Page 37 of Space Oddities
“Give me that.” I grab the binder, holding it out for her to see.
“Thanks.” She drops her leg, eyes still focused above her on the task.
“So howdidyou know she was in trouble?” I hate that I have to ask this, but between Trish’s closed door this morning, the upcoming dinner with my parents, and my two-week countdown to get my shit together before my first international flight, I’m feeling desperate.
Another new feeling that’s popped up since Trish came into my life.
She brushes off my question with a shrug. “Tell me why you think you messed up.” Finishing one panel, she moves on to the next, every once in a while glancing down at the binder.
Begrudgingly, I tell her about yesterday all the way through to this morning. Glazing over the more intimate details, of course.
“Huh. I don’t see anything wrong with morning nookie after you ‘hooked up’”—she air quotes me—“by the pool the day before.” She gives me a look. “And honestly, I get more morning-after details from Jackie.” She shakes her head, disgusted. “Who knew you were such a prude, Kincaid?”
“I’m not a prude. It’s just… personal.” Hot from embarrassment, I avert my eyes. This is what Trish has reduced me to. Opening up and asking for advice from an astronaut with a Ducati and a pet cow. My father would be even more disappointed in me than usual. “Besides, I never said there was morning nookie. Just that we slept in the same bed.”
“Wait, what?” Jules drops her hands down to her hips, the smacking sound reverberating through the Destiny capsule. “You slept in the same bed and nothing happened? Even after all that romantic foreign film bullshit?” At my look, she tilts her head back and sighs. “Please tell me you are shitting me.”
Annoyed, especially after the twenty-minute cold shower I had to take to finally be able to go to work, I lower the binder. “Why do you look so upset by that? I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Pleased?” She tries to run a hand through her hair but stops when the tight curls impede the movement. “Why on earth would I be pleased?” She yanks her hand out, curls springing like she’s been electrocuted.
“I’m treating Trish right,” I say slowly. “I didn’t want to pressure her or take things too fast.” Jules’ look of incredulity doesn’t change. “She’s skittish, remember?”
She rolls her eyes. “She’s skittish, not a nun. She writes porn, for God’s sake.”
“I would’ve thought, feminist that you are, you would find calling a romance novelist a porn writer offensive.”
“Porn writer just sounds cool. If there were more women porn writers there’d be more good porn. Nothing unfeminist about that.” Jules grabs the binder back from me, muttering, “And I can’t believe you left Shortstack with lady blue balls.”
I choke on my own tongue. “What?”
She points at me, her long, short-nailed finger looking more dangerous than Trish’s gun. “Lady. Blue. Balls.” Bending over the binder once more, she flips a few pages. “It’s a thing.” Finger dragging down the page in search of the right command, she continues mumbling about men and their stupid, gentlemanly ways. Finding what she wants, she thrusts the binder back at me before turning to the next panel. “Trish is probably pissed because she woke up with the equivalent of morning wood, and you didn’t make a move.”
“That can’t be it.” Can it?
One of Jules’ brows arches up, calling me a dumbass.
Can it?
I replay the morning. Her snuggling back into me. Palming my cheek. The slow, seductive smile when she said good morning.
“Bodie!” Jules calls out, making me jump.
A second later, the easy-going astronaut peeks his head around the corner.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, worried about what Jules and I said about Trish.
He winks, holding his hand out to take the binder from me. “Long enough to know that you’ve got some lady blue balls to soothe.”
“Damn straight he does.” Jules eyes the panel above her, focused on her task.
I guess I’m cutting out early again today.
* * *
Zipping through my neighborhood,I almost bottom out when turning into my driveway. I’m excited. I’m nervous. I’m most definitely hard.
But when I enter the house and silence greets me once more, I’m also second-guessing myself.
