Page 92 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
“Holy shit. No wonder,” Rose says, looking over the cover. “If the book is as hot as that model I need to start reading bodice rippers too.”
“They aren’t bodice rippers. They’re romance,” Trish says, pouting.
“Whatever. That cowboy has a twelve pack.” Rose gestures to the guy on the cover who’s straddling a horse and holding a thick length of rope. “I’d like to know what else he’s packing.”
“You find out on page fifty-six,” I say.
“Get out!” Rose yanks the book out of my hand and starts flipping through the pages. “You dirty, dirty bitches. I knew there was a reason I liked you two.”
Twenty-Six
Fuel Injection
Jackie
We readthrough all of Audrey Cole’s sex scenes. In all eight of her books. By the time we’re done, I feel flushed and need to take a cold shower.
“Audrey Cole is a genius,” Rose declares, fanning herself.
I nod. “Agreed.”
Trish shakes her head with a smile and pours herself another cup of coffee. She’d been suspiciously quiet as Rose and I made our way through all of Cole’s novels, but had looked pleased all the same.
When the coffee is gone and the books put away, Trish takes Rose and me home in her pickup truck.
“This is a pretty cool truck,” Rose says, appreciating the classic Ford model. “I like the older trucks. Before they got all boxy and boring.” She’s perched on my lap in the passenger seat. Though the truck has a bench seat, the long-handled stick shift makes it impossible to sit in the middle. Rose had insisted, since she’s shorter than me, that she had to be on top. I’d tried explaining how mass density and weight don’t have anything to do with height, but it had been a lost cause.
“You should take it to Flynn’s shop. He could fix it up like new. He’d love to get his hands on a vintage truck.”
I still at the mention of Flynn. I see Trish cut her eyes to me as she shifts gears.
“Uh, I mean...”
I awkwardly pat Rose’s shoulder. “It’s okay.” I clear my throat. “Trishshouldtake it to West Auto. I’ve seen what he can do with vintage cars. It’s amazing.”
There’s a beat of silence before Trish speaks. “Maybe I will, but I’m kind of used to it all rusted.”
Rose snorts. “Why do my new besties think driving rust buckets is cool? You guys are just weird.”
A few minutes later we pull into my apartment complex.
The first thing I notice is the car in my spot.
It is not mine.
My first thought is that someone stole my car. But, seeing as that’s improbable, my second, more logical thought is that my car finally imploded with rust and my landlord hadn’t wasted any time selling my parking space to someone else.
But then Ireallylook at the car.
“Stop. Stop the truck,” I yell.
“Sweetie, wearestopped,” Trish says to me.
“Oh.”
Rose murmurs under her breath, “About time, you fucker.”
“What? About time, what?” I glance back and forth between the back of her strawberry blond head and the shiny white 1962 Corvette parked in my space. “Did you do this?”
