Chapter 32 - Poker Night

Dinner the next day was a disaster. Not a small, oops-we-burned-the-toast kind of disaster, but a full-on, existential crisis for anyone who liked food. I stared at my plate of MRE slop, labeled “Tuscan Beef with Cannellini Beans and Vegetables,” because apparently, someone thought fancy words could trick us into thinking this wasn’t just brown mush. It didn’t even smell like food. It smelled… beige.

I glanced around the table, trying to figure out who I could pin this one on. Not me, no way. Sure, my dad recommended these, and yeah, I was the one who approved the order, but Ryan was the one who confirmed the final inventory. Right? Yeah, let’s go with that. Stupid Ryan. Always so efficient, except when it matters.

Honestly, I was too tired to even try and figure out who to blame, Emily had been running me ragged. I swear, she had more energy than a hummingbird on crack. She’d chase me down the corridors, her laughter echoing off the metal walls, and I swear, I just couldn't outrun her. Not that I was trying all that hard, of course. Okay, maybe I was, a little, but mostly because I was trying to save my energy. Or that's what I told myself. It didn't matter, she was a relentless, beautiful force of nature, and I was thoroughly enjoying every second of it, even if I was perpetually exhausted.

Emily sat beside me, poking at her “Chicken à la King,” which looked more like cat food in sauce. She caught my eye and made a face that said, This is your fault, and I hated that she was right. I hadn’t just ordered these, I’d called them “the best-tasting option.” Thanks, Dad.

I stabbed at the brown mush with my fork, trying to convince myself it wasn’t that bad. It was. Every bite was worse than the last. Across the table, Ryan seemed unbothered, eating like a man with no taste buds. Of course he didn’t care. The guy probably eats protein powder straight out of the tub. Joey, on the other hand, was pretending his “Pasta Primavera” wasn’t just noodles drowning in what I could only describe as glue.

“This is…” Zoe started, pausing dramatically as she waved her fork in the air. “Wow. Luca, where did you find this stuff?”

“It’s food, Zoe,” I muttered, trying to sound defensive, but my voice cracked. “It’s got all the vitamins and calories we need. Survival-grade. That’s what matters.” God, I was lying through my teeth, and the exhaustion was making it even harder to sound convincing.

“Survival-grade?” she shot back, arching an eyebrow. “Didn’t know we were starring in a post-apocalyptic drama.”

The table erupted in laughter, and even Emily couldn’t help but chuckle as she pushed her plate aside, clearly done with her meal. I sighed, slumping back in my chair, the weight of the day, and the lack of sleep, finally catching up to me.

“Fine,” I muttered, glaring at Ryan. “Next time, you’re picking the menu.” It wasn’t fair, but fair had left the building the moment I opened that MRE packet, and to be honest, I was just too tired to fight anymore.

Despite the tragic state of dinner, the conversation shifted to something less soul-crushing, the latest images from our probes. Proxima Centauri b, our big red target, was looking increasingly alien under the light of its red dwarf star. I tried to focus on that, but all I could think about was finding some way to bribe Zoe into making something, anything, that didn’t taste like regret.

"Maybe it's covered in red plants," Danny suggested, always the optimist.

"Or red sand," Ryan countered, ever the pessimist. "A giant, red desert. Just our luck."

I tried to join in the conversation, but my mind was elsewhere, completely hijacked by the chaos that was Emily. Every few minutes, her leg would brush against mine under the table, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core, like a live wire had been attached to my balls. She'd give me a little smile, her eyes sparkling with that damn mischief, the one that promised all sorts of trouble, and then go back to her meal, as if nothing had happened. It was a goddamn torture tactic, and I was willingly walking right into the trap. Poor me, I thought, but I wasn't really feeling that sorry for myself.

And then there was the food stealing. She kept spearing the few recognizable pieces of "beef" from my plate, her fork darting out like a hummingbird's beak, and honestly, it was the most attractive thing I'd seen all day, which was saying something considering I had already spent about three hours with her, but it was true. I didn't mind, not at all. In fact, I found myself deliberately pushing the better-looking bits to the edge of my plate, just to give her an excuse to to steal from me, to mess with my head even more.

She's playing with me, I thought, a grin spreading across my face. And I'm letting her. It was like a game, a silent conversation played out under the table, amidst the chatter and the clatter of utensils. A game I was more than happy to play, a game I was begging her to keep playing, because deep down, I couldn't wait for her to jump my bones again. I was completely gone for this girl, and she knew it.

The evening after that MRE disaster, we all traded our uniforms for loungewear and, as per ship rules, went barefoot into the lounge. My plan was simple: a quiet night on the couch with Emily. I imagined her curled up beside me, maybe her legs draped over mine, a blanket covering us, and my fingers, you know, "exploring." Yeah, that sounded perfect. A man can dream, right?

But my plans were quickly derailed. Ryan and Danny, in a rare display of shared enthusiasm, were adamant about having a poker night. Figures. Everyone bought in with their 500 credits, and before I knew it, I was sitting at the table, trying to remember the difference between a flush and a straight. Shit.

