Page 52 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
“Fuck!” Flynn slams down the pan and shakes his hand out. “Sorry.” He glances up at me, looking a bit sheepish. “Burned myself. And breakfast too, by the looks of it.” He runs his other hand through his hair, then places both on his hips. “But I make okay coffee.” He pulls a mug out of a cabinet. “Or at least, Rose tells me I do.”
“Is Rose here?” Please, don’t let Rose be here.
“No. She texted me last night that she’d be staying with Trish.”
“Really?” I walk over toward the stools pushed under the island.
“Yeah, but that’s Rose for you.” He shrugs. “Girl has a sweet-ass apartment downtown, but never uses it.”
I pull out a stool and sit down. The large island separates us, and I’m grateful because when I sit, the dress inches up my legs again.
“Anything I can help you with?” I ask, looking over at the counter topped with cracked eggs, a bowl, whisk and open milk carton. There are splashes and spills everywhere.
He moves over to the coffee maker and pours a cup. “Nope. I was just making us breakfast. Or trying to. I usually just have cereal, but I thought I’d step it up today.” He lifts the milk carton. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Oh, uh, I don’t drink coffee.” Shoot, I should’ve told him that before he poured it.
Flynn’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? How do you not drink coffee?” He sets the mug down on the island. “I’m not much use without at least one cup in the morning.”
Embarrassed over something so trivial as not liking coffee, as well as the general situation of what to do after a night of hot loving, to my horror, I start to babble. “Well, during my first week of college, the study group I was assigned to took a coffee break. I’d never had coffee before and I didn’t know what to order. Looking back, I should’ve asked one of my study group members, but I wanted to fit in. I could already tell they weren’t happy getting stuck with the kid.”
Flynn throws me a look.
“College at sixteen, remember?” He nods, and that sets me off rambling again. “Anyway, when it was my turn to order I just ordered the same as the guy in front of me. Turns out he drank a venti Americano. After I forced myself to drink it, I had to run back to my dorm to throw up. I had the shakes for the rest of the day. Never wanted to drink coffee again.” I push my glasses up my nose and force myself to stop talking, focusing on tucking my hair behind my ears and folding my hands on the counter in front of me.
Flynn chuckles. “Yeah, I can see how that would spoil coffee for you.”
It’s silent for a beat, and I think it’s no wonder I don’t have more friends. Or date. I’m pretty sure sad, embarrassing childhood memories aren’t on the list of appropriate morning-after-sex topics. Especially if childhood memories happened in college.
“Okay then, no coffee for you. OJ? Water?” He places the full mug in the sink.
I give him a grateful smile. “Water would be great. Thank you.”
Flynn opens another cabinet and grabs a bottle of water. “There you go. Unless you want ice and a glass?”
“No, this is fine.” I take my time unscrewing the cap and placing it gently on the counter, studying the thin striations of gray in the white marble countertop.
“And now for breakfast.”
He arranges two plates, putting one in front of me. Two eggs, both yolks broken, burnt toast and bacon. Flynn surveys the plates and blows out a hard breath. “I know this sounds weird, but I’ve never tried to fry an egg before. Rose or Holt always made breakfast.” He looks back at the pan. “I made scrambled earlier, but I think I added too much milk. They were runny as shit.”
Though it looks vastly unappealing, I pick up a piece of burnt toast and take a bite. I don’t want Flynn to think I don’t appreciate his effort. I make sure my face remains passive as I crunch the charred remnants of bread. I take a large gulp of water to help swallow it down. Determined, I go for the eggs next. They aren’t bad exactly. I just never knew fried eggs could be this tough. When my fork doesn’t cut it, I pick up a knife to saw through it.
Flynn busts out laughing. “Stop, please. I mean, I really appreciate you trying, but I just nearly cracked a tooth on this bacon. It’s not worth it.” The corner of his mouth kicks up in that sexy grin I love.
I mimic it with my own. “It isn’tthatbad.”
“Yes, it is.” He stands, grabbing both plates. After setting them in the sink next to the wasted mug of coffee, he turns to the cabinet and takes out two boxes. “So, Lucky Charms,” he says, shaking one box, “or Apple Jacks?” he asks, shaking the other.
I giggle. Who knew I was a giggler? “That’s not even a choice. Lucky Charms all the way.”
He places the Lucky Charms box over his chest. “Girl after my own heart.”
A weird feeling travels through me. Not embarrassment, but warmth, almost like a physical manifestation of happiness, flows under my skin. Which is crazy. I’m being crazy.
Clearing my throat, I try to start a normal conversation and not randomly babble. “With your family owning a ranch, what made you want to become a mechanic?”
Great, now I am simultaneously picturing him in his mechanic overalls and a cowboy hat. I take a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly through my mouth while Flynn pours the cereal and grabs the milk carton that’s still on the counter.
