11. Countdown
ELEVEN
COUNTDOWN
Jackie
I’m in Flynn’s car again. The green one. But the difference a dance and the absence of panties makes is significant. Like discovering ice on Jupiter significant.
Then there’s the alcohol. Sweet Neptune, the alcohol.
I blame Flynn. And Rose. And Trish. In fact, all my new friends are bad influences.
Wait a minute. Is Flynn a friend? I can’t help but glance down as his thigh muscles bunch and flex whenever he changes gears.
Operation Social Life hadn’t included hot guys.
Just friends. Learning to be more social.
Helping myself become more normal in social settings so that I can get past those last hurdles on my way to becoming an astronaut.
But I’m not sure I can categorize Flynn as a friend.
You don’t get turned on by your friend’s thighs or imagine tracing the contours of a friend’s abs with your tongue.
Do you? Not to mention our date, or the kiss. The one with tongue.
I could just chalk up my Flynn fascination to alcohol. But even I can’t ignore the fact that I’ve been hyper aware of him since he barged into Rose’s room shirtless and angry. Or how I attacked him like cesium on water. Boom.
Hmm, I’m thinking about dangerous chemical reactions. How many drinks did I have? Let’s see, there was the initial Captain and Coke, then Sex on the Beach and the Blow Job. After dancing, the bar crowd tried enticing me into an encore show of my Blow Job skills, but Flynn shut that down.
I giggle.
“What’s so funny?” Flynn asks.
“Blow Job skills.”
The car swerves slightly. “Fuck, Jackie.”
I giggle again.
After some water and another dance, Flynn helped me back into my jacket and hustled me out to his car. I was going to put up a fight. Honestly. But one look at Rose and Trish, who’d been high-fiving each other at Flynn’s initiative, and I knew I wouldn’t be getting any help from that quarter.
Okay, let’s be honest. I hadn’t really wanted help.
True, I’ve been pushing Flynn away after that thoroughly confusing kiss, but after a makeover, learning the two-step, coitus-named shots and my very first sext, I’ve owned up to the fact that I don’t really want to push him away.
Plus, Rose had called me out on my faulty logic. Faulty logic is just the worst.
Flynn is older than Brian was, more mature. He’s worked hard to be one of the best in his field and runs a successful business. That takes real dedication and drive. Focus. Commitment. All those things are just as hot as the muscles he’s packing. Or, you know, close to it.
A passing car’s headlights illuminate Flynn’s face, making the hollows under his cheekbones more pronounced.
He lifts his hand from the gear shift and runs it through his hair, pushing back the locks that have fallen forward.
His shirt sleeves are pushed up, revealing the tendons in his forearms. He drops his hand back on the gear shift while the other rests over the top of the steering wheel.
Pumping the clutch and pressing the gas, he shifts gears, his movements fluid.
From context clues in some of my romance novels, I understood the concept of arm porn, but it isn’t until Flynn that I truly got it . A good reminder that theory and practice are two very different things.
He’s so fine.
But I’m discovering so much more than that. He has a sense of humor. He’s confident, but not cocky. And he seems to like me, even when I nerd out on him. Actually, especially when I nerd out on him. No one’s ever really liked that side of me before.
Plus, he’s Rose’s big brother. I like Rose, and Rose likes Flynn, therefore, I’m safe in liking Flynn. There’s a lot of faulty transitive logic in that statement, but I’m going to actively ignore it this time.
There’s more shifting, more muscle flexing. I fidget in my seat, but freeze when I feel my dress scrunch higher. Warm leather caresses my ass cheeks.
Flynn’s hand stills on the wheel. He’s looking straight ahead at the road, but I’m pretty sure he’s tracking the upward progression of my dress in his peripheral vision.
He lets out a long, slow breath, then makes the left into Clear Lake Forest, winding through the neighborhood to his house. His awesome, awesome house.
“When did you buy this place?” I lean forward to get a better view as he pulls into the drive. While also trying to covertly pull down my dress.
The dress is not cooperating.
Flynn reaches an arm over to my visor and presses the garage door opener clipped there.
I take a deep breath, enjoying his scent.
Whereas I probably smell of booze and sweat, he smells delicious.
The sexy scent makes me want to research whether or not cologne companies are bottling pheromones.
But I’m pretty sure what I’m breathing in is all Flynn.
“About two years ago. A little after I opened the shop.”
