Page 72 of Tethered

The man shrugs, slightly sheepish. “It looked cool. I was young and rich.”

“An idiot, you mean.” Julian scowls, sitting down beside him.

“My brother is right, of course. An idiot, too.”

Vee looks amazed, practically sprawled over the table. “Do they do anything?”

“It was cosmetic,” Julian grumbles, shaking his head in disbelief. “His sight for some pretty gold irises.”

“Six years and he still gets this riled up about it.” Maximus bops Julian on the nose with unbelievable accuracy. “Even though I think I’ve adapted pretty well.”

“Youhave not adapted; your tech has adapted for you.”

Maximus shrugs slender shoulders as if to say,What’s the difference?And, when you’re that wealthy, what is the difference? But I wonder, at the slight tension in his body, if he’s as blasé about it as he seems.

“The crew needed to know for your safety,” Beau says. “A few days ago, we ran into a micrometeorite swarm. You never know what’s going to happen.”

“I understand.”

“You don’t like telling people?” Khrys asks.

“There’s no need, usually. I’m a quick study, and if I ever need help, Julian is always around. Habit, I suppose, but I don’t like the way people’s treatment of me changes when they find out.”

Vee scrunches up his face. “They treat you like a baby?”

“Exactly.”

I call it an early night. It’s been a long time since I was this tired; the kind of exhaustion that tugs at my bones and feels like someone has dialled the gravity up. With instructions they didn’t need, I leave the crew with an open bottle of wine and head for my cabin. Seeing the crew happy and giggling, embracing three strangers who experienced something horrible, makes my chest feel warm. I’d expected the addition of Maximus, Julian, and Liz to create tension or insurmountable awkwardness, but I should have known better. Apparently, I’m the only awkward one.

By the time I’ve showered, brushed my tangled nest of a bun and changed into shorts and a vest, I’m ready to fall into a coma. Usually, my alarm’s set to mimic daybreak, and the electrical humming of various devices around the cabin provides white noise. Tonight, I shut everything down, wanting to sleep until my body feels restored. I think I’m out in seconds.

I wake up sometime later feeling so groggy it almost hurts. My head is heavy, and I have to peel my eyes open. A warm body slides over me, soft curves wriggling into my arms. The scent of pomegranate invades my nose, along with something else I recognise. It’s a mix of aromas from my body wash—not the bottle I gave her. Automatically, I tighten my grip.

“Marlowe?” I ask blearily.

She hums into my ear, low and throaty, sending a violent shiver through me.

“Did you just use my shower?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “Why? Jealous?”

“Very.” I scoop her into my arms and roll us over, emboldened by darkness and languidity. Marlowe shrieks, giggles, and then slides her hands into my loose hair. Her fingers are heavenly against my scalp, sore from the aggressive brushing. I don’t know if this is a dream, and I’m too scared to find out. “How did you get in here?”

“Kit let me in.”

I can’t see her, but I can hear the laughter in her voice. “She’s not supposed to do that,” I say redundantly.

“You know, I think you’ve underestimated how sly your AI is. She’s—” Marlowe stops, exhaling hard as I run my tongue over the shell of her ear. “You know what, who cares?”

I didn’t plan to do it, but she smells so good and feels so warm and I can hardly believe she’s here after that conversation in her cabin. I kiss her earlobe, bite down on it, and scrape my teeth along her skin. Her gasp is music to my ears. The fact that she’s shuddering in my arms makes me fearless, and I tease the hem of her t-shirt. She’s wearing nothing else, and when I speak, my voice is husky.

“I want to touch you.”

Marlowe swallows so hard I can hear it, and I think about kissing her, about dipping my tongue into that snarky mouth and stealing her words straight from the source.

“Why? I wasn’t very nice to you earlier.” She sounds small. I hate it. The Marlowe I’ve come to know is not small, is not shy. She loosens the hand wrapped around my nape and presses it over my heart. “You should be angry with me.”

“I don’t know if I can be,” I say, dipping my head and breathing the words directly against her lips. My hair slips over my shoulder, forming a curtain around our faces, and it’s pitch black in a way that feels just as intimate as being inside Marlowe on the observation deck.