Page 26 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
“Is that right?” Ian’s nostrils flare as he fights a smile. He loses the battle.
“Oh shut up,” I mumble.
Ian just laughs. “You two drive safe, now.”
Before I can respond, he pulls away and around the corner.
Since the Ian and Flynn episode the other day, Ian has been far more relaxed at work. I’m not sure what that is all about, but it’s brought a sense of relief, as I’m no longer looking for nonexistent signs of attraction anymore. I can just focus on my job. Stupid Jules and her stupid innuendoes and blackmail. I knew Ian didn’t like me that way.
Turning the corner, I have to pause and catch my breath. Not due to my power walk or the heat, but because my eyes are filled with the ridiculously breathtaking sight of Flynn leaning against his car, arms across his chest, biceps bulging. The same pose I found him in the other night.
“Yo,” he calls out, making my smile widen.
“Hi, Flynn.”Sheesh.I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes at how breathless I sound. Let’s hope Flynn chalks it up to my walk.
“Lookin’ good, darling.” He pushes off the side of his car and walks toward me. The smell of him surrounds me when he leans down to kiss my cheek.
The heat radiating from under my skin has nothing to do with the temperature, but I’m going to pretend. I blame a lot on the weather in Texas. I’m also not sure if he’s making fun of me. True, I traded in my usual T-shirt and jeans for a button-down and khakis, but it isn’t glamorous by any means. I’m still sporting my well-loved Chucks.
He takes my bag from my hand, walks me around to the passenger side, and opens the door. He waits until I’m situated before placing my bag at my feet, closing the door and rounding the car again to slide in behind the wheel. I must be a pretty bad feminist, because I find his chivalry wildly attractive.
“You didn’t eat yet, did you?” he asks, hands on the wheel.
“No. I remembered.”
He nods, one hand drifting down to the ignition. The action has me sitting up straight, legs perfectly perpendicular to the seat, feet flat on the floor mat, palms resting on my thighs. The optimal position to make the most out of this moment.
This moment being when his hand cranks over the ignition, and the rumble from the engine filters through every point of contact I have with the car, sending chills and vibrations through me like the jet propulsion of the space shuttle in lift-off.
“You like sushi?”
“Hmm?” I blink, having to fidget on the seat to stop from coming right here in his car, parked at my work.Get it together, Jackie.
His lips do that twitching thing Ian’s had earlier when he fought a smile. Paranoia sets in. People are always doing this around me, and I amnotthat funny.
“I said, ‘you like sushi’?”
“Oh, ah, no.” Shoot. Maybe I should’ve said yes?
“Thank God.”
His response is so illogical that I can’t help but laugh. “Then why did you ask?”
He shrugs, looking sheepish. “I don’t know, the girls I knew usually liked sushi.”
“Oh.” Well, there go all the good feelings from the engine.
He clears his throat. “Never mind that, then. This is Houston, there are five restaurants on every corner. What would you like? French? Italian? We could go to Perry’s. It’s a Tuesday, pretty sure we won’t have trouble getting a table.”
I look down at my khakis. There is no way I want to go to the exclusive steakhouse in my work wear. Flynn’s in jeans and he doesn’t seem to care, but hello? Why would anyone object to him wearing jeans when he wears them the way he does? All sexy-like and stuff. Me in khakis? Not so much.
“What about Jimmy Johns?” I ask.
“Jimmy Johns,” he repeats slowly. “The sub shop?”
I warm up to the idea. “Yeah, they have a killer Italian Hoagie.” He just continues to look at me. Crapola. Now what did I do? “I mean, youdidmention Italian,” I mumble to my lap, twisting my fingers together.
His chuckle has me looking up. His hand lifts off the gear shift and I watch it as it ascends, his long, masculine fingers grazing my cheek lightly before dropping back down.
