1. No Way
ONE
NO WAY
Trish
This is crazy.
The cool metal of the outside of my Airstream trailer presses against me as Ian moves closer.
This is stupid.
His lips trail down my neck, his hands raising mine over my head. I’m pinned in place.
This is so good .
For months I’ve kept Ian at bay. Ignoring his flirting, pretending to be busy or uninterested whenever he asked me out.
But tonight at the Big Texas Saloon, while I watched Jackie in Flynn’s arms and Jules and Holt dancing around each other while holding off what we all know is inevitable, Ian slipped through my defenses.
All it took was a drink and a dance, and I knew I’d take him home with me.
It’s my final test.
Ian’s a rich boy. His clothes, his car, his very demeanor screams money. We could have easily gone to his house, which is probably some penthouse or bachelor pad condo, but I brought him to my trailer.
It’s a glimpse of the real me. I can’t tell him everything. I can’t tell anyone everything, but I can show him this. I’m not fancy, no matter how I’ve refined my accent over the years. I’m not a lady, no matter how perfectly applied my lipstick is or how high my heels.
I’m trailer trash.
“Trish.” His tongue licks behind my ear, sending goosebumps down my neck, my nipples hardening almost painfully.
My ears are my kryptonite. “Hmmm?”
“Let’s go to my place.”
It takes a minute for his words to penetrate this lust-filled fog I’m in. I had to have heard him wrong. “Excuse me?” I mean, true, he did stiffen when I told him to turn into the trailer park, but I’d hoped it was because he was worried about his car on the dirt lane.
“My place.” His voice is a whisper, blowing where he’s just licked.
Sweet baby Jesus. My pelvic floor clenches, and I swear if he does that one more time I’ll come.
But he doesn’t, so I muster the strength to pull back. “No.” My plain brown eyes meet his piercing blues. “If you want me, you can have me. But here.”
I’m being stubborn. I know. But being here, in my home, is the one thing I have left of the real me. It means something.
His nostrils flare, but otherwise I can’t get a read on his expression. Annoyed? Determined? “Okay.” He nods once, so serious it’s like he’s making a deal with the devil.
It’s insulting. I should grab hold of some pride and tell him to take a hike if he thinks he’s above setting foot in my trailer. Instead, I place my hand over the front of his slacks and rub the thick length of cock underneath it.
Because it’s been so long .
And because it’s Ian.
With a moan, he grabs my hand and pulls me to the door. I make quick work of the locks, and no sooner have I pulled open the door than he spins me inside, backing me up again, this time against my small kitchen counter.
Before I know it, my ass cheeks are resting on the cool laminate, my skirt having billowed out when he lifted me up.
His kisses are rough, almost desperate. But I don’t really have time to analyze much as my body has taken over.
Using my leg muscles, well-honed from living in nothing less than three-inch heels all the time, I pull him closer, his belt buckle hitting the small piece of fabric of my thong.
His head lifts, and his hands smack into the upper cabinets behind me, caging me in.
“Yes…” I clench my ass cheeks, then release, over and over again, rubbing myself against him.
I’m so lost in sensation, it takes a minute to realize he’s gone still. “Ian?”
His breath is erratic, his eyes wild. A bead of sweat glides down his temple.
“Ian?” I repeat, placing my hands on either side of his face, turning his eyes to mine. But he isn’t there. The vacant, unblinking stare tells me he’s somewhere far away. “Ian!” I shake him slightly, enough to snap him back into the moment, his eyes blinking rapidly. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He staggers back a step, his long legs taking him up against the other side of the trailer. The contact makes him jump, and he nearly crashes into the ceiling.
“I can’t.” He spins, grasping for the door handle, trying to push it open before it unlatches. He does it again. And again. Turning and pushing, until the trailer is rocking for all the wrong reasons. “I have to get out of here.”
The desperation in his voice spurs me into action, and I jump down off the counter. In my hurry, I land wrong, and pain shoots up my leg. “Ian, wait.” I limp toward him, wanting to reassure him, but afraid to touch him. “Give me a second.”
“No!” His roar echoes around the small space, the impact taking my breath away. “Get me out of this godforsaken hellhole!” On the last word, he finally manages to open the door, sprinting out into the night.
By the time I recover and make it to the doorway, I have to jump back so as not to be hit by the arc of stones shooting across the side of my trailer from Ian’s tires as he peels out of my gravel drive.
