My smile stretches. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Okay,you’rethe one being romantic and acting like you’re not.”
His thumb finds the inside of my wrist. He rubs small circles there like he’s trying to trace the line of heat he put in me months ago, when he pulled me out of that road and told me I could leave Clo behind.
“You know what this feels like?” he asks.
I look at him. His jaw’s sharp when he smiles so soft. “What…?” I whisper.
“This feels like…” He laughs lightly. “It feels like falling and not hitting the ground.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Course it doesn’t to you,” he says with a shrug. “Youdidfall and hit the ground.”
My smile disappears. I shoot him a look. He smiles wider, clearly pleased with himself. He grabs my hand and turns it palm up. He brings it to his mouth and kisses it.
My skin pulls tight. I feel it everywhere.
“You’re stuck with me,” he says.
“I know,” I whisper. “You’re stuck with me too, Stan.”
He squeezes my hand and keeps looking at me like I’m the only one in the room with him. He’s too happy to hide it. Too bright to be dimmed. Too far gone to pretend this is less than it is. I like it. I might even love it.
I let my eyes rest on him. His hair. His stupid grin.
“It was…nicethis morning,” I say.
He lights up. “Oh, waking up after using me as a cocksleeve all night?”
I sigh, looking to the sky for help. Or an intervention.
Instead, my silent prayer goes unanswered, so I shove a piece of fruit into his mouth to shut him up.
***
Stan’s in a good mood when we walk to the MedBay.
He grins at every reflective surface we pass. He keeps brushing his shoulder on mine like he doesn’t notice he’s doing it. He probably doesn’t. He’s been stuck on a high since breakfast.
Part of it’s pancakes. Part of it’s syrup. Most of it’s probably from the quickie detour we took in the closet, where I railed him against the shelves, and he left hickeys across my collarbone.
But now, we’re walking through the sliding MedBay doors. The sterile scent hits me hard. So does the smell of ginger.
“Nil, Stan, hello.” Em raises a brow when we walk in. “You’re rather late.”
Stan grins. “We were busy.”
“Overslept?” Em asks.
“Overslept sohard.”
“So you slept well,” Em corrects, pointing at the flush in his cheeks. “That’s new. I’d like to jot that down.”
She puts her teacup aside to grab her tablet.
Idris walks in from behind the blue curtain, waving at us. “Good to see you two again. How was breakfast? Did I overhear you say you had deeper sleep?”
