Behind me, I hear him make a sound between a laugh and a groan.
“Yes,” he says. “They are functioning extremely well. Perhaps too well. I may need to consult additional research materials on managing overactive biological responses.”
“Please don’t research that,” I say, pulling up the navigation display and trying to focus on our course trajectory instead of the man behind me. “I don’t think I can handle learning about your late-night educational sessions in restraint techniques.”
“I make no promises.”
But as I study the screen, I catch his reflection in the dark monitor. He’s still leaning against the bulkhead, watching me with an expression that isn’t predatory or confused or alien. It’s the look of a man who just realized he might have a chance. A man who’s willing to research bad romance novels and exercise impossible restraint and let an anxious blob interrupt important moments because he wants to do right by me.
God help us both.
We still have two and a half days before we reach Kallos Station. Two and a half days of forced proximity, biochemical bonds, and an anxiety blob who apparently thinks sexual tension is a form of conflict.
This is either going to be the longest two and a half days of my life, or it’s going to be over far too quickly.
Judging by the way my body is still humming with frustrated arousal and the bond is practically purring at having been so close to him, I’m betting on the latter.
“Course is optimal,” I announce, my voice only slightly unsteady. “We’ll reach Kallos Station in approximately sixty-three hours.”
“Sixty-three hours,” he repeats.
“Give or take.”
“That is... quite a lot of hours.”
“It is.”
“Filled with potential for additional medical examinations.”
“That would be inadvisable,” I say, but I can’t quite keep the smile out of my voice.
“Extremely inadvisable,” he agrees. “We should maintain strict professional boundaries.”
“Absolutely.”
“No more examinations.”
“Definitely not.”
Jitters makes a sound like a skeptical snort.
Smart blob.
8
Strategic Advantages
Crash
Forapproximatelythirtyminutesafter Jitters’s catastrophic interruption, Zola and I engage in the kind of aggressive professionalism that fools absolutely no one.
She organizes her medical kit with the focused intensity of someone defusing a bomb. I study the navigation console like it contains the secrets of the universe. We both pretend the air between us isn’t still shimmering with pheromones and frustrated desire.
Jitters, meanwhile, has compressed himself into the smallest possible form in the corner, occasionally making small whimpering sounds that suggest he knows he’s committed some terrible social transgression but isn’t sure what.
“We should double check our course,” Zola says without looking at me, her voice slightly higher than normal.
“Yes. Very practical,” I agree, my own voice rough with lingering arousal that I’m desperately trying to suppress.
