Page 44 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
I’m still laughing when I tilt my head up to his.
He isn’t smiling anymore, though his eyes are soft. He has a look on his face I can’t name, but whatever it is makes my breath quicken. I’m aware of how small my hand feels in his. Hands that can build things, create and restore. They’re large and callused against my own and I suddenly want them everywhere. The hand at my hip flexes and drifts a shade lower—one finger dipping beneath the fabric at my back.
I stumble.
“Whoa, I got you.” He moves in closer, until our bodies align like magnets. The push and pull of our forces dance against each other to the rhythm of a country song I can’t name but will never forget.
All that exists is his body moving against mine. Pushing forward, swaying, pulling back. I can’t think, I simply react in tandem to his movements. I’m lightheaded. I take a deep breath, which pushes my breasts further into his chest. He smells good. God, so good. And he’s hard.
So veryhard.
Eleven
Countdown
Jackie
I’min Flynn’s car again. The green one. But the difference a dance and the absence of panties makes is significant. Like discovering ice on Jupiter significant.
Then there’s the alcohol. Sweet Neptune, the alcohol.
I blame Flynn. And Rose. And Trish. In fact, all my new friends are bad influences.
Wait a minute. Is Flynn a friend? I can’t help but glance down as his thigh muscles bunch and flex whenever he changes gears.
Operation Social Life hadn’t included hot guys. Just friends. Learning to be more social. Helping myself become more normal in social settings so that I can get past those last hurdles on my way to becoming an astronaut. But I’m not sure I can categorize Flynn as a friend. You don’t get turned on by your friend’s thighs or imagine tracing the contours of a friend’s abs with your tongue. Do you? Not to mention our date, or the kiss. The one with tongue.
I could just chalk up my Flynn fascination to alcohol. But even I can’t ignore the fact that I’ve been hyper aware of him since he barged into Rose’s room shirtless and angry. Or how I attacked him like cesium on water. Boom.
Hmm, I’m thinking about dangerous chemical reactions. How many drinks did I have? Let’s see, there was the initial Captain and Coke, then Sex on the Beach and the Blow Job. After dancing, the bar crowd tried enticing me into an encore show of my Blow Job skills, but Flynn shut that down.
I giggle.
“What’s so funny?” Flynn asks.
“Blow Job skills.”
The car swerves slightly. “Fuck, Jackie.”
I giggle again.
After some water and another dance, Flynn helped me back into my jacket and hustled me out to his car. I was going to put up a fight. Honestly. But one look at Rose and Trish, who’d been high-fiving each other at Flynn’s initiative, and I knew I wouldn’t be getting any help from that quarter.
Okay, let’s be honest. I hadn’t really wanted help.
True, I’ve been pushing Flynn away after that thoroughly confusing kiss, but after a makeover, learning the two-step, coitus-named shots and my very first sext, I’ve owned up to the fact that I don’t reallywantto push him away.
Plus, Rose had called me out on my faulty logic. Faulty logic is just the worst.
Flynn is older than Brian was, more mature. He’s worked hard to be one of the best in his field and run a successful business. That takes real dedication and drive. Focus. Commitment. All those things are just as hot as the muscles he’s packing. Or, you know, close to it.
A passing car’s headlights illuminate Flynn’s face, making the hollows under his cheekbones more pronounced. He lifts his hand from the gear shift and runs it through his hair, pushing back the locks that have fallen forward. His shirt sleeves are pushed up, revealing the tendons in his forearms. He drops his hand back on the gear shift while the other rests over the top of the steering wheel. Pumping the clutch and pressing the gas, he shifts gears, his movements fluid.
From context clues in some of my romance novels, I understood the concept of arm porn, but it isn’t until Flynn that I trulygot it. A good reminder that theory and practice are twoverydifferent things.
He’s so fine.
But I’m discovering so much more than that. He has a sense of humor. He’s confident, but not cocky. And he seems to like me, even when I nerd out on him. Actually,especiallywhen I nerd out on him. No one’s ever really liked that side of me before.
