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But Kazex isn't normally one to lose his temper at sticks. In fact, he's the head of security because he's so level-headed about most things. He doesn't lose his cool.
Right now, though? He looks like he wants to punch Zaemen in the mouth just for being annoyed at losing.
I'm...horrible.
Because I'm secretly flattered. I'm fucking loving this inside and I know I shouldn't. There's a small part of me squealing with delight that Kazex is standing up for me. Maybe...maybe I should try hitting on him like my sisters suggested.
To break things up, I shove all the credits I've won back into the center pot. "Come on. Let's do one last hand, guys. It's getting late anyhow. All in?"
And I nudge Kaz with my foot under the table.
He backs down, barely glancing over at me, but I know he's aware of my nearness. Ruth-Ann comes and hovers over the back of my chair as Zaemen grudgingly takes his seat again. The others push their credits in, and then Aithar tosses the beginning play.
This time, I make sure to lose. I'm far more interested in Kazex and talking to him after this, anyhow.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
KAZEX
After everyone heads out of the crew's rec room for the night, Ruthie and I head toward our quarters. We're near the front of the hall in the ship so it's a short walk, but I still have to restrain myself from touching her. I want to put a hand on her shoulder. I want to put a hand on the small of her back. At her waist. I want to just touch her. To show the universe that she's mine.
But it's not permitted, so I close my hand into a fist and stand patiently at her side.
Ruthie's quiet, and I'm worried Zaemen hurt her feelings. I'm contemplating retrieving him and insisting that he apologize, when she looks up at me. The tip of her tongue flicks against the loop in her lower lip, and my cock throbs in response. "Hey, Kaz?"
"Yes?" My voice breaks, and I clear my throat, grimacing. Her nearness makes everything in me act up.
"Can I get your help with something...delicate?"
Uh oh. What's troubling her? Has someone been cruel? Someone in Port? Or is it tonight's game? Do I need to go shake Zaemen? The need to protect Ruthie from the universe surges over me again. "Tell me who to kill and I'll do it."
Her smile flashes and Ruthie shakes her head at me. "Nothing like that. Let's just talk in private, all right?"
She points at my quarters and when we're both in the room, she activates the “close” button and leans against the door.
I don't know what to do with myself. With my hands. With my face. Everything I do is going to reveal to her just how desperately I want her and then she'll feel pressured. Even my expression is going to give me away if I'm not careful. I end up crossing my arms over my chest and frowning with grave intensity down at her. Maybe if I look like I'm exceedingly serious, it'll hide the fact that I just want to drag her into my lap and cuddle the kef out of her.
Ruthie teases the lip ring with the tip of her tongue again, and something hot and needy clenches in my gut. "Promise you won't think I'm weird for asking?"
"I would never think you're weird," I vow to her. "And you can ask me for anything."
My credits? They're hers. The clothes off my back? Hers. A kidney? All for her. All Ruthie has to do is ask. I'll turn myself into spare parts if that's what she needs from me.
She braces herself against the door, her face oddly flushed. She won't look me in the eye, either, and my mood plummets, certain that something is wrong.
Ruthie looks up at me. "I need your help with another piercing."
"Oh." That's...not what I expected to hear from her. I mean, it's fine. It's just not the big secret thing I was expecting to be entrusted with. Truth be told, her piercings make me uncomfortable. Not because I dislike them or think she's strange—that couldn't be further from the truth. If she was just decorating herself for the sake of decorating, I'd be the first one to cheer her on. A'ani know all about changing up your appearance. But I also know that Ruthie gets a piercing when she's feeling bad about herself. Or she'll shave a design on the side of her head when she has a nightmare. It's not her taking initiative—it's her reacting to something that's making her feel bad about herself.
So no, I don't like it when she asks me about piercings. The only thing I can think of is who hurt her and how I hurt them back. But I'm glad she asked me, because of course I'll help her. "We should probably use the med-bay machine, just in case. Where did you want this one?"
