10. Orbital Resonance #2
I bend one way and then another while looking at my reflection. If I keep from squatting or bending down to touch my toes, which I’m pretty sure are not normal girls’ night out maneuvers, I think I can limit the free anatomy lessons made possible by the removal of my underwear.
I feel for my phone in my other pocket. Still no text from Flynn. That’s good, I tell myself. That’s what I wanted.
Right?
I open up my texts and thumb our conversation open. His last text, It gets me hard, stares back at me. The alcohol is vibrating through my veins to the rhythm of the two-step I can hear blaring from the speakers. My thumbs fly across the screen.
Jackie: How hard?
Oops. Is this what people mean when they warn not to drink and text?
The three period ellipse pops up under my text. Oh my God. Flynn just read my text.
Panic builds until I catch my eyes in the mirror. True, I might be out of my element, and in unfamiliar surroundings. But I’m a woman, who, if I believe even a smidge of what Trish, Rose and Jules say, is at least mildly attractive. I can text a good-looking man. I can be sexy. I can sext .
The booze and heels may have gone to my head.
Feeling quite pleased after my pep talk, I nod at myself in the mirror and pull the door open, a little extra sway in my step. Crossing the threshold, the heat from the packed bar and the pulsing beat of the music hit me, making me pause.
“Hello, darling.”
I spin around, hand on my chest.
Flynn’s leaning against the wall, eerily reminiscent of the first time I saw him. Except this time, he notices me. This time he’s actually talking to me. When he sees me notice the phone in his hand, a smile curls up on one side of his face.
“I got your text.”
Forget my earlier pep talk about being a confident woman.
My whole body burns with humiliation. I clear my throat, trying to find words that will make me want to die a little less.
Not able to meet his eyes, I address a spot over his right shoulder.
“Yes, well, the appeal of that particular text was that it lacked the complexity and messiness of a personal, face-to-face interaction.” I move to adjust my glances but pause when Flynn takes a step closer.
The smell of his cologne, subtle but intoxicating, fills my lungs, and I hate to say it, but I may be regretting getting rid of that thong when I feel myself dampen. Pheromones. Those damn pheromones.
Flynn reaches out a hand, tilting my face to his with two fingers. “Yeah, but the appeal of face-to-face interaction is the simplicity of you putting your hands on me so you can feel exactly how hard I am.”
I open my mouth. I close my mouth. My mind simply blanks.
“I need a drink.” I turn away and make for our table. Rose and Trish are there grinning like idiots. “More shots?” I ask when I get there.
“Honey, you may need to keep your wits about you with that one,” Trish says.
I glance back to see Flynn sauntering after me. “I don’t know. My wits never seem to help me out in these situations.”
Unhelpful, Trish and Rose just smile.
Two hands rest on my shoulders.
“Let me take your jacket.” Flynn has it half slipped from my arms before I can stop him.
I try raising my elbows to stop the progression, but it’s too late. The leather falls away into his hands.
“Christ, Jackie.”
“You got her to take off the jacket—well done, bro.” Rose raises her fist for him to tap, but he leaves her hanging.
I can only imagine it’s because his eyes are still glued to the particular bit of me now on display courtesy of the dress Rose and Trish made me wear.
The only reason I’d agreed to it was because they’d promised me the biker jacket.
One, because I’ve always wanted a leather jacket—very badass and all.
And two, it matches my boots. Third, and most importantly, it covered the top half of the dress.
Until now.
Yes, the dress is short, but the most scandalous part is the back. The front dips to a V, nothing too indecent. It’s the back, or rather total lack of a back, that makes the dress so scandalous.
Needless to say, I had to go braless.
Feeling his eyes on me from behind, I slowly turn around. Flynn swallows. The realization that without the thong, the only thing covering me is a pale pink swatch of stretchy fabric has goosebumps traveling over my skin.
Flynn’s gaze locks on my chest, where my braless state has made it clear I may be feeling a bit chilled without the jacket.
“We’re dancing,” Flynn states, tossing my jacket on a chair before guiding me to the dance floor with one hand on my exposed back. The brand of his hand is enough to shock me into moving forward. But I come to my senses at the edge of the dance floor.
“I don’t dance. I’ve never two-stepped before.” I lean back on his hand, trying to reverse directions. “This isn’t going to work.”
Flynn pushes back and helps me step onto the raised wooden planks. “Dancing is just two planets orbiting the sun.” He turns me around and takes me in his arms. My hair, which had been scattered around my shoulders, floats down my back again, covering most of my exposed skin.
I stiffen further. “Are you making fun of me?”
He looks genuinely confused. “No. Why would I do that?”
“Huh.” I remember what Rose had said. Maybe Flynn is different.
Statistically, he makes good odds. But his dancing analogy is all wrong.
“Planets orbiting the sun isn’t quite right, is it?
” I say, trying to ignore the tremor running through my body as he leans in.
“I mean, planets orbit the sun, but no two planets orbit simultaneously while orbiting the sun. Each has its own rotational path, which I guess can be compared to that of the couples on the dance floor.” I look up over his shoulder, lost in thought.
“Really, the two-step seems more like the orbital resonance of Jupiter’s moons, specifically the Galilean moons. ”
“Orbital resonance?” Flynn smiles. He has such a sexy smile. It does wonderful things to the corners of his eyes.
“Hmmmm?”
“You mentioned orbital resonance?”
“Oh, yes. Orbital resonance.” I’m thankful for the flashing lights and general dim atmosphere that hide what is probably my beet-red complexion, and look back over his shoulder, away from his distracting smile.
“That’s when two orbiting bodies, such as you and myself, exert a regular, periodic gravitational influence on each other.
That way, as we maintain our rotational path around the dance floor, as the moons do around Jupiter, we also create our own orbit.
A circle circling in a circle, if you will. ”
“You mean like this?”
Suddenly, I’m spinning. Before my thoughts can trip me up, or my feet, Flynn’s hands come back to me, guiding me toward him again.
“I’m dancing!” It hits me that I’ve been dancing ever since Flynn had me talking about orbits. “You tricked me!”
But I’m not mad, far from it. I laugh long and hard at the thrill of actually being one of those couples orbiting the dance floor.
I can feel my center of gravity being controlled by one of his hands on my hip while the other clasps my right hand.
The flashing lights blur as he takes me around the floor, navigating through and around the other couples like one of his muscle cars weaving through traffic.
I’m still laughing when I tilt my head up to his.
He isn’t smiling anymore, though his eyes are soft.
He has a look on his face I can’t name, but whatever it is makes my breath quicken.
I’m aware of how small my hand feels in his.
Hands that can build things, create and restore.
They’re large and callused against my own and I suddenly want them everywhere.
The hand at my hip flexes and drifts a shade lower—one finger dipping beneath the fabric at my back.
I stumble.
“Whoa, I got you.” He moves in closer, until our bodies align like magnets. The push and pull of our forces dance against each other to the rhythm of a country song I can’t name but will never forget.
All that exists is his body moving against mine. Pushing forward, swaying, pulling back. I can’t think, I simply react in tandem to his movements. I’m lightheaded. I take a deep breath, which pushes my breasts further into his chest. He smells good. God, so good. And he’s hard.
So very hard.