Page 56 of Tempting Cargo
I rested a hand on her arm. “I’ll help you, sweetheart. Just say the word.”
“You promise?”
I held her crystalline eyes with mine. “I promise, Shohari.”
Her body relaxed, and she pulled me close, her words slurring again. “You’re so nice.”
I guess niceness was all relative. “Thanks.”
“You’re not even nice because you want something. You just… are.” She sniffed. “Don’t make me cry. Kri’ith don’t cry.”
“You don’t?”
“No. We can’t make tears.” A faint smile touched the corners of her lips. “My brother can. Because of his thing. But no, kri’ith don’t cry.”
“What do you do, then? When you’re upset?”
“We howl.” She looked past the slight bump of her nose as if it should be obvious.
Fleetingly, I pictured her face tilted up to the moon like a wolf, but it didn’t raise even a flicker of a smile.
With a huge heave of breath, she stood. “Going to the convi.” She pushed past her crew and stomped away.
The mood muted, Imani and Fenn made their excuses and headed back to the ship with Muzati, and when Shohari returned, her mask was back in place.
I didn’t drink much more, just listened to Shohari and Paiata talk and watched Sho get even more drunk, as if she could wash away her problems. I didn’t blame her. Her parents sounded like monsters. I couldn’t imagine how awful must it be. To be so trapped that even flying amongst the freedom of the stars, she was still chained to the devastating weight of manipulation and tradition.
When we eventually made a move, Shohari put her arm around my shoulder, and I slipped mine around her waist. For the first time in an hour, things felt better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Little Spoon
Garrison
SHOHARI SLIPPED inthe dark corridor, and we stumbled, crashing to the floor.
“I’ve got mystery sauce on me,” she giggled, the light of my wrist-comm revealing someone’s discarded food smeared across the floor and her clothes.
We made it back to the ship without further incident, and I stayed with her right to her berth, where she opened the door and attempted to lean sexily on the door frame. I should not have been finding this as endearing as I was.
“Let’s fuck again, Garrison.”
“Sweetheart, much as I love that idea, we’re drunk. It’s a bad idea.”
She pouted, crossing her arms. “Mitsha, sex is a good idea.”
“Yes. But not when we’re drunk. What does that word mean, anyway?”
“Mitsha? It doesn’t translate?”
“No.”
Her cheeks bloomed a dark magenta. “Skyk. It is a kri’ith term of endearment.” As my heart warmed and my smile spread, she muttered in a rush, “But by direct translation, it is a sweet syrup made by insect larva that is a delicacy.” Her scowl was adorable, and her voice went gruff. “It really loses something when you have to explain it.”
I grinned, my chest filling with warmth. “Honey. You just called me honey. It translates just fine.” I dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “Anyway, we both fell in that puddle of I don’t know what. We should probably wash.”
Her upper nostrils wrinkled. “True. Let’s shower.”