The taillights of his high-end sports car are all I see as he speeds away from me. And from me.
And though it’s a different time, and a different place, and a different man, it’s my past repeating itself all over again. And it hurts.
For some reason, it hurts much worse this time.
Ian
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
Why does Trish have to live in a trailer?
Making the turn out of the park, I push down harder on the gas pedal, the wind whipping through the car windows, reminding me that I’m not trapped.
Whenever Jules mentioned Trish’s silver bullet, I thought she was referring to her vibrator. I’d compete with a battery-operated boyfriend any day of the week rather than enter a coffin on wheels.
And that’s exactly what it felt like stepping into Trish’s Airstream. Even with Trish in my arms, her nails dragging down my back and her lips on mine, the walls had closed in on me bit by bit. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom style. I hadn’t lasted five minutes.
And my father wonders why I can’t just get over my “little problem” and become an astronaut.
I’m more upset over my “little problem” costing me Trish.
My dash lights up with a call. Speak of the devil.
Stopping for a red light, I accept the call with a press of the button on my steering wheel. “Father.”
“Are you in your car? Why are you driving around so late on a Saturday night?”
Wincing at his booming voice, I hold down the volume control. “I?—”
“You can’t be fooling around in that fancy car of yours. You better not have been drinking.”
“I’m not?—”
“I can’t afford any trouble. Re-election is coming up. Don’t be selfish.”
It’s laughable, the irony of him calling me selfish. “Did you need something?” I would never consider any dealing with my father as positive, but at least the distraction of conversation has already taken the edge off my waning panic attack.
My father grumbles, probably more upset that I won’t engage with him than anything. The one thing he hates more than my “little problem” is that I refuse to engage head-on in any fight with him. One more example of my weakness, he says.
“I’ll be in Houston in a few weeks.”
Shit.
“Setting up fundraising for the next campaign.”
“I see.” The light changes, and I accelerate while mentally preparing myself for whatever boring event he needs me to attend.
“We’ll talk about the plan we have for your next steps at the fundraiser there.”
I take a right on NASA Road 1. “I’ll—wait, what next steps?”
He lets loose a long-suffering sigh. “I think it’s fairly obvious you’re never going to be an astronaut.” He snorts. “Don’t have the stones for it.” His mumbled comment comes through clear as day over the Bluetooth. “So now is the perfect time for you to transition into politics.”
My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, making the car swerve. Fuck .
He continues, “You made a name for yourself with that silly woman and the International Space Station thing a while ago, and now NASA is rising in popularity. Americans love space again.”
I can’t help but smile at how off-base he is. “Are you calling Dr. Jackie Darling Lee, a woman who holds various degrees, who practically single-handedly saved the International Space Station and who was recently promoted to astronaut a silly woman ?”
“I wouldn’t if you married her.” As if all a woman is good for is what she can bring to a marriage. My mother’s pale, stoic faces flashes in my mind. “Can’t beat that press.”
Everything with him is about image. “Jesus, Dad. She’s engaged.”
“Just one more time you were too slow on the uptake.”
The dig hits home. I don’t know why. It isn’t like I haven’t heard these things a million times by now. I would’ve thought I’d be numb to it. Maybe because there was a fleeting moment when I did think I should ask Jackie out. But that was before Trish.
“But marriage is what I’m calling to talk about.”
I nearly miss my turn onto Space Center Blvd. “What?”
“Marriage. Now that you’re going into politics, you need someone at your side who knows the game, someone who can help you succeed.”
I pull over into the Gilruth Center’s parking lot. NASA’s gym. It’s either that or crash the car. “I never said I was going into politics.”
“But I did.”
I hate that tone. It’s the tone that comes before he takes something important away from me. And he’ll keep taking until I give in to whatever he wants. I have a lifetime of experience with this. Toys, pets, friends, opportunities, my mother. Nothing is sacred to this man.
“I had the pleasure of lunching with Donald Hightower the other day. Made sure he knew I had a vested interest in the direction NASA is taking.”
Donald Hightower, deputy director of NASA, appointed by the President of the United States.
Rage builds inside me. Slow and steady, until I’m fairly sure I could rip the steering wheel off in one go. Years of practice allows me to sound unaffected. “Is that right?”
“That’s right. So if you want to leave NASA looking like a hero instead of having yet another failure on your resume, you’ll meet who I want you to meet and start preparing your election acceptance speeches.”
The dash goes black.
How did a night that started so spectacularly end so horribly?