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“This’d probably go better if it was attached to your arm —”
I turn to her, growling. “I’m not getting a gun attached to my arm!”
Bethiah puts her hands in the air. “I’m just pointing out the obvious.”
Biting back a growl, I put the blaster away. I know she’s worked hard on adjusting this one to human readings and fitting it for my smaller hand, but the practice (and how bad I suck at it) is making me nervous. What if I’m never good with a blaster and they decide to get rid of me after all? What if I can’t hack it with a couple of space pirates after all? The thought’s a sobering one, and I try shooting the target again—only to fail for the exact same reason once more.
“How much more?” I ask Bethiah, frustrated. “I hate this.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, and I wait for her to make a snarky comment about how bad I am or how I’m not learning. “You’ll get better with time, I promise. The first time I held a blaster, I accidentally shot my teacher.”
A hint of a smile tugs at my mouth. “Really?”
“Really. A blaster feels so natural in your hand that I thought I had it handled, no problem.” She saunters over to my side and steps behind me, her front pressing to my back. Bethiah covers my hand with hers, locking her other hand at my waist. Joined together, she guides my blaster through the air, my finger still on the trigger, and we follow the target. “You’ve got to factor in that little bit of time from when you shoot to when your bolt hits your target. I aim just slightly ahead.” She noses the blaster just slightly in front of the target and continues to follow it. “Like so.”
I shoot and miss again, but this time it’s closer.
“You’ll get there. It just takes practice.”
“You’re being nice to me again,” I tease her, glancing up over my shoulder into her eyes. “Careful, or I might get used to it.”
She frowns down at me as if I’ve said something offensive. “You don’t think I’m nice?”
Uh oh. I lower the blaster, neatly stepping out of her training embrace. “You can be? A lot of the time you just…choose not to be.”
That explanation doesn’t make her any happier. Bethiah continues to look troubled, and this is not the vibe I wanted to have before I ask my favor. I power down my blaster and hold it out to her, handle first. “Is that enough training for today?”
She nods absently. “Thank you for humoring me.”
“Can we do it again sometime?”
Bethiah perks a little at that. “Only if you want to. I…I don’t want you miserable around me, all right? I know I can be hard to live with, but I’m just not good at this sort of thing. People prefer me in small doses or not at all.” She takes the blaster and holsters it at her waist with her weapons. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time. I’m not good at any of this.”
I crook a finger in her direction, indicating she should lean down.
She does, and I slide my arm around her neck, pulling her in for a quick kiss. She jerks in surprise, as if she didn’t expect me to be affectionate, and I nip at her lower lip. “We’re all learning together,” I tell her. “I’m going to mess up, too. Just don’t get rid of me, all right?”
Bethiah nods. “I…I’m sorry, Dora. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
I want to melt into a puddle at her feet. Instead, I rub my nose against hers because I know this is hard for her and calling attention to how much she’s trying is going to make her nervous again. I’ve forgotten that my nose is bruised, though, and a hot flash of pain crosses my face. “Ow.”
“That’s what you get for being cuddly,” she tells me, and then leans in and kisses me again anyhow.
I kiss her back, because these sweet, frisky nips on the mouth are wonderful. “I know what I want for my favor.”
“Oh?”
I nod. “Shower. You and me. Together.”
Part of me expects her to say no. To come up with an excuse. Instead, she pauses and says, “You need the med-bay machine to check out your nose first. Then we shower.”
Fifty-Nine
DORA
Nothing like a med machine to set your dignity (and libido) back to ground zero. I do my best to ignore the poking and prodding of my nostrils and my bruised face, and I close my eyes when a needle emerges from the machine and heads toward my face.
I hold Bethiah’s hand tightly when there’s a sting on my nose, followed by a cool numbness. “Better?” I ask her, opening my eyes.
