Starflight (Starflight, #1)(72)
Grass?
“You look kind of rough,” came the voice again. It sounded like Kane. “But hey, at least you’re not naked on the lawn of First Pesirus Presbyterian. There’s no living that down.”
“Nope,” Cassia added. “I can testify to that.”
“The captain said to get your drunk asses on board—his words, not mine,” Kane said. “We should’ve lifted off an hour ago.”
Doran pushed into a sitting position, though half his muscles ached in protest. “We’re not drunk,” he whispered in a dry throat. Damn, he was thirsty. He glanced beside him and found Solara lying next to the barn wall, massaging her forehead with one hand, and a strip of white gauze covering the wrist below it.
At the sight of that bandage, all his memories from last night came rushing back in a sucker punch to the face. He didn’t have to look at his wrist to know it was covered, too. And the skin there wasn’t numb anymore. In fact, it burned like hellfire.
“Oh no,” he said. “What did we do?”
It was a hypothetical question. He recalled every word, every giggle, every clumsy grope, and, most of all, the ink-stained needle that ensured he would never, ever, forget any of it. Doran had wanted a souvenir, and he’d gotten one—in the shape of four antique pirate swords curving into a figure eight.
The symbol for the Brethren of Outcasts.
Have fun explaining that to the shareholders, he thought.
Solara slung an arm over her eyes. “Please tell me that was a dream. Please tell me we weren’t inked by a retired accountant who took up body art last month.” Then she peeked beneath her bandage and whimpered. “Nope. Not a dream.”
“I’d ask what you’ve been up to,” Cassia said, “but I can already tell.” Smiling, she leaned down to inspect Solara’s neck. “You two are animals!”
Kane laughed and elbowed her. “It’s always the quiet ones.”
Doran’s eyes locked with Solara’s before he glanced at her throat and felt all the blood drain from his face. Her skin was covered in hickeys. She was going to kill him once she looked in the mirror.
“I’m sorry,” he said, but then he remembered how the mushroom had rewired his brain and given him some kind of eargasm, and the whole thing was so crazy that he couldn’t stop a laugh from bubbling up. “I haven’t,” he choked out between chortles, “given anyone a hickey since seventh grade.”
Her face turned so red it almost matched her neck. “You owe me a visit to the flesh forger,” she said, standing up. “And this”—she pointed back and forth between them—“will never happen again.”
She stormed away, and Cassia followed, clearly struggling to keep a straight face.
Doran was still laughing, though he knew that wouldn’t last long. The tension in his stomach warned that he’d soon be kneeling in front of the merciless toilet gods.
Kane gave a sympathetic wince and offered his hand. “I’ve heard that before. Last year after the hellberry festival.”
“She’ll get over it,” Doran said, accepting the help. “Eventually.”
Kane hauled him up with a laugh. “That’s what I thought, too.” He clapped Doran on the shoulder and said, “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
The hickeys faded after a week, but the crew’s nightly wisecracks in the galley were much like the scent of burnt porridge—never ending.
“No scarf tonight?” the captain asked, pointing at Solara’s neck. “I guess you finally beat that cold virus.”
“I don’t believe she had a cold,” Renny said thoughtfully. “I’ll bet it was the Hoover flu. You know, named after the old vacuum cleaners on Earth?”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that disease,” Cassia chimed in. “Doesn’t it cause a rash that looks like suction marks? Highly contagious when mixed with cute guys and Crystalline?”
Renny nodded. “That’s the one. Nasty business, the Hoover flu. It can lead to a serious fever.”
Solara hid her annoyance behind a heaping bite of beans, but if the ribbing didn’t let up soon, she might consider staging a mutiny with her newly recovered stunner. A girl could only take so much.
The captain chuckled to himself and nodded at Doran. “Are you up to reporting to the bridge after supper? Or do you feel a fever coming on?”
If the jokes bothered Doran, he didn’t let it show. Solara glanced up and caught him watching her from above the rim of his cup, his lips curved in the same unsettling smile he’d worn since their night together on Cargill. There was something different in the way he looked at her now, as if he’d seen beneath her skin and knew all her secrets. It never failed to knock her sideways. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d opened her mouth to speak and had drawn a blank, or forgotten why she’d walked into the room. In fact, she couldn’t quite recall why she’d felt so annoyed a moment ago.…
“I have been running hot lately,” Doran said, never taking his eyes off her. “But who says I want the cure?”
The whole table erupted in laughter and wolf whistles.
Oh, yes. That was why she’d felt annoyed.
Solara drew a breath and geared up for a snarky comeback, but once again, he’d sent her world tumbling off its axis. Damn him.