Page 78 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
It could be his words. Or the feel of his arms around me. Or even the fact that he’s taken on most of my body weight in his strong embrace, relieving my exhausted muscles from the epic strain of keeping myself upright.
Whatever it is, it sparks something inside me. But instead of jumpstarting my brain, I’m pretty sure Flynn just hotwired my heart.
And I cry.
* * *
Flynn
Jackie’s hair is tickling my nose. I will the itch away and concentrate on the silkiness of her bare skin under my fingertips as I move them up and down her back.
After she cried against my chest outside her apartment, I picked her up, carried her inside and set her down on the edge of the bed. While I locked up the place, I heard her shuffle into the bathroom. A few minutes later she padded out barefoot, still in oversized mesh shorts and T-shirt. I stripped her down, pulled back the covers on her monstrous, cloud-like bed and tucked her in. She looked so young, her freckles more prominent against the white bedding, her long lashes resting on her cheeks.
It took effort, but I moved to walk away. The couch had my name all over it, and I was fine sleeping there. Fine with just being someone she could lean on, count on, without any strings. I’d only taken one step, when, quicker than I would think someone so exhausted could, Jackie grasped my hand and tugged me toward her.
Newscasters are saying Jackie’s a hero, that her idea to “hotwire” the computers saved the International Space Station. And she is, but she is also just a person. A person who had one of the most stressful days of her life, not at all helped by the bullshit drama I dropped on her doorstep. There is only so much a person can take, and Jackie has well exceeded that limit today.
She was more than half asleep, eyes closed, body cocooned in her cloud, but she still had a grip of steel. It wasn’t until I murmured I needed take off my shoes before getting into bed that she let go of my hand. But she opened one eye, keeping me in her sights while I shucked off my shoes, jeans and shirt and climbed into the bed.
Even as tired as she was, it wasn’t until I was fully settled behind her, spooning her tightly against me, that I felt her body finally relax into sleep.
I wasn’t there for Jackie earlier, but I damn well will be here for her now. I can’t just show up at her door after the fact. Jackie’s smart, strong and capable without me. But in this moment, with her hair tickling my nose, my arm asleep from holding her tight, and rocking a painful hard-on, I know that I’m right where I need to be. Making sure she’s safe.
Twenty-One
Black Flag
Flynn
I still haven’t managedto scramble an egg.
Which is probably the first lesson in ‘fending for yourself 101,’ aka ‘adulting.’ Even so, I have realized I will never earn that badge, insomuch that if my survival is one day dependent on me cooking eggs, I’m a certified dead man.
Grilled cheese, however, is a different story. I dominate the grilled cheese game.
I’m cooking for Jackie tonight. To be fair, grilled cheese is what I cook most nights we don’t eat out or get take-out, but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she was so overcome with gratitude when I made it for her after work last week, I swear she almost cried.
Personally, I think she’s set the bar too low. Though, after she’d told me about her dickhead ex, it makes sense. Even in my more douchebag school years I’d never made bets on a girl putting out. That’s a whole new kind of low. And knowing that dickface is just forty-five minutes away in Houston, playing formycity’s baseball team, chafes. Chafes hard. But part of the reason Jackie opened up to me, apart from wanting to explain why she’d been so quick to assume the worst when she saw me with Beth, was promising I said I wouldn’t do anything about the close proximity of her ex. Which was an easy promise to make before I heard the whole story. Now? I want to pummel his ass with his own bat. Although I now regret that promise, Jackie and I have come a long way since then.
It’s been two weeks since the emergency spacewalk, since the night I took Jackie home and held her as she slept, exhausted from stress and worry. The morning after, we talked. I explained the what-the-fuck fallout from Beth showing up at Boondoggles, complete with the incestuous backstory of Holt and her having slept together. We’d verbally committed to our relationship, so there’d be no further confusing anomalies (Jackie’s words). And then we talked some more. We’ve talked about our childhoods, our aspirations, and how our past relationships influenced our present. And we kept talking. We’ve even talked about the small stuff, like how Jackie thinks avocado toast is overrated and how I think self-driving cars will be the first step toward Armageddon. I now know she was scared out of her mind for her friend Jules during the spacewalk, but she set aside her fear and worked on a solution, like the badass she is. And I know she wants a dog and two kids, just like me. Well, if I had my way it’d be more like four kids and two dogs. But, you know, close enough.
Our talks have continued every night after work when she comes to my house in her piece of shit Honda. We’ve gone out a few times, meeting up with Rose and Trish, but mostly we order in take-out or I show off my culinary grilled cheese skills. I try a new cheese each time. I’m awesome like that.
It’s been a great two weeks.
I’m trying hard not to lose my man-card over how happy she makes me, but it’s a near thing.
Smart, beautiful and funny. Jackie’s the trifecta, for sure.
I hear the garage door opening, which gives me a few minutes to set the table.
And by set the table, I mean scooping the sandwiches onto paper plates and plopping them down on the counter. Two bottles of water, an apple each, and I’m set. Gourmet at its finest.
The laundry room door opens and closes. “Flynn?”
Yeah, that’s right, not only did I give Jackie my extra garage remote, but she has a house key too. This shit is serious.
“Hey, babe, in the kitchen,” I call out across the great room, ripping two paper towels off for napkins.
