Page 39 of Farborn

Which, right now, I’m not sure I have the huevos to do that.

I don’t like being shot down.

Damn sure don’t like rejection.

I mean, yeah, those are the same thing, I suppose. But they’re on slightly different levels. Like, if someone says they don’t want to go out for dinner, but maybe we can work out something else.

Okay, no problem.

But if they say,hey, I’m not interested in you romantically, sorry, then that’s it, right?

Finito.

Door forever closed, unless the other party decides to reopen it. And even though I’m not getting laid, it would fucking suck to lose the rest of what we have, and I’m not even talking about sleeping together. The friendship, the connection I have with them.

I just…

I don’tknowwhat the fuck I’m doing. I’m soconfusedover this whole situation. I don’t like feeling this way, because in nearly every other area of my life I’m highly confident and in control. I’ve been described as cocky, and I’ll fricking own that. I have a rightfully earned reputation.

Again, it’s not bragging if it’s true.

Is it better to arrive, knowing Olarte will know I’m aboard, and then casually stroll in there? Or should I strike up a private com conversation now that we’re within real-time distance and pray they don’t break my heart?

I can—and have—dealt with a metric fuckton of shit in my life. This should be easy, right?

Wrong.

After checking the station’s server and aligning our ship’s clock with local station time, I discover it’s only early evening there.

Really, I don’t have any excuses at this point, besides my fear.

Maybe it’s better to get it over with now. Rip the bandage off, right? If Olarte blows me out of the water, I can find someone to get horizontal with once we reach the space station and, hopefully, distract myself until we leave again.

Then I could jump ships once we’ve reached our destination and never look back.

McMurtry’s already called me to ask if we’re in the tractor, so I should be uninterrupted.

Yes, maybe I scheduled our jump to put us here at this time so I’d be the only one up and awake and…

Yeeeeaaah. I’m aseriouschicken-shit.

I grab a com headset and put it on so I can make this conversation private, in case someone does wander onto the bridge. Then I open a private connection to Olarte’s personal com.

Part of me’s hoping they won’t answer. And part of me’s—

“Hello?”

I swallow hard because, honestly, I was not expecting them to answer. “Um…hi.”

I can almost imagine their green brow furrowing in confusion, and…

Fuck. Now I’m hard.

“Is this Davies?”

At this point, I’m already squirming in my seat and fighting the urge to start masturbating. “Yeah. Hi.” I clear my throat. “How are you?”

“I am well. I did not see your ship berthed today. Or are you now on a different vessel?”