“What made you want to open—wait. Is that my car?” The garage door fully opens, revealing my old, rusted Honda. Minus the dent.
“Yeah, I...” Flynn shakes his head and smiles, pulling up alongside it in the wide three-car garage. “I kind of forgot I had that here.”
“You forgot that you had my car parked in your garage?”
He nods.
“Why would you have my car here?”
“Well...” He runs his hand through his hair again. “I thought you might try and sneak into the shop when I wasn’t there to get your car back. So I brought it home when I was finished with it.” He snorts. “That way you’d have to talk to me.”
I don’t have a response for that. First, that’s a brilliant plan. Second, it shows he really does like me. It takes me a moment to realize I’m staring at him, my mouth slightly open.
Flynn leans in and cups my cheek with his large hand.
“And I really wanted to talk to you again.” His thumb sweeps across my bottom lip.
Oh my. I’m sure he’s going to kiss me until he leans back and exits the car.
I blink a few times, trying to clear my head, while Flynn rounds the hood and opens my door. He’s holding out his hand for me.
I place my hand in his and swing my legs out of the car, trying to keep from flashing him, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure that when I stand, it takes my dress a second longer to fall down over my ass cheeks than I’d like.
How do I know this? I know because Flynn takes in a sharp breath before he hauls me to him.
Flynn
A man can only take so much, and I’ve reached my limit.
Hell, I reached it when Jackie took that Blow Job shot.
I reached it again when I slid the leather jacket down her bare arms, revealing the great expanse of skin left visible from her barely existent dress before she proceeded to inform me on the correct orbital metaphor for two-stepping.
And I reached it when she’d giggled, freaking giggled , in my car while thinking of blow job skills.
But now, now that I’ve seen that bare, milky white ass cheek sliding against the tan leather of my car, I’ve definitely hit my fucking limit.
I lean down, the descent made easier because of her heels and the shocked expression on her face.
Her mouth already open, I delve, my tongue stroking hers.
My palms slip under her leather jacket and up across her bare back, pulling her tight into my embrace.
Each arm wraps around her until my fingertips brush the sides of her breasts, so easily accessibly in the scrap of fabric she’s wearing.
She’s lithe but solid, like a Lamborghini built for the curves of a racetrack.
Her arms fold up between us, palms resting on my chest, her fingertips curling into the neck of my T-shirt.
Jackie tastes sweet, a mix of those damn shots she drank and whatever flavor of lip gloss she’s wearing. I pull back far enough to drag my lips across her jaw and down her neck.
Fuck, I’m hard.
What is it about her that drives me so nuts? It doesn’t matter if she’s talking, sulking, yelling or silent, I just want her. Want to be around her, in her.
Remembering the way our last kiss ended, I slowly lean back, taking in her flushed face and tilted glasses, waiting for her reaction.
Her eyes are still closed and a Mona Lisa smile spreads across her face.
I can’t help it, I dip back down to rub the tip of my nose against hers.
The gesture is more sweet than sexy. But her smile spreads wider afterward, so fuck it, I guess I’m sweet now.
Her eyes open. This close they take on an owlish quality behind her lenses. Brown eyes. I’m not poetic or anything, and I’m not sure if there is anything sexy about the color brown, but right now, they are the prettiest eyes in existence.
“Jackie.” I touch my nose to hers again. “I need to get you inside before I rip that damn dress off you and do something to you on my car that other vintage car collectors would kill me for.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“Going into the house?”
“Well, yes. But also, the thing on the car.”
I squeeze her tight and groan. “Jesus, darling. You’re gonna be the death of me.”
She sighs and sinks into the hug, turning her head to rest it on my chest. “I don’t even mind when you call me that.”
“What?”
“Darling. I usually hate it when people call me that. But I like it when you do it.”
I drop a light kiss on the top of her head. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” The word blows out of her in a breath, the tendrils around her face dancing.
“Darling, there are a good many things I’m hoping to do that you’ll like.” I close my eyes for a moment, gathering the strength I need to step back. But when I do, I grab hold of her hand, unwilling to completely surrender her touch.
Fingers entwined, I lead Jackie out of the garage and through the side door to the house. When I flip on the lights, she stops mid-stride, tugging my arm back.
For a minute I’m worried she’s having second thoughts, until I catch the look on her face. Eyes wide, mouth open, gaze sharp, seemingly undimmed from the alcohol, she scans every surface.