3. Low Orbit
THREE
LOW ORBIT
Trish
My entire life fits into Ian’s boat garage.
If that doesn’t put things into perspective, I don’t know what will.
I can’t believe Ian has an actual boat garage. I didn’t realize they were a thing. I’m just lucky that even though he has the space for one, there isn’t an actual boat parked in there. Hence my trailer’s new home.
Following his fancy sports car in my clunker pickup through a tall tree-lined drive with all my worldly possessions attached to the hitch in the back, I thought he was taking me to a park.
Turns out it’s where he lives. Land is a prime commodity in this Houston suburb, zoned for one of the best school districts in the state.
And Ian built his big, fancy house on a huge double lot smack dab in the heart of it.
“Dang it.” I pull hard at the security pin locking my trailer to the hitch on my pickup.
For the past ten minutes I’ve been taking all my feelings of anger and shame out on my stuff.
But even with all that fueling my muscles the dang pin doesn’t budge.
“You’re saying that my payment for letting me crash in your garage is for me to accompany you to some fancy charity shindig?
” I brace my feet on the garage floor and pull again. Nothing.
“Yes.” Ian’s leaning against my trailer, the very trailer he called a hellhole, looking like a Ralph Lauren model in his polo shirt and jeans.
Sighing, I stand tall, or as tall as I go, hands on hips, glaring at the hitch. “That’s too easy. What’s the catch?” I glance at my truck, where my toolbox rests in the back. If I get my rubber mallet, I could bang this sucker out.
Ian comes up behind me, close enough to where I can smell the delicious cologne he always wears.
Aqua di Gio. I may know this because on a recent shopping trip with Rose I may have gone from perfume counter to perfume counter until I found the exact smell that can seemingly overwhelm my senses and make me act like a cat in heat.
Funny. The scent out of the bottle wasn’t nearly as potent as it is on Ian.
“Need help?”
Clearing my throat and breathing through my mouth, I side-step him and reach for the bungee cord holding my toolbox against the side of the truck bed. “No. I got it.” I manage to unhook one side of the bungee and slide the heavy metal box toward me. Rusty hinges squeak as I unlatch the lid.
“Here.” Ian extends his arm toward me, security pin in hand.
Pursing my lips, I nab it. “Thanks.” I toss it in the bucket along with the padlock and heavy metal chain I use to secure the trailer to my truck and begin storing my toolbox again.
“I can do?—”
“Nope.” I hold up a hand, noticing I need to give myself another manicure. “I got it.”
Ian rocks back on his heel and nods. The next few minutes are awkward as he watches me secure and store everything.
One thing trailer living will give you is a keen set of organization skills.
I’m used to having to put everything back in its place as soon as I use it to save space, but it sure is exhausting.
“You also have to pretend to be my girlfriend.”
I pause in closing the tailgate, replaying what he just said. I can’t have heard him right. Slamming the tailgate shut, I turn toward him. “What?”
He grimaces, looking out the garage door, out to his smoothly paved driveway bracketed by a well-manicured double lot in an upper-class family neighborhood. “You heard me.”
“Well, yes, I heard you. That doesn’t mean I understand what I heard.
” For what seems like the millionth time today, my eyes rake over his body.
“Why would you need a fake girlfriend?” Six feet of lean muscle wrapped up in well-fitted, expensive brand name clothes.
And to top it off, what is underneath is even more impressive. My eyes flick to his crotch.
I mean his brain. His brain .
Get your mind out of the gutter, Patty.
I think back on how Flynn’s ex showing up had caused all sorts of problems between him and Jackie, including the cops being called. “This isn’t an ex-girlfriend situation, is it?” I wipe my hands on the back of my cut-off jean shorts. “Honestly, I don’t think I could handle the drama.”
“No, this isn’t an ex-girlfriend situation. It’s a family situation.”
The man is making my brain stutter. “So not only do I have to pretend to be your girlfriend, I have to lie to your family.” I swallow, feeling suddenly nauseous. “I don’t think?—”
“Hello there!” A group of women power-walks up Ian’s long driveway.
Unlike my trailer park manager, Myra, these women are decked out in tight-fitting spandex, sports bras without actual shirts over top, and honest-to-God diamonds.
Tennis bracelets, large wedding and engagement rings, and huge diamond studs glint in the Texas sun as they shake their money makers up the driveway.
“Ian, dear, it’s so rare to see you out and about these days.” The taller blonde, and apparent leader of the group, says as they approach the edge of the garage.
“Hello, Veronica.” He nods at the other women. “Meghan, Kate, Melissa.”
