Page 28 of Space Cowgirl: Houston, All Systems Go
“Uh huh, sure. Whatever you got to tell yourself at night to stop you from crying over being a glorified human flashlight on EVAs.”
That wipes the grin off his face. He may be a tad insulted over the joke I made when he and I saved the day on our last space walk. Butcome on, that shit was funny.
“I can’t you wait ‘till I get you up there.” I point to the sky then rub my hands together in glee. “You’ll be the Goose to my Maverick.”
Bodie shoots me a look. “You do know Goosedied, right? That’s not a good way to make me feel better about beingyourwingman.” He mumbles something about wanting to fly next time.
“Ah, details.” I’m feeling happy for the first time since the creeptastic texts from my stalker started. Bodie’s grumbling isn’t going to get me down. Honestly? It only helps put me in a better mood. Plus, flying eight hundred miles per hour through clear skies ought to really get my system back in check.
I clap Bodie on the back, laughing. “Come on, flashlight.” I drop my arm and push him toward the crowd nearby. “Let’s get the boring PR stuff over with.”
“Jules! Can you give us the status on Dr. Lee’s relationship with Flynn West?” a woman shouts.
“Yeah, Jules. What’s the status?” Bodie whispers to me, in a Valley-girl like voice. He bats his lashes too but keeps his faced turned out of sight from the press.
Ugh, how do I live in confined quarters with this guy for months at a time?
“Same as always…” I scan the reporter’s press pass. “Susan from CNN.”
“HowisFlynn West these days?” Susan rotates toward me, eager for a juicy detail.
Stepping forward, arms folded across his chest, Bodie glares at the woman. “Don’t you think there are more important questions to ask than who an astronaut is dating?” One dark brow raises as he looks the reporter over, contempt on his features. “Or is it because they’re women you think this is relevant?”
“Damn, Bodie-wodie, when did you grow a sack?” I mutter while trying to hold my big PR smile in place.
That gets me an eyeroll, which he somehow manages while still staring daggers at the reporter.
Another reporter clears his throat. “Uh, could you tell us about the plane you’ll be flying today?”
I get a look at his pass. “Sure thing, John.” I step back and gesture to the plane behind us. “This bird here is the Northrop T-38 Talon,a supersonic jet trainer. It has two tandem seats, perfect for training purposes. In fact, this baby is the same model I learned to fly on in the Air Force. Well, almost. NASA’s paint job is a bit nicer.” I wink for the camera.
“How fast can it go? How high?”
“Great question…”—I squint at his pass—“Harrison. We go 40,000 feet up, 10,000 above general airliners. And the really fun part? It can get up to Mach 1.6.”
“What is the training purpose of astronauts flying the T-38?” another reporter asks.
Not one to play wingman for too long, Bodie answers. “The T-38 has been an integral part of astronaut training for thirty years. Though it can take astronauts through more than seven Gs, which makes even moving hands and feet difficult, the real importance of having astronauts in the T-38 are the real-time situations and quick thinking needed during flight.”
“What do you mean by real-time?”
While Bodie explains the difference between simulators and actual in-flight training, I scan the sky, impatient to be airborne. Bodie and Jackie are good with technical talk. I’m better atdoing. My mind wanders to my lists, the wedding thumb drive, and finally to Holt. I’ve tried not to think of him and his callused hands. Hands that helped birth a cow. Then watched me video conference in to an all-girls science class I’m mentoring this fall. And rounded out my interesting day on the ranch by making me a sandwich and discussing varying shapes of crystals to hang from rustic ceiling lights. I like a guy who can multi-task, who’s comfortable watching me take charge without trying to take over.
My stomach grumbles. He makes a damn good sandwich, too.
Bodie nudges me with his shoulder. Susan looks at me expectantly.
Shit.Focus. Holt doesn’t exist here. I’m about to show these reporters what I can really do. What I’m great at. What will hopefully put me one step closer to commander.
“Care to comment on the reports that you’ve lost your edge?” she asks with an evil smirk. “That the vacation you’ve taken is due to the last spacewalk’s toll on your mental state?”
I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
Bodie places a hand on my shoulder, making me realize I’d taken a step forward. “Seeing as no one here has any idea what you are talking about, care to elaborate on your so-called reports?” Bodie asks.
I stay quiet. Nothing I say will benefit me or NASA at this point. But if looks could kill, Susan would be a pile of ash right now.
“A source at NASA has come forward with concerns on Julie Starr’s mental state,” Susan finishes, looking smug. I hate salacious reporting. And what I hate even more is a woman trying to snuff out another woman’s moment with petty, untrue bullshit.
