Page 25 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
Line of Sight
Jackie
Slidinginto my desk chair after a brutal meeting where Sean had obviously been going through caffeine withdrawal, I check my phone screen. This is a new habit of mine since Operation Social Life began. Usually my phone doesn’t make an appearance unless I need to adjust my schedule or check work emails on the fly.
Two text messages from Flynn.
One at 4:55 p.m.:Car won’t be ready
Another at 5:15 p.m.:You better text me when you’re heading home
“What has you smiling?” my cube-mate, James, asks. “I heard most of the EVA crew got their asses handed to them at the meeting by Sean. Didn’t think anyone would be smiling for a while.”
It’s true. Sean was his usual uptight self. Only a few seem to be immune from his exacting tendencies, and I’m one of them. Probably because I have the same work ethic he does. Unfortunately, he’s been even more on edge than usual, as EX-2 had a random malfunction. It’s probably a one-off, but without a back-up or the ability to power cycle, everyone is stressed.
James looks at me expectantly. I’m guessing that means his question isn’t rhetorical.
I place my phone down on my desk and gather my stuff together in my purse. “Uh… nothing. Just a YouTube video.”
He snorts. “What, another cat video going viral?”
I make a noncommittal sound, somewhere between a grunt and a hum, but it seems to work, as he turns back to his own desk. James is a good cube-mate. He never eats stinky food in our space and keeps his desk rather tidy. Even so, I’m not about to tell him I’m smiling like an idiot because a super-hot mechanic texted me. And he has beenall day.
Though, oddly, I really, really want to.
“Don’t forget, leftover kolaches in the break room,” he says, eyes locked on his computer screen.
Another hum/grunt and then I’m walking out of our cubicle, phone in hand.
On my way out
Flynn sends a thumbs-up emoji in response.
Ugh.Emojis. Yet another language I’ll need to learn how to decipher. I’m good with NASA acronyms, Russian and French. I’m hoping this new modern-day version of hieroglyphic writing will be easier to manage than that of the Egyptians.
Thumbs-up seems pretty self-explanatory, thankfully.
A few people wave as I walk by, some reminding me about the leftovers. I nod, but though I slow my steps when passing the breakroom, inhaling the savory sweet smell of kolaches, I keep moving.
When I told Flynn, via text, about my usual choice of meals, if you can call me scrounging for leftovers meals, he insisted on taking me out for a proper dinner after work tonight.
I was too shocked that he had actually shown up to drive me home to argue.
Not to say I didn’t think he wouldn’t show up when he said he would … but still. I’m having a hard time believing that auto repair shops make personal chauffeur services de rigueur. And definitely not dinner. I’m not sure what Flynn is up to, if anything. Maybe he’s just a good guy doing a good deed. Why must I always question men’s motives? I hate that my past has made me so paranoid.
Even so, I push open the security-locked door and speed walk toward NASA’s west entrance with a smile on my face.
The sun is low in the sky, hovering over NASA as I walk across campus. It’s still light out, so I don’t know why Flynn wants to pick me up. It isn’t like I’m going to be mugged with the sun out. Or even when it’s down. The area around NASA is usually pretty safe.
But I’m not about to point that out. One, I’m sure he’d blow off my valid argument for some reason or another. Two, on the off-chance that he didn’t, I’d be denying myself another ride in his kick-ass car. And three, you know,Flynn.
High humidity causes a mist of sweat to dust my skin and I’m thankful it’s only in the high seventies. I won’t be a complete sweaty mess by the time I reach Flynn. Just a somewhat sweaty mess.
The trees from the Challenger memorial throw shade over me as I walk by.
“Jackie. Need a ride?” A sleek silver car slows down beside me. Ian is looking quite nice in his white button-down shirt, silver tie and aviators.
I work very hard not to drop eye contact, but I can’t help the blush that rushes under my skin. “Uh, no thanks. I’m, uh, meeting Flynn.” I wave ahead of us. “In the badging lot.”
