For a moment, I sit there with my eyes closed and think about the sound of Olarte’s voice, their scent.
This is crazy and maybe borderline stupid, but Ineedthem. I need them in a way I’ve never needed anyone or anything ever before.
Icravethem.
I’d be willing to uproot my entire life for them.
Because while I don’t have a “home,” I realize any time I think about the concept, my mind now automatically returns to Olarte.
I think theyaremy home.
Worse?
How stupid is it that I think losing them might break my heart?
Chapter Twelve
Davies
Why is it that this is theonefreaking time our tractoring and berthing don’t go smoothly and quickly? They have to hold us just off the station because they’re having trouble with another ship in dry dock. Apparently, they were in the process of relocating it to a different berth when one of the tugs broke down, and they had to hold everything that was in- or outbound in tractor to keep all the vessels and the station safe until they could free up and move another tug to take care of both the first ship they were moving, as well as the now-disabled tug.
That means it feels like the longest damn six hours of my freaking life until we get the all-clear signal from the berthing crew that we’re docked and connected and can debark after Customs finishes with us. We still have to go through Customs when leaving the ship, because some things are allowed on board, but not allowed to be brought off the ship, depending on the port we’re at. Plus, when Customs boards our ship, they’re more interested in our ship’s cargo than they are individual crewmen.
On our ship, the first shift has come on duty, and I’ve already been cleared by the captain to take my shore leave.
You better believe this bitchrighthere practically runs to my freaking cabin to grab a shower, change clothes, and pack. Part of me worries that might seem a little weird, to show up at Olarte’s door looking like I’m ready to move in, when all we’ve agreed to so far is breakfast and talking.
I mean, wouldn’t it?
But they did volunteer for me to stay with them, so they want me there.
Right? Don’t they?
This is, unfortunately, something I suck at.
One-night stands?
Hello, I’m the fucking queen of those.
Well, Iusedto be.
Emotional entanglements are foreign territory that leave me desperate and queasy. Like I’m trying to verify a course trajectory mid-jump, but half the quantum AI array is offline and I’m blazingly drunk. No one before now has ever inspired these kinds of emotions in me.
Except for Olarte.
No one’s ever made me want to dive head-first into the dangerous morass of…
Dare I say it?
TheL-word.
Isthatwhat this is? Or is this some sort of weird hormone-driven infatuation I’ll be rid of once we settle down to the business of bumping uglies?
I’ve never experienced delayed gratification like this, either. Especially sexually. Isn’t that a…athing? That the harder you have to work for something, and the longer it takes you to achieve it, the more you want it?
I felt like that about getting my nav certification. I knew it would take care of me for the rest of my life, if I did.
I mean, as long as I didn’t do something stupid, like get myself and a crew killed with a bad jump and end my life prematurely.
