Page 16 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
“What the heck?”
“Calm down. I’m taking you to work.” Flynn’s arm is anchored under my ass, which is pointed skyward and jostling with every step he takes toward his car.
I’m being manhandled. I’ve never been manhandled.
I have no idea what to do. So I do nothing. This seems to suit Flynn just fine. He crosses the lot, opens the passenger door with his free hand and flops me down onto the seat. How he manages to do all that without breaking a sweat, or my head on the car, is beyond me.
Flynn gets behind the wheel and wastes no time bringing the car to life. He looks over at me, eyebrow cocked. Him mirroring my earlier expression is not lost on me.
When I get myself and my lady parts under control from the unexpected hum of the engine, I answer his unasked question. “Follow NASA 1 under the overpass toward Saturn Drive.”
While Flynn maneuvers out of the parking lot, I make use of my phone. I also make use of my Kegel exercises as the car continues to growl.
“Ian? It’s Jackie. Yeah, I heard. Listen. I need you to come get me at the badging office. The, uh, guy who’s giving me a ride doesn’t have clearance.” I cut my eyes over to Flynn. He raises his eyebrows at ‘clearance.’
“Thanks.”
Ian does not sound pleased. Apparently, I’m inconveniencing everyone today.
“Take a left on Saturn, then stay in the right lane.”
“Where do you work?”
I don’t answer, but he does as asked.
The car is silent. I don’t bother trying to fill it, I’m too busy trying to contain my hair in the wind whipping around the convertible.
“Turn here.”
“NASA? You work at NASA?” Clay, one of the security officers, approaches Flynn’s window, preventing me from reacting to Flynn’s apparent shock. I grab my security badge from my purse and lean across Flynn to show the guard.
“He’s just giving me a ride.” I motion to Flynn with my thumb. “I have another NASA employee picking me up to take me in. We just need to pull into the badging office.” Clay nods and waves us over.
The badging office is right next to the security post. This is common protocol for non-employees. Everyone is required to have a badge to go any farther on NASA property, even guests of employees.
I lean back and loop the lanyard attached to my badge over my head, pulling my mess of hair through it. Flynn makes the immediate right into the parking lot, cutting confused, side-eye glances at me as he does. Ian’s already there, leaning against his car. I’ve never really noticed cars before, but I do now. Maybe it’s because I’ve gone from driving my junker to riding in Flynn’s bad boy car. Who knows? But right now, as I open Flynn’s car door with a distracted “thanks” and hop out, I realize Ian has a really nice car too. Whereas Flynn’s is all muscle, Ian’s is what I would call sleek. The cars seem a perfect match for their owners.
“Who’s this?” Ian’s head jerks in Flynn’s direction.
Hmm. Maybe good looking men are incapable of polite greetings.
I glance back to see that Flynn has gotten out of the car. He makes his way around the back end to stand next to me, arms crossed, jump suit still tied around his waist.
I wave my hand in Flynn’s direction. “This is Flynn. He owns West Auto. He’s fixing my car.” I realize that might not be true after my little hissy fit. Justifiable hissy fit, but still. The question must have been evident in my voice because even though he keeps his eyes on Ian, he nods. I clear my throat. “Yes, well, I had just dropped off my car to be fixed when the call came in about the EVA problems,” I continue. “Flynn wasniceenough to give me a ride.” I don’t think anyone missed the sarcasm I laid on there.
Flynn grins. I have to actively look away so my brain doesn’t shut down again.
And although Ian is one good-looking guy, my brain seems to function just fine around him, even when we aren’t taking shop, as it were. Ian simply looks annoyed. Which is understandable as I’ve called him out of the office during an emergency. The EVA results must be worse than I thought.
It takes me a second, but I realize that neither of the men are particularly interested in me, or even aware of me. They’re staring each other down like boxers before the bell.
Men (insert eyeroll here). String Theory is more easily understood, I swear.
Moving closer to Ian’s car, I try and break the stare down. “We should go. I want to take a look at the footage from the ISS cameras. I need to ascertain the extent of the corrosion so we can get an emergency spacewalk operational as soon as possible.”
Ian finally looks at me. He’s what I like to think of as Polo Guy. The all-American, Ralph Lauren model kind of man. Sandy blond hair, blue eyes, straight white teeth. I’ve never really let my thoughts wander too much in his direction as he’s my co-worker, no matter what Jules has said. But if what she says is true and he likes me? I have to admit, that would be pretty darn flattering.
“Sure thing, hon.” Ian sweeps his arm in the direction of his car. He’s never called me hon before. It’s unprofessional. I decide it’s best not to think on that and deal with the more important things happening at the moment.
