Concubine Boogaloo by Lucy Woodhull

Author:Lucy Woodhull [Woodhull, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
Published: 2012-08-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

A•dult•hood (n): A time of life full of depressing bullshit. Also, taxes.

They each navigated their ships into Erit’s nearby sneaky-hidey-hole nebula; he helpfully broadcasted a jammer in the immediate area to confuse any bad dudes still on their tails. On Ragnar’s tail—she and Erit merely needed to watch their butts.

Ragnar had taken dinner on his own ship, but Juliet hadn’t cried over it. She didn’t want Erit reporting on how pathetic she was to anyone. Someone ought to school him in inappropriate things to share with persons named Manscape.

She stayed up way past her bedtime, lingering on the bridge, calibrating sensors that weren’t wonky, cleaning the Compass with disinfectant. Anything to not go to bed and ache for Ragnar. She’d opened and abandoned three different books—even Madame Intergalactica’s Orgasmos in the Cosmos, Volume Thirty-Four, Time-Traveling Millionaire Cowboy Pirates in Leather hadn’t distracted her.

She sprawled on the floor trying to repair her captain’s chair vibration setting when her comm panel squawked. “Juliet?”

Ragnar.

She rose and clipped her noggin on the underside of the control desk. Falling onto her back, she gripped her stinging, swirling head and groaned, “Compass, open a channel to the Bobo, please.”

“Yes, Captain. Be kind to him. You win more flies with jelly than with insect poison.”

Ye gods, she must really be donkey dung in the love department if a damn computerized cargo ship thought she needed advice. “Yes, but I don’t think he’s ready for this jelly, Compass.”

“Channel open.”

“Good evening, Ragnar,” she intoned. Ugh, she sounded like a restaurant hostess trying to hit on a big spender. She should attempt to sound neutral, but nice; not flirty, but not cold; sexy, but not desperate. Definitely not like she was up at two a.m. mooning over him. Wait—

“Why are you awake in the wee hours?” she asked.

“Uh … I just wanted to tell you that my guy agreed to send the special hair pins to New Los Angeles. I told him you made them yourself and were a big fan of King Bob’s.”

“Oh, yeah. And he’s a big fan of my knockers.”

“Who isn’t?” She heard him smile. Promising. She settled back into her chair and put her feet up. Dare she hope he was restless in the middle of the night and throbbing for the bodacious and flexible arms of his Juliet?

“Anyway,” he continued. “I got my hands on a huge lot of copper hair pins with sparkly things on the end. I never saw anyone on New Los Angeles wear much copper, so it’s safe to bet only the concubines will be sporting it. You owe me twelve hundred for their purchase and my other guy two thousand for the privilege of his delivery.”

She whistled. “Steep. Sure, no problem. I’ll wire the money to you.”

“From your trust fund.”

Juliet bit her lip. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I don’t understand why you kept it from me. What did you think? I was after your money?”

“Nope, I always knew you were after my aforementioned tits.”

Crickets.

Squeezing her eyelids shut, she floundered, “I … oh, jeez.

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