Page 17 of When She's Handy

CHAPTER

TEN

MELODY

I’m completely flustered as I stand in the hall, trying to compose myself. It’s a miracle that he stayed behind. That he wants to be friends. That he isn’t giving up on the idea of “us”…so why the fuck did I go on and on about how great his cock was and how perfect the size of it was? God, he’s going to think I’m such a weirdo.

It was just…he looked so uncomfortable in his own skin. I wanted to let him know how attractive I find him. How much I enjoy all his parts.

Weirdo. Total weirdo.

I mentally kick myself for a bit longer, pacing at the top of the stairs. The door opens a few minutes later, and then Brux comes out, wearing his soaked uniform. It’s clean now, but the fabric clings to every muscle on his body, and it just reminds me how mouth-watering he is. God, I need to make myself a vibrator so I can use it instead of harassing him about the size of his “perfect cock,” poor guy.

“Thank you,” he says in that solemn way of his. “For cleaning my uniform.”

“Of course. It was my fault.” I offer him a smile and hope he doesn’t run for the hills now.

He hesitates, then looks around at the hallway to the boarding house. I’m tucked away at the back near the area we’re using as an impromptu mud room, since that’s not a thing with most aliens. There’s a lot of boots and rain cloaks on hooks surrounding us, and the hall feels a tiny bit claustrophobic for me, so I can only imagine how it feels for him. “You live here?”

“Not right here, no. I live upstairs.” I point at the ceiling. Then I decide to push a little. “You want to see?”

“I can’t stay long right now.” He gestures at his uniform. “Work. But…I would like to see, yes.”

I try not to get too excited about that, but I can’t help but beam at him. “That’s totally fine! If you want to come back later tonight, you can just show yourself up. Let me show you my rooms.”

I resist the urge to grab his hand as I lead him through the boarding house. Brux has made it clear that he needs things to go slow, so I’m going to go slow even if it kills me. Before slavery beat me down, I was an impulsive person, and five years on Risda hasn’t changed that much. Even now I jump ahead on things too quickly. I’m determined not to mess this up with Brux again, though.

We get upstairs and my door is the first one at the top of the landing. I gesture at it and then open the door, desperate to squeeze every last moment with him that I can and somehow convince him that yes, coming to see me was a great idea after all. “Come on in. There’s not much to see.”

Brux steps inside, glancing around at my messy quarters. I never have anyone come up, and so it’s an absolute disaster. Noodle wrappers are all over the tiny countertop with a sink that acts as my kitchen, and directly across from that is my unmade bed, with some scrap metal stacked at the end of it that I kick to the side when I sleep. The floor is covered in projects that have followed me home, ones that I work on in my downtime. A half-made toaster covers my tiny table and chair (also made from scrap) and there’s a scrap chime hanging from the ceiling despite the fact that there’s no window and no breeze. I just like the symbolism of what it stands for.

He rubs his jaw, staring at my quarters.

I immediately go into overdrive. I straighten my table back into its regular spot by the wall and start picking up shoes I’ve got kicked all over the floor, along with dirty clothes. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess. I know. I wasn’t expecting you to come over or I’d have cleaned up. You must think I’m a disaster.”

“It looks lived in. Nothing wrong with that.” Brux offers me a small smile and heads toward my tiny kitchen. He picks up one noodle wrapper and grimaces. “I’m allergic to this one.”

“Shit. I think that flavor is all I have.” I want to snatch it from his hand in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know.” He carefully wipes his hand on his tunic and takes a step back. “But will you allow me to bring you some other noodles? Tonight?”

I want to squeal like a teenager with heart eyes. “I’d love that.”

He hesitates again. “Perhaps we can play a game of some kind after we eat? Do you enjoy sticks?”

“Never learned it, but I play a mean checkers.” Brux gives his head a little shake, indicating he doesn’t know what that is. “I made a board for someone else that never came to pick it up. It’s around here somewhere.”

“Then we will play that,” he agrees, his expression solemn. “I would not wish to dine and then have no reason to linger.”

I want to tell him that we can just talk, but if he needs a reason to stick around, I will happily give him one. “Game night is perfect.”

“Should I bring anything else?” he inquires, so very serious. As if we’re making plans more detailed than just dinner and a game.

“Just yourself.”

Brux’s expression grows even more solemn. “I would like it if I was the only one for you tonight, as well.”

So he was following us. “I take it you mean Aithar?”

---