This is not how I envisioned the evening going. I thought, glancing over at Emily, who was already engrossed in a conversation with Zoe. She looked relaxed, comfortable, and completely oblivious to my internal turmoil.

Surprisingly, the game was fun. I usually bowed out early, claiming to have forgotten the rules rather than admit I was just terrible at poker. But tonight, maybe because my mind was elsewhere, or maybe because luck was finally on my side, I wasn't the first one out. I even managed to win a few hands, which was a shock to everyone, myself included. Maybe I should play poker more often. Though, now that I thought about it, Ryan was winning a suspicious amount of hands. And was that an ace up his sleeve? Or was Chris just really good? Hard to tell with those two. They were both playing it cool, but something felt off. Something was always off with those two, it seemed.

Still, my focus kept drifting back to Emily. I watched the way she laughed at something Zoe said, the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the way she kept subtly, or not so subtly, trying to catch my eye. Each time she did, my heart did a little flip, and I had to force myself to concentrate on the game. And on not staring at Zoe, who was sitting between Danny and Ryan, and seemed to be on a mission to poke, prod, and generally annoy the hell out of both of them.

She kept yanking their shirts, messing with their hair, all with this innocent look on her face. It was kinda hot, in a weird way. I could tell they were both flustered, but trying not to show it. She's definitely playing them, I thought. But which one is she after? Or is it both? I made a mental note to ask Emily about it later. She'd know.

And speaking of Emily, she was playing her own game, her knee bumping against mine under the table, her fingers "accidentally" grazing my hand whenever she reached for a chip. It was subtle, but it was enough to send my pulse racing.

Two can play this game, Em. I thought, leaning forward slightly, as if to get a better look at the cards. My hand slipped behind her, finding the small of her back. I let my fingers linger there for a moment, feeling the warmth of her skin through her shirt. Then, slowly, deliberately, I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of her lounge pants.

A silent gasp escaped her lips, and her whole body seemed to tense for a moment. I held my breath, my heart pounding, my own body throbbing in response. It was a silent conversation, a question, and an answer; all conveyed through touch. I left my fingers there, wanting to go deeper but not daring to, for a heartbeat, two, then slowly, reluctantly, withdrew my hand, leaving a lingering warmth on her skin and, hopefully, a fire burning in her core. All this, right under the noses of our crewmates. The thought was intoxicating.

Ryan and Danny were too busy trying to avoid Zoe's constant pokes, and Chris and Joey were engaged in their own little world, to notice anything. Still, the risk of being discovered only added to the thrill. It was like we were sharing a secret, a delicious, dangerous secret, right there in plain sight.

---

The night wore on, and even though I didn't win, I found myself enjoying the game, the back and forth, the shared sense of anticipation that hung in the air. It also helped that I was raking in the chips, which was unusual. To mark the occasion, and to celebrate the fact that I hadn't completely embarrassed myself at poker, I even brought out a couple of bottles of wine I'd been saving. There was no specific celebration, but our spirits were high. "New Dawn," as Ryan had started calling it, was getting closer and closer. We were actually going to make it.

And then there was the way Chris kept looking at Joey, when he thought no one was watching. A soft look, a lingering glance. And Joey, for his part, kept finding excuses to touch Chris's arm, his shoulder. Huh. Maybe there was something there. Not that it was any of my business. Still, interesting.

As the poker game wound down, we all migrated to the couches, settling in for some low-key conversation before calling it a night. Emily, without hesitation, climbed onto my lap, straddling me, her arms draped around my neck. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her close, burying my face in her hair for a moment. It was a bold move, even for her, but it felt... right. We were past the point of hiding, at least not entirely. And if anyone had a problem with it, well, they could deal with it.

"Comfortable there, Em?" I asked, my voice a low murmur against her ear.

"Very," she replied, her breath warm on my neck. She leaned back slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not even a little," I said, my hands moving on their own accord, tracing the curve of her back, the swell of her hips. Nope, not minding at all.

Danny and Ryan settled on the couch opposite us, and Zoe, in a move that surprised no one, practically launched herself into the space between them, effectively separating the two. She was in a mood, that much was clear. A harassing mood. She kept poking them, pulling at their shirts, messing with their hair, all with this innocent look on her face. Poor guys, I thought, watching the display. They have no idea what they're in for. But then again, maybe they did. Maybe this was some kind of weird foreplay. It was hard to tell with those three.

Then again, maybe Zoe was feeling a little left out. Or maybe, a lot left out. It wasn't exactly a secret that she had a thing for both Danny and Ryan. And here we were, all coupled up and cozy, especially Emily and me. It was pretty obvious we'd been... busy. Maybe she just needed to get laid. Hell, even Ryan looked like he needed to get laid.

And besides... Emily shifted on my lap, her butt pressing against my growing erection, and any thoughts of playing hero, or Captain Cock, vanished. Yeah, I thought, my hand instinctively moving to her hip, feeling the curve of her ass through her loungewear. Definitely not thinking about that right now. She was like a damn magnet, pulling all my attention, all my focus, to her. And I wasn't complaining. My other hand found the soft skin of her belly, beneath her shirt. Nope. Not complaining at all.