Page 22 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
“Hey, Clay!” The officer dips down, jerking the flashlight to Jackie, who raises a hand to her eyes. “It’s me, Jackie.”
“Oh. Hey, Dr. Lee.” He lowers the light and takes his other hand off his gun. “You okay?” His eyes go from Jackie to me.
“I’m good, Clay. This is my friend Flynn. He’s giving me a ride home.” She reaches over and pushes my arms down.
Clay chuckles. “Car trouble again, Dr. Lee? I’ve told you to get rid of that old thing.”
Jackie rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” She cuts her eyes to me. “You’re not the only one who thinks that, I’m sure.”
Clay tosses a wave in our direction and walks off.
“DoctorLee?” I ask when Clay is out of earshot.
Another blush. “Uh, yeah,” she mumbles.
“That’s pretty badass.”
“It is?”
I don’t get why she finds that surprising. “Yeah, it is. I did the basic four years.” I can’t remember a damn thing I learned at Baylor. I’d been too busy coasting on my family’s name with drinking, women and spending the opposite of hard-earned money. “But afterwards, I went to trade school. Cars were more my thing than books.”
“That’s great.” Jackie is nodding her head as she talks. “I think trade schools are vastly underrated.”
I can’t tell if she’s fucking with me or not. She looks sincere, but this is a PhD I’m talking to. I really would’ve thought I’d get a condescending look when I mentioned trade school. I sure as shit did from my friends back home.
I nod, then reach back under the dash, while pushing in the clutch.
“Wait!” Jackie says, putting her hand on my arm, ducking her head down, trying to see what I’m doing. “What’s next?”
“Sorry, forgot.” I sit back so she can see my left foot on the clutch. “The clutch should be pressed all the way down before you touch the wires.” Then I reach back under the dash, the steering wheel pressing into my shoulders and chest to finagle the bundled set and the starter wire together. The engine ignites, making Jackie’s expression light up. I touch the gas a few times, causing the engine to rev and vibrate the whole car. “Then you rev the engine afterwards so it doesn’t stall.”
The first time I revved the engine, her lips parted slightly. The second time, her eyes close and she looks like she’s on the verge of coming. Without thinking, I touch the gas pedal again.
She moans so softly I almost don’t hear it. But that red-hot blush spreading across her face and neck tells me I’m not imagining it.
I love vintage cars. The sight, smell and feel of them. My blood might as well be motor oil. It’s why I got off my ranch horse, said good-bye to the suit jobs and into the car restoration business in the first place. There have been no regrets since I made that decision.
But now, with this shy, standoffish, hard-to-pin-down girl close to ecstasy from the V-8 engine I personally rebuilt? I’m grateful all over again.
Something tells me Jackie might like more than just a lesson on how to drive stick.
Five
Green Flag
Flynn
Jackie hadn’t been lyingwhen she said her apartment was close by. It’s also a shit hole. The sign out front says Regatta Apartments, but it’s been nicknamed the Reghetto by the locals. I pull in through the broken security gate, my hands tightening on the wheel.
“Thisis where you live?”
She blinks a few times, as if waking from a daydream. “Yeah.”
“Why here?”
She frowns, like she’s confused by the question. “Whynothere?”
“Have you looked at this place lately?” I ask, prying a hand off the steering wheel to gesture outside.
