Page 52 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
Babe is new territory. It implies…things.
I catch myself rubbing that spot on my chest again. I really need to set up an appointment with the doc when I get back on site.
My fingers get stuck in my curls when I run my hand through my hair. I give up and pat it down, trying to tame the frizz. It isn’t lost on me that I am once again holing up in a bathroom because of a guy. The same guy. Mr. Goody-two-shoes.
However, when I remember the way he slapped my ass and ground my pussy down on his cock, the term just doesn’t quite fit anymore.
But “babe?”
I wanted so much to see Holt as I have every other fuckboy in my past, but Holt refuses to fit the mold.
I…like him. Like,likelike him.
Disgusted with myself, I push back from the sink, rolling my eyes.Likelike?
“What are you, twelve?” I ask the mirror.
Okay, so I’ve never had a boyfriend, or even dated one person for any length of time. Meaning more than once and for any purpose other than enjoyable, biological needs. That doesn’t mean I can’t start now. I mean, I’m Julie Starr. Anything in my life I’ve gone after, I’ve accomplished. I wanted to be a pilot. I’m a pilot. I wanted to be an astronaut. I’m an astronaut. I wanted to be Jackie’s friend. I got her drunk and listened while she explained her cowboy romance fetish. Now I’m her maid of honor. I may still be awkward with normal, run-of-the-mill things like feelings and shit, but I can learn.
Holy shit. I want to learn about relationship stuff for Holt.
I brace my hands on the pedestal sink and take a deep breath.
Okay, I need a plan. Usually when faced with the unknown, I train. But I seriously doubt dating other people in an effort to train for Holt is going to send the right message. Jackie would research. I could research. Or I could just ask her. She could tell me how to do it.
I mean, Iamgoing to wear a freaking dress for her, and I have taken on wedding planning and house designing for her upcoming nuptials. The least she could do is explain to me how to be in a relationship. That’s what besties are for, right? Relationships can’t be that hard. People are coupled up all over the place. This isn’t rocket science. And I know rocket science.
List time.
First, leave the bathroom. Otherwise Holt’s going to wonder what the heck I’m doing in here, and I would rather him think I was blowing up his commode than tell him I was sorting through my feelings. So better to leave now and not have to have either of those conversations.
Second, keep the shirt unbuttoned. When in doubt, show the nip. Men love that. This I know.
Third, take my cue from Holt. He called me babe first, so he must have some idea of where he thinks this is going.
Fourth, and most important to my self-respect, pretend I didn’t actually just have a bathroom pow-wow with myself over a dude.
I push off the sink, stopping my one hand from rubbing my chest. A quick peek under the unbuttoned flannel shows me the irritated spot, a bit red from all my rubbing.
Really must get that looked at.
I grab a washcloth and run it under the sink. Opening the door, I take another deep breath, throw my shoulders back, fix a casual, devil-may-care smile to my face and step into the bedroom.
Empty.
Huh.
Maybe he gave up on me bringing him a towel since I took my sweet ass time, and went to find one on his own? Awesome. Not even five minutes in and I’m failing at this whole relationship thing.
A distant thud and some mumbling reaches me through my half-closed bedroom door. I stick my head out and the mumbling gets louder. Wrapping the flannel around me kimono style, I tip-toe down the hall and peek around the corner and down the stairs.
Tucker is standing in the foyer, hat in hand, an amused smile on his young face. “You overslept? Again?” Tucker’s crooked grin discounts his shocked tone. “Whatever could be the matter, boss?”
Holt’s facing away from me, so I don’t hear what he says, but judging from the smile spreading wide over Tucker’s face, I bet it was very un-Holt like.
Holt managed to pull on pants before greeting Tucker downstairs, but that’s all. Seeing his back muscles ripple as his runs his hand through his hair makes my nipples that much closer to piercing through the flannel. He shifts on his bare feet and gestures to the front door. “Give me five—”
“Hey.” I straighten from the wall, glaring down at Holt. “Why can you walk around barefoot and not me?”
