Day one was okay, because I spent most of that time humping Holt in the guest room. But then we needed to eat and stuff, which led to socializing with everyone, which I couldn’t do with alcohol because Doc said it might make me more susceptible to the bends (what happens if you surface too fast and/or don’t get enough oxygen while scuba diving) after my emergency rescue from the pool.
All of which made me stir crazy enough to threaten to shank Holt in the balls when he wanted me to stay inside one more day, just to be safe.
