10. Maybe This Time
TEN
MAYBE THIS TIME
Ian
“I’ll do it.”
Dom glances up from his desk, looking quite pleased. “Knew you would. You’d be an idiot not to.”
Thinking of the silence coming from behind Trish’s closed bedroom door this morning, I feel the jury is out on whether or not I’m an idiot.
I thought things had been going well. But maybe I shouldn’t have brought her to my room last night.
Or I should’ve at least asked her beforehand. I hadn’t wanted to wake her, though.
“Besides it being the right decision, what made you change your mind?” Dom leans back in his chair, gesturing to the seat in front of him.
After a moment of hesitation, I walk through the threshold I’ve been standing in and take a seat. I leave the door open. Baby steps.
“I figured it was time to step it up.” It’s what I tell Dom.
But the real reason is a short brunette with a backbone of steel.
After last night, hearing all that Trish has come up against and moved on from, I figure it’s time for me to do the same.
I searched well-reviewed local therapists before I fell asleep last night, spurred on by Trish’s certainty that talking to someone would help.
I even set up an appointment with one of them.
“Good, good. Though like I said before, your past record here at NASA speaks for itself. If Jackie was still here, it would probably be a choice between the two of you, though you’d have a leg up seeing that you have more experience with managing people.” He swivels, stabbing at his keyboard.
I glance at the open door, taking a breath while I listen. This isn’t so bad. I can do this.
“With Jackie now in the astronaut office it’s a bit of a no-brainer to have you replace me. However, this lead position in Germany will make the higher-ups happier, and your transition easier.” He squints at the screen. “Your passport up to date?”
“Yes, sir.” All federal employees have to keep an updated government passport at the ready.
“Good, good.” He nods, clicking his mouse. “I just sent you the itinerary. You’ll fly out in two weeks.”
I look away from the doorway. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Two weeks and you’ll be making the eleven-hour flight to Munich.” Leaning back in his chair once more he grins, satisfied. “Sounds great, right?”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Great.”
“I think I messed up.”
Jules nods while running through the two-inch-thick three-ring binder that houses a command check list in the ISS mock-up in Building 9. “Knew you would.”
“Hey, you could at least try to be helpful, you know.”
“Helpful like telling you Trish is in trouble so you could swoop in like a hero? That kind of helpful?” She arches a brow at me, for once making me glad I’m not an astronaut. Being confined with her on the ISS would probably drive me crazy.
“Quiet.” I look around, but Jackie and Mitch, the other astronauts running through training in Building 9, are too far away to hear. “I told Trish I wouldn’t tell anyone. She’s skittish.”
“Skittish.” She snorts before leveling a look at me. “Then why are you talking to me?”
I run a hand through my hair, a gesture that’s new to me.
I don’t get flustered. Especially not at work.
“You’re the one who knows her and also knows she’s staying at my house.
” Thankfully, Trish agreed to let Jules know from the start.
Otherwise I would have had to deal with the crazy-ass astronaut riding me like one of her boyfriend’s broncos, trying to learn what I was doing to ensure ‘her Shortstacks’s safety. ’
Yes, definitely a blessing I’m not an astronaut having to be confined with this curly-headed nutcase for months at a time.
Unaffected by my agitation, she nods again. “True.” Propping a foot up on the side of the module, she drapes the binder on her thigh so she can use two hands to flip the required switches.
“Give me that.” I grab the binder, holding it out for her to see.
“Thanks.” She drops her leg, eyes still focused above her on the task.
“So how did you know she was in trouble?” I hate that I have to ask this, but between Trish’s closed door this morning, the upcoming dinner with my parents, and my two-week countdown to get my shit together before my first international flight, I’m feeling desperate.
Another new feeling that’s popped up since Trish came into my life.
She brushes off my question with a shrug. “Tell me why you think you messed up.” Finishing one panel, she moves on to the next, every once in a while glancing down at the binder.
Begrudgingly, I tell her about yesterday all the way through to this morning. Glazing over the more intimate details, of course.
“Huh. I don’t see anything wrong with morning nookie after you ‘hooked up’”—she air quotes me—“by the pool the day before.” She gives me a look. “And honestly, I get more morning-after details from Jackie.” She shakes her head, disgusted. “Who knew you were such a prude, Kincaid?”
“I’m not a prude. It’s just… personal.” Hot from embarrassment, I avert my eyes.
