“Wow, more jokes. Can I come?”
That gives me pause. I stop myself from asking her if that’s a good idea; she knows her body better than I do. “Do you know what you’re doing in the gym?”
I always work out alone, and Marlowe is a talker. I like her, but that doesn’t mean I want to babysit her in the gym.
She screws up her perfect face. “Yes. It’s not exactly hard to run on a treadmill.”
“I don’t do cardio,” I say, checking my patch. “If you’re coming, get dressed. It’s getting late.”
With a grin, she digs throughmyclothing and pulls on leggings that are too long and a t-shirt that clings to her body, over a bra that’s not going to hold any of her ample curves in place. On a treadmill? I suppress a shudder. My chest is one of the reasons I hate running; there is no sports bra in this galaxy that can make that comfortable. Plus, she’s going to have to run barefoot because those boots aren’t going to work. When I took this job, I didn’t bring much at all—there was nothing from my past I could stand to keep.
After Marlowe fashions a crop top out of my tee and folds up the material at her ankles, she ties her hair up into two little buns and spreads her arms. They tremble, but her expression is bright and excited. “I’m ready to kick ass and take names.”
That gets a laugh out of me.
We pass Julian coming out of the gym, drenched in sweat and rosy-cheeked. He actually looks happy for once, and we share a nod as we cross paths. Together, Marlowe and I go through a warm-up, and I experience the phenomenon of being distracted by the beautiful woman you’re sleeping with stretching in tight leggings. It makes me wonder why I didn’t say fuck it and get back into bed. Thank the stars our stations are on opposite sides of the room. Marlowe heads for one of the machines whilst I set up on a deadlift rack. She puts a playlist on the gym speakers—sounds like French rap—and we get to it.
Marlowe doesn’t try to talk to me during our time in there, and for some strange reason, I want her more for it. There’s something so pleasing about being able to get on with ourseparate tasks in the same room. With the endorphins of a workout rushing through my veins and the salty sweat of the skin at the nape of her neck, we lock the door, and I push her up against the wall. I follow all the trails of sweat across her skin with my tongue as she pleads with me. She sinks her teeth into my shoulder to muffle her cries, and leaves bruises behind.
“No one ever told me the gym was this fun,” she slurs afterwards. “You’re not as buttoned up as people think you are.”
I lift one shoulder. Marlowe makes me want to do many things I’ve never cared to before. I am that buttoned up; she’s just the only one who ever wanted to see what I was hiding.
With so many bodies to cram into the galley now, the crew decide to have lunch in the greenhouse. Platters have been spread out on a blanket, piled with meats and cheeses, fruit and crackers. Several other dishes catch my eye. An upended box displays glasses of pale prosecco.
“Dev, this is lovely,” Marlowe croons.
“Wasn’t me,” he says, touching Maximus’s arm.
“A token of our appreciation.”
“I didn’t know rich people knew how to cook, or say thanks,” Beau stage whispers to Marlowe.
She giggles and pushes them playfully, whilst Maximus cocks his head, looking amused. I’ve since realised he flirts with everyone, and it doesn’t seem to be more than a personality trait. Not that I was jealous, but what I initially took as interest in Marlowe is just how he conducts himself. A confidence in his looks and his bearing that sits on the opposite end of Beau’s spectrum. From my time observing them, Beau flirts becausethey think everyone is beautiful; Maximus flirts because he knows he is.
Vee chatters away with Khrys but spares us a bright, wide grin. Whilst Marlowe sinks into a cross-legged pose beside them, I put together a plate for her. She seems surprised when I hand it to her, but smiles her thanks. She sinks her head into my lap when I sit down with my own plate, legs outstretched. Devyaan shoots me a contented look, Beau and Khrys share one of amusement, and the others are not the slightest bit interested. Warmth fizzles in my chest at how simple it can be. I’ve never had this: the small joys.
I’m chewing mindlessly, thinking about the way Marlowe’s curls have frizzed up after her shower, when Beau’s voice pulls me out of my mind.
“—love this job.”
Khrys scoffs. “Ferrying spoiled, rich men across the Milky Way.”
A laugh ripples through everyone, and even I succumb to it. This job is hardly exciting, but after the things I experienced, that had been the draw: a quiet, simple career turn.
Until Marlowe, of course. Without her, we’d have brought Vee to his father and been none the wiser. Once again, I’d have been instrumental in the death of innocence. And whilst I have serious doubts about the state of my soul, it is better simply for having met Marlowe. I don’t know what that says about me.
“Why?” Marlowe prompts Beau.
“Suryavana’s gorgeous. I love being stationed there in between trips. The food, the culture, thewomen.”
Khrys, acting always as a kind of ship mother, whacks them on the arm. At first, I was leery about that—assuming the crew had pigeonholed her into the role because she’s a woman. But it turned out to be because she grew up around a lot of cousins, and they would get rowdy if someone didn’t take control.
Beau doesn’t start to philosophise about the feminine mystique as expected. “What do you know about the colony?” they ask Marlowe.
She looks sheepish as I brush curls out of her face. “I, urm, don’t remember much from school about the actual history.”
“You’ll love it,” I say.
