Page 35 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Oh, it’s not my heart. It’s the door.
“Open up, slut!” A familiar voice accompanies another round of door banging.
“Rose?” I call out.
“Yeah, and I’ve got Trish-the-Dish with me.”
“You’re calling me Trish-the-Dish now? Really?”
“Would you prefer Southern Midget?”
I struggle up from the couch as their argument, clear even through the apartment door, helps chase away the remnants of my dream. I take a deep breath and slowly let it out, slowing my racing heart. Once I’m satisfied that I don’t sound like a marathon runner, I unlock the door. Before I can open it an inch, it’s thrust back in my face and both Rose and Trish march in.
“Um, hello?” I ask, stepping back to accommodate them.
“Girl, we’re here to rescue you.” Trish is holding multiple shopping bags on each arm. She turns one way and then another, looking over my apartment and nearly knocking me back on the couch in the process.
“Sweet sofa,” Rose says, gesturing to the comfortable, mid-century modern piece of furniture I just napped on.
I don’t have much in my apartment. I guess I’ve always thought of this place as temporary, even though I’ve been a bit too preoccupied with work to move. But what I do have I splurged on. The green tweed couch is something John Glenn would’ve sat on, and my white, marble-topped, circular tulip table barely fits next to the galley kitchen. But it’s awesome, so I got it.
“What are you doing in this place if you can afford things like that?” Trish says, gesturing to the kitchen table.
“I don’t know. Never got around to finding another place, I guess.” I run my hand down the sofa’s arm. “But I always thought that when I did, it would look like…” I trail off, not wanting to admit the truth, my face heating with embarrassment.
“That it would look like something out of the space race era?” Rose asks, clearly catching on.
I lower my head, studying the clean but dingy carpet. “Uh, yeah.”
“Cool. Very you,” Trish says.
I jerk my head up, wondering if she’s making fun of me, but Trish’s usual sincere expression relieves that worry.
“You’d love my brother’s place then,” Rose says.
This piques my interest. I didn’t get a good look inside Flynn’s house the night I dropped Rose off. All the lights were out, and honestly, I was too distracted by a shirtless Flynn.
But before I can sort out a clever way to ask what Rose means without being completely obvious, she changes the subject.
Rose thrusts a finger in my direction. “You’ve been working all week and blowing off our texts.”
I blink, unprepared for the accusation. “I have not. I texted back.” I flex my sore thumbs as proof.
Trish rolls her eyes at me. “What about the ones from today? You never answered us.”
I turn and dig my phone out from under the couch cushions. Ten texts and four missed calls. None from Flynn.
Not that I’m keeping track or anything.
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t see them.”
“Yeah, well, just so you know, your apartment complex is a shit hole. It matches your car.” Rose opens my bedroom door and leans in to flip the switch.
“Wait!” But it’s too late.
“Holy shit, Jackie,” she says, standing in my bedroom doorway, looking in.
