Erin
Do you remember how you said that I’d had a DAY after the last SVLAC all-hands? Well, I’ve one-upped myself this afternoon.
A texting ellipsis blinked.
Martina
Uh-oh. Spill.
Erin
…I accidentally sent a semi-nude picture to a stranger.
Martina
WHAT?!
She cringed, even as she snorted out a cough of embarrassed laughter.
Erin
I know.
Martina
Explain. Now.
She did: about Bannister’s graphic inGalactica Magazinethat could’ve been an illustration for her short story, her reckless outreach to him as Aaron Forster, their connection over the same sci-fi media—followed by her misdirected lingerie photo.
Wincing again, she hopped off her bed and paced along her wall of commemorative science and literary posters: Katherine Johnson calculating orbits at NASA, Chien-Shiung Wu showcasing nuclear weapons from the Manhattan Project, cosmonaut Valentina Tereshkova in her flight suit, Marie Sklodowska–Curie holding her Nobel Prizes in both physics and chemistry, Anne Inez McCaffrey winning the Hugo and Nebula Awards for fiction. All of them were fully clothed…
She was almost grateful to answer the call from Martina that chimed on her screen.
“Right.” Her friend’s voice vibrated over the speaker, and she pushed in her earbuds; Kai and Ashley seemed to be out, but their neighbors might not be. “What you’re telling me is that Dr. Erin Monaghan, who refuses to let me set her up for dinner or drinks with some very nice men, who claims that she’s always too busy to date because she’s occupied with interferometers, Department of Energy site visits, or competing with Ethan Meyer for every advantage and prestige at SVLAC—thatthis same Erin Monaghanhas spent the past twenty-four hours texting with a mysterious artist—and has even sent him a nude picture?”
“Semi-nude! Accidentally!”
“Regardless. It’s a miracle that Adrian and Wes haven’t already strong-armed him into a wedding to preserve your honor.”
More hysterical laughter rose in her nose. She collapsed back onto the rumpled sheets hanging off her mattress. “I don’t want to think about that. Because they’d do it. Or at least threaten it. I love them to pieces, but loving them—and being loved by them—is a balancing act. Right now, you’re the only one who knows about Bannister.”
“He’s your dirty little secret.”
“No—he’s just—I admired his art. The rest was an accident. Besides, he didn’t actually say anything about my picture, so he probably doesn’t—”
Ping.
The message was from him.
Bannister
I hope this isn’t awkward. But I’m enjoying our conversation. And this seems like a fair trade.
Bannister
(New Photo Message)
“Uh…”
