She waved at the stim smoke, even though it didn’t affect her. “How can you stand those things?”
Holding the stick between two fingers, he eyed it with mock seriousness. “Doesn’t hurt the lungs. Tastes good, smells good. Out in the Viisiiviisii, every little touch of home is important.”
“How’s your luck been?” she asked, honestly interested.
He turned away and his grin faded slightly. “Not so good. Last couple of trips didn’t yield anything really worthwhile. It’ll get better. I’ve got a couple of leads on some spots down south that are thick with a new species of emergent that’s supposedly festooned with half a dozen promising rusts and molds.” He took a long drag on the stick. “Next trip’ll be the best. You’ll see.” Turning back to face her, he leaned right over the desk. “How about a kiss for luck?”
She hesitated, internally conflicted. Eternally conflicted. What harm could a friendly kiss do? For luck. Wasn’t part of her job to encourage those who worked under her? Worked under her—she kissed him hurriedly, as much to kill the thoughts (and other things) that were bubbling inside her as to comply with the request.
It lingered far too long. He was very polite about it, but when they finally separated, her lips were much wetter than they should have been. She raised a hand to wipe them dry, thought the gesture might be considered insulting, tried to rub them against each other, and ended up feeling ridiculous. Case just grinned down at her. She felt herself flushing, as if he was reading her mind. The climate conditioning that kept the room cool and dry seemed to have failed.