This is what Trish has reduced me to. Opening up and asking for advice from an astronaut with a Ducati and a pet cow.
My father would be even more disappointed in me than usual.
“Besides, I never said there was morning nookie. Just that we slept in the same bed.”
“Wait, what?” Jules drops her hands down to her hips, the smacking sound reverberating through the Destiny capsule.
“You slept in the same bed and nothing happened? Even after all that romantic foreign film bullshit?” At my look, she tilts her head back and sighs. “Please tell me you are shitting me.”
Annoyed, especially after the twenty-minute cold shower I had to take to finally be able to go to work, I lower the binder. “Why do you look so upset by that? I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Pleased?” She tries to run a hand through her hair but stops when the tight curls impede the movement. “Why on earth would I be pleased?” She yanks her hand out, curls springing like she’s been electrocuted.
“I’m treating Trish right,” I say slowly. “I didn’t want to pressure her or take things too fast.” Jules’ look of incredulity doesn’t change. “She’s skittish, remember?”
She rolls her eyes. “She’s skittish, not a nun. She writes porn, for God’s sake.”
“I would’ve thought, feminist that you are, you would find calling a romance novelist a porn writer offensive.”
“Porn writer just sounds cool. If there were more women porn writers there’d be more good porn. Nothing unfeminist about that.” Jules grabs the binder back from me, muttering, “And I can’t believe you left Shortstack with lady blue balls.”
I choke on my own tongue. “What?”
She points at me, her long, short-nailed finger looking more dangerous than Trish’s gun.
“Lady. Blue. Balls.” Bending over the binder once more, she flips a few pages.
“It’s a thing.” Finger dragging down the page in search of the right command, she continues mumbling about men and their stupid, gentlemanly ways.
Finding what she wants, she thrusts the binder back at me before turning to the next panel.
“Trish is probably pissed because she woke up with the equivalent of morning wood, and you didn’t make a move. ”
“That can’t be it.” Can it?
One of Jules’ brows arches up, calling me a dumbass.
Can it?
I replay the morning. Her snuggling back into me. Palming my cheek. The slow, seductive smile when she said good morning.
“Bodie!” Jules calls out, making me jump.
A second later, the easy-going astronaut peeks his head around the corner.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, worried about what Jules and I said about Trish.
He winks, holding his hand out to take the binder from me. “Long enough to know that you’ve got some lady blue balls to soothe.”
“Damn straight he does.” Jules eyes the panel above her, focused on her task.
I guess I’m cutting out early again today.
Zipping through my neighborhood, I almost bottom out when turning into my driveway. I’m excited. I’m nervous. I’m most definitely hard.
But when I enter the house and silence greets me once more, I’m also second-guessing myself.
Lady blue balls. Please. That can’t be a thing. And if it is a thing, it’s probably only a Jules thing.
Palming my face, I drag my hand down, trying to keep calm.
Taking a deep breath, I open the fridge, welcoming the cold blast of air.
I’ll make myself a sandwich. I’ll make Trish a sandwich. Then I’ll invite her down to eat and feel her out. Arms full of lunch meat and condiments, I spread them out on the counter, grabbing a loaf of bread from the cabinet.
This is Trish we’re talking about. I have to be careful. I need to strategize. Plan ahead. Any unplanned, sudden movements and?—
“You’re going to the rehearsal dinner, aren’t you?”
I glance up from my task, nearly dropping the bottle of mayo in my hand.
Trish, in yet another tiny bikini, saunters into the kitchen, laptop in hand. The bikini is light pink with a white ruffle along the strapless bra-like top and around the leg holes of the barely-there bottoms. It’s both ladylike and femme fatale.
I’ve never been so glad of having a pool in my life.
“Ian?” The devilish smile on her face tells me she knew exactly what she was doing when she put that on. “Are you going to the dinner?”
“Ah, yes.” I clear my throat. Maybe Jules was on to something with the lady blue ball comments.
“Good.” She purses her full pink lips, blinking up at me under her dark lashes. “I thought maybe we could go together.”
Leaning against the counter, I cross my arms, feigning nonchalance in the hopes of hiding my erection. “Why, Miss Garrett. Are you asking me out on a date?”
She shrugs, the movement making her ruffles quiver. My pants get tighter.
Screw focus. I push off, taking a step toward her.
“Oh no, Mr. Kincaid ,” she mocks, holding up her free hand to warn me off. “I need to get my words in.”