“Hi,” they say as one before their heads swivel in my direction. Four sets of false eyelashes flutter as they give me the once-over.
It’s like I entered an episode of Desperate Housewives.
“And who is your friend?” Alpha housewife Veronica steps closer to Ian. She’s tall, even in sneakers, and I hate how the closer she gets, the higher I need to tip my chin to meet her eyes.
Why couldn’t I be wearing heels and makeup? Or in this case, might as well call it war paint, because I’d have to be an idiot not to realize this woman is throwing down the gauntlet. I may not want to win the war, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to win this particular battle.
“I’m Trish. Pleased to meet you.” I smile sweetly and extend my hand.
She pauses, but gives in to social pressure, extending her own. Her hand is limp in mine. Probably tired from all the diamonds weighing it down.
“Oh, an Airstream!” Melissa exclaims, a genuine smile on her face. “I’ve always loved those.” She turns to Ian. “Can I look inside?”
His face still passive, he tips his head in my direction. “It’s not mine, it’s Trish’s.”
“Oh.” The women all take in the meaning of that statement. My Airstream in Ian’s garage is the equivalent of staking my claim.
“Isn’t that nice.” Veronica looks like I pissed in her Cheerios.
“Your vacation vehicle, is it? My Henry and I were thinking of getting one, just to play around with on weekends, maybe.” Her perfect white teeth are bared in some semblance of a smile.
“But they’re so cramped, I’m not sure I could do it. ”
Kate honest to God titters and pulls her phone out of her bra.
“This”—I wave at the Airstream—“is my home. I live in there. Permanently.”
“Oh. Isn’t that something.” Veronica gives her friends a meaningful smile. “Ian’s place must be a nice little vacation from reality.”
Melissa has the good grace to look uncomfortable. “Um, I heard that they’re hard to find. Airstreams, that is. A lot of people are restoring them.” She cringes a bit at Veronica’s glare and shrugs. “I see it on Pinterest all the time.”
Smiling at Melissa, because I know full well what it’s like to speak out when others are judging, I nod. “I did do a bit of restoration when I got it. It’s a bit of a mess now, with me having just moved it, but when I set it to rights, you’re more than welcome for a visit.”
Not looking at Veronica or Kate, Melissa nods, a small smile on her rather pretty face. “Thank you.”
Veronica throws Melissa a sour look. “Yes, we’d all love a look at your quaint little trailer, wouldn’t we, Kate?”
“Yep.” Kate’s eyes are focused on her phone, thumbs flying.
“Did you need something, ladies?” Ian voice cuts across the tension.
I look at him, surprised. I’ve never heard him use such a harsh tone before.
Apparently it’s enough to shock Veronica out of her unveiled animosity as well. She shifts in her pristine Nikes. “Oh, no. We were just being neighborly is all.”
When Ian doesn’t smile in return, she steps back.
“But we have to be going now. Calories to burn!” She taps her Apple Watch.
“Come on, ladies.” With a wave, she turns, her followers starting to power-walk behind her.
As a woman, I can easily see the extra sway she puts in her step as she strides down the drive.
But when I turn to Ian, he isn’t looking at Veronica’s backside. His eyes are on me. “I…” He seems embarrassed. And I don’t know why, but that shoots a flame of anger through me. I break out in a sweat.
Using my anger, I haul the heavy generator out from the back of my truck.
Hurrying to my side, Ian tries pushing me away from the machine. “What are you doing?”
I push right back, edging him out of the way so I can set the generator down. My back twinges when I bend over. Dang it. Blowing out a breath as I stand, I fan myself for effect. “Well, sugar, it’s too dang hot for no a/c, even if summer’s fading.”
“But…” He glances at the generator before looking at me, frowning. “I have plenty of room in the house.”
“That’s okay.” I unroll the hook-up cables. “I’m good.”
“Running a generator is loud, the neighbors might complain.”
I smile at his grumpy tone. “Oh, sugar, no one will ever even hear this one.” Tilting back the generator on its wheels, I move it like a dolly outside the garage and onto the driveway.
Ian follows, still looking confused.
“This here gennie is a Honda EU2200i, and runs as quiet as a vibrator under the covers.” I pat the top of it, most likely looking and sounding like a used car salesman.
Ian opens and closes his mouth a few times but never actually speaks. I think me choosing to stay in my trailer instead of living in his mansion has stuttered his brain.
While Ian continues to gape, I grab the gas can and fill up the generator before turning it on. After the initial start, the Honda motor hums quietly. "See?” I say proudly. “No one will even know I'm here."