Page 86 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
But the man-bun isn’t why I’m here.
“Yo,” I call out, getting the guy’s attention.
He smiles when he sees me pushing off the side of my car to walk toward him. He actually pulls a Sharpie out from his pocket. “Always have time for my fans,” he says.
I hate him on so many levels right now.
I stop about a foot away, letting all the rage I have boil to the surface. “I’m not a fan.”
“What—”
My fist connects with his face, snapping his head back before he crumples to the ground. The man-bun cushions his fall.
Honestly, for a shortstop, his reaction time is for shit.
When he just lays there in a puddle, I nudge him with my boot, which gets a low moan out of him.
What a pussy.
I crouch down to make sure this douche bag hears every word. “You ever lay a hand on Jackie again, you even speak her mother-fucking name, and I will end you. Physically. Financially. Socially.Endyou.”
I rise and step over the groaning ballplayer and slide into my Mustang Boss. I flex my slightly swollen fist, then grip the steering wheel hard.
First, I need to hit the shop. I have some work to do.
But then? Then it’s time to get drunk.
* * *
“Turn on the TV!”Rose flies through the side door and runs over to the TV.
I wince at her booming voice, lifting my head from the couch. “Rose?” Six p.m. and I’m still nursing my hangover from the night before, after I finally finished my project at the shop. It has taken a full week of nonstop work, but it was worth it.
“Where is it?” She turns one way, then the other before she starts ripping cushions off the couch. Cushions I’m currently lying on. “Where’s the fucking remote?”
“Damn it, Rose. Hold up.” I get off the couch, squinting as my head pounds. “Calm down, it’s right here.” I pick up the controller from the side table and hand it to her.
Rose whirls to the TV, clicks it on and starts channel surfing like a champ. “Fox News! What channel is Fox News?”
“Rose, you’re going to break the—”
“Ah ha!” Rose triumphantly gestures toward the TV. “There she is.”
Sitting on a red chair in a newsroom studio is Jackie. Well, itlookslike Jackie, but not. This Jackie is infinitely more polished. Her hair is up in some sort of twist thing I usually see on older women driving Mercedes four-door sedans. Instead of her usual uniform of jeans and Converse she’s wearing an actual pantsuit with heels. She looks about as comfortable as a 1978 Corvette off-roading across the desert. At least she’s still wearing her glasses.
Those sexy fucking glasses.
The screen splits, showing her friend Jules and another guy floating around in the International Space Station. Holt walks around the couch and sits down. Rose takes the chair.
“Dr. Lee, astronauts Julie Starr and Vance Bodaway, thank you for being with us today,” the newscaster says, then chuckles. “Well maybe nothere, in your case, Miss Starr and Mr. Bodaway, but thank you for taking time to call down to us from the station.”
“No problem, Vanessa. I can call you Vanessa, can’t I? And I sure hope you’ll call me Jules. Miss Starr sounds like a beauty pageant contestant.”
“Just Bodie for me, ma’am,” Vance says.
“And I’m pretty sure Jackie is cool dropping all her titles, aren’t you, Jackie? Dr. Lee is her father.” Jules winks into the camera. Jackie starts rolling her eyes but stops halfway, glancing at the camera and blushing.
“Of course.” Vanessa adjusts the tilt of her head away from Jules to address Jackie. “Let’s get down to it, shall we?” At Jackie’s blank stare, she continues. “As a NASA Flight Operator, you have many different tasks associated with keeping the astronauts safe and the station up and running. But out of all that you do, what gave you the idea to essentially hotwire the International Space Station?”
