Susan picked up Bonk and gently slid him into my bag on top of the cat equipment. He immediately sat and poked his head out. She gave him a final pat.
“Not the wrong way,” she said to me. “I think you just see things from a different angle than most.”
My heart warmed, understanding that for the compliment it was. I had a feeling Susan saw things from a different angle, too, and maybe in brighter colors.
* * *
After leaving Susan with the promise to return in two days’ time with the rest of the books, I went to a couple of the large clothing emporiums I’d seen while walking through Windrow on my way to the bookstore. I didn’t linger, even though personal shopping was a rare treat for me—something I remembered doing with my mother in fancy buildings with beautiful light—and I could hardly feel guilty about using a small part of our dwindling funds to replace some of the essential items I’d lost. The real reason I moved quickly was because I’d had to zip Bonk into my bag to keep him out of sight, and I was scared he’d freak out. Or suffocate.
As it was, he stayed calm—and fine—but I ended up checking on him every minute or two, panicking when I didn’t feel him moving around.
Luckily, I didn’t need much. Having been locked in the closet, my flight suits and spare boots had all survived the hole-in-the-hull carnage, and I really only had to pick up some underthings and a few civilian pants and tops. I’d taken the spare bedding off the never-used cot in the brig but left our four-bunk guest bedroom intact in case we needed the extra beds. We mostly moved food and chose our own missions, but sometimes we were needed to transport rebels between operations, with our orders coming directly from the Fold.
On my way back to the docks, I started to get the prickly sensation of someone watching me. I couldn’t look around too much without being obvious, so I took the most winding, convoluted path I could manage without getting myself lost, trying to shake the feeling—and whoever it was, if there really was someone. I didn’t underestimate the strength of paranoia. It was entirely possible my twitchiness was all coming from my own head. As Shade and I had said earlier, the imagination could be a powerful thing.
Just before I reached the docking towers, my anxiety finally faded. Maybe that chafing feeling on my nerves had just been because of the multiple Dark Watch patrols I’d seen around the city, some on foot and some in armor-plated hover cruisers. I’d kept my head down, Shade’s hat on, and stuck almost uncomfortably close to groups of other pedestrians, pretending to be a part of them. Guards were more likely to overlook harmless-seeming civilian groups than anyone walking alone.
When I finally strode onto our platform on the three-hundred-and-fourteenth level of the Squirrel Tree, Shade Ganavan was just packing up for the day. A welding mask and various other pieces of equipment now occupied the hover crate where the two metal tiles had previously been.
“Hello, SRP,” I called out as I looked over the progress Shade had made, presumably with Jax’s help to fit the heavy tiles into place. It was impressive, and I was beginning to think he might deserve his nickname. He’d patched up my bedroom entirely in one day and gotten a good start on another hole.
“Sugar.” Shade acknowledged me back with a slight smirk.
I let that go. He’d done good work.
“Thanks for the bookstore recommendation. Flipping Pages was perfect.”
Shade nodded and then took a long drink of water, draining half a bottle in one go. More stubble had grown on his jaw since this morning, giving his already attractive features a rougher look I liked even more.
The rest of him looked grubbier, too. There was a black streak of oil down one corded forearm, and he was covered in the sticky evidence of a hard day’s work. His short, dark hair looked damp and crushed, probably from being under his welding helmet. Sweat slicked his neck. I watched a bead roll down the thick tendon that began just behind his ear and angled toward the base of his throat. The drip caught on his collarbone and stopped.
My mouth went suddenly dry. I wanted to lick the drop off.
“What’s the matter, starshine? Never seen hot and dirty before?” he asked.
My eyes jumped to his. He hadn’t put even a hint of innuendo into his voice. I couldn’t tell if he was flirting or not, but desire still surged inside me like an electrical pulse. Warmth simmered between my legs, andhot and dirtyplayed on repeat through my every thought.
“Seen all kinds of things,” I eventually said.
His expression seemed to harden somehow. “I’ll bet you have,” he muttered under his breath.
I felt that little crease form between my eyebrows, the one that was quickly etching itself into my first permanent wrinkle. The heat swirling through my abdomen dissipated, leaving only confusion instead. The weirdest things seemed to tick Shade off.
Bonk broke the tension by poking his delicate head out of my bag and letting out a croaky little meow. The still-sleepy, wake-up sound was immeasurably cute.
Shade frowned at my bag. “What the hell is that?”
“A cat,” I said. “They’re all over the place.”
“Yeah, but you don’t just pick up any old one. It could have vermin. Or be totally wild.”
“He’s notany old one,” I said, leaping to Bonk’s defense. “He’s Bonk, and Susan gave him to me.”
“She gave you a fucking cat?” He looked so stunned it was almost comical.
“Jealous?” I asked. “She’s never given you a cat?”
His hands landed on his hips. Machine oil and scarred knuckles flashed at me.
