Page 30 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
Such as kisses. Dates usually have kisses, don’t they? And not the cheek kind.
I should’ve read up on this.
“Wait,” he says, jumping the last two steps onto the landing.
I pause, not realizing I have basically run up the stairs to my door. “Oh. Sorry.” I’m out of breath again. I run up these stairs all the time without issue, but I’m still blaming them for my lack of oxygen.
Flynn steps closer to me, his hand pushing back the end of my ponytail. Goosebumps blanket my skin.
“I’d like to see you again.”
“Really?” Had he not been on the date I’d been on? I’m pretty sure bringing up multiple family deaths, traumas of my childhood and crafting with trash at the table are not the standards to which Flynn should hold his dates.
He steps back, running his hand through his hair. “I mean, if you want to. I don’t want to force you on another date. Especially as it didn’t seem you knew you were on the first one.”
“No!” I half-shout, while jumping up on my toes. His head jerks back. “No, I mean, yes,” I say quieter, “I would like to go out on another date with you.” Somehow my head is bobbing along to the bounce of my feet.
Holy Mercury. What iswrongwith me?
A large smile overtakes Flynn’s face and now I couldn’t care less if I’m doing the Macarena in front of him. He has thebestsmile.
“Good.” He steps closer again. “That’s good.”
Then his nose is nuzzling the side of my neck, skimming upward to my ear.
“This okay?” he whispers.
I nod my head once, trying to remind myself to breathe.
“You smell so good, Jackie.”
“Pheromones.”
Flynn pauses, pulling back a bit. “I’m sorry?”
“Pheromones.” I look up at the ceiling, trying to focus my thoughts. “Men and women send and receive subconscious odor signals. These odor signals are called pheromones, which are airborne chemical messengers released from the body that have a physical or emotional effect on another member of the same species.”
From the corner of my eye I see Flynn tilt his head to the side. “I’m smelling pheromones?”
“Yes.” I nod. “You are probably sensing my pheromones through the vomeronasal organ, which is then relayed to the hypothalamus, which, as you know, is responsible for emotions, hormones, and sexual behavior.”
“Ah yes.” Flynn dips back down to my neck, inhaling again. “The hypothalamus.”
I shiver. I don’t know if he knows he’s doing it, but ever since he’s encroached on my personal space, Flynn’s Southern twang has deepened. Between his proximity, the vibrations of his accent and the gentle scrape of his stubble against my neck, I’m going to need to change my panties ASAP. My hypothalamus is definitely working overtime right now.
His left hand cups the side of my head, the touch forcing my gaze to his.
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
I feel my eyes widen. I’m ninety percent sure he doesn’t mean on the cheek.
“You okay with me kissing you?”
I can’t find my voice in order to seek clarification on the placement of said kiss, so I simply nod.
He leans in slowly, eyes not leaving mine until the last moment, right before our lips meet and I close my eyes. The kiss is gentle, light, like the ones I’ve felt before. But then he presses deeper and my whole body jolts, stiffening with shock. He pulls back, a question in his eyes.
“Uh, sorry?” I say, not entirely sure why I’m apologizing, except for the fact that he’s probably kissed more girls than I have guys. Girls who probably don’t overthink and freeze up when they’re turned on. Girls who know what the heck they aredoing.
