And a few choice words are coming to mind. Mainly words involving expletives that would make even a seasoned veteran like Clayton blush, once I get hold of him.
Clayton, more so than anyone, knows full well how things ended between us. Müller and I–
Anderson glances behind me, something grabbing his attention before he lowers his voice, “I best get back to it.”
A throat clears behind me, bringing my focus back from the mental spiral.
Anderson straightens, giving a curt up nod as a greeting. He gives my arm a quick, reassuring squeeze before heading back to his lunch, slotting himself in between the two women and reuniting with his noodles.
A long moment stretches on whilst the person loitering behind me remains silent.
I knock back the rest of my liquid courage. Dump the empty receptacle. Straighten my back. Square off my shoulders. Take a deep, nerve-calming breath, and turn to face the lingerer hovering behind me.
My eyes drag up from the floor. Over long, muscular legs and an equally impressive t-shirt-clad torso. He brushes his blonde, floppy hair back. A mischievous twinkle in his eye. When you read about Adonis Mafia types in romance novels, full-blooded Italians with a sex appeal that oozes right off the page, you picture Luca with his warm, walnut-brown eyes staring back at you.
Not who I was expecting.
Müller’s been here all of five minutes, and he’s already ruining everything. Worming his way back into my thoughts.
“Luca–” I start.
He surges forward, pulling me into a crushing embrace. I bite back a yelp of surprise. My eyes dart over to the others eating. Anderson is giving me a carefully concealed, unreadable expression, and Aiko is politely looking away. But Matherson…
Yeah, she’s staring. Scowling even.
I turn back to my Italian Adonis, just in time for his lips to crush against mine. His tongue glides along the seam of my lips, seeking entrance.
I thought I was used to this - the extravagant displays. Not completely comfortable with it, but after a few months, we’ve skirted the rules more and more. Our littleindiscretionbecoming… not so discreet. Wandering hands. Stolen kisses.
Luca is an outrageous flirt and very… physical. But this kiss is something different. It’s not slow and sensual, nor playful and teasing –it’s desperate, and possessive, and confusing.
It feels… wrong, and I hate that I think that. I tell myself it’s because he’s acting differently.He isn’t. It’s not me who feels different.It is.
Another part of my brain, a small part that I’m trying to kick back to the deep crevices of my mind, tells me it’s because Müller is here. And I hate it.I hate him.
I haven’t spared him a thought in months. Not since before Luca and I became friends. Not since I’ve been up in space.But I may as well update the‘Days since I last thought about Matthias Müller’sign because it’s just been reset back toZERO.
I pull myself away from Luca, from his seeking lips and questing tongue, and give his unjustly firm forearms a squeeze.
“Hey,” I lean in, giving him a quick peck, conscious of everyone watching me. “I have to go.”
He frowns, searching my eyes, “Are you… good?”
“Everything’s good,” I say. It sounds convincing, even to me. But it’s a lie.
“You seem a little off.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”Another lie. “We’re okay.”Lie. Lie. Lie.
Confusion mars his handsome features for a moment before he smiles, “Did you hear the new guy over comms? Imagine meeting your ex in space,” he chuckles to himself.
I clear my throat, “Clayton wants me working with Chelenko. ASAP. I’ve got to go.” I try to rush off, but he holds me tight, keeping me with him.
“See you tonight?” The question lingers in the air between us.
A few weeks back, I all but moved into the Kibo module. He’s been joining me over there more often than not. It just made sense at the time.
There’s not much traffic in the Japanese lab, which makes it easier to get a few extra hours of uninterrupted sleep.Which reminds me…
