2. Big Bang #2
I shrug. “It does, I guess. But I… well, I’ve come to realize that my lack of social skills may be negatively affecting my professional trajectory.”
Trish pauses in reaching for a pair of super high heeled, red leather boots with fringe on the sides. “Say again?”
“Um, I need a life outside of work?”
She nods, dark hair waving. “That, I get.” She kicks off her shoes and slides into the red boots. They looked ridiculous on the shelf, so I’m immediately jealous when she stands up, gives them a test walk and looks implausibly amazing in them.
“But I thought you were friends with Julie Starr? Or do you just hang out at work?” In these boots, her eyes are on the same level as mine.
“I am and not exactly. She’s really cool, but super busy. You know, either in space or doing some sort of PR travel to DC. And it isn’t that I don’t like the rest of my co-workers, I’m just sort of…”
“Shy?”
“Well, I was going to say an extreme introvert with no social skills, but we’ll go with shy.”
Trish laughs.
“And even the ones I do talk to, it’s all me explaining the proportionate weight ratio needed to achieve optimum minimal buoyancy force. Or the negative side effects of drag time in water as opposed to the zero G of space.”
Trish replaces the red boots with her own and I can see clear over the top of her head again. “You’re like a genius or something, aren’t you?”
My ponytail falls over my shoulder when I look down at my feet. I don’t like talking about being smart. I mean, I’m not stupid, obviously, but when people hear about my degrees and what I’ve done they tend to think of me differently. Been there, done that, got the heartbreak to prove it.
“Anyway,” I say, waving her question away with my hand, “I thought, as an experiment, I’d change my natural environment to see if such a simple change would be enough of a catalyst to spark a reaction. Kind of ‘Big Bang’ my own social life, if you will.”
“Big Bang?”
“Yeah, the Big Bang, the more commonly accepted scientific explanation of the birth of our universe. The singular explosion that acted as the catalyst in the universe’s creation.”
“Ah, that Big Bang,” Trish drawls.
I can’t tell if she’s messing with me or not.
“Yeah, that one. Then I made the mistake of telling Jules about my social experiment.” I pick up a pair of all-black boots. Even the stitching is black. Very Johnny Cash.
“Why was that a mistake?”
“Because the stupid astronaut blackmailed me, that’s why!” I slam the boots down, causing the plastic display shelf to fall.
“Okay, you lost me again,” Trish says, helping me pick up the boots as I right the shelf.
“She said if I didn’t go out and execute my plan she was going to tell Ian that I want to have rough sex with him.”
And that is when Trish erupts into a fit of laughter so hard she has to bend over and rest her weight on the bench in the middle of the aisle. She finally just sits down on the floor. While she recovers I see that the Johnny Cash boots are also not available in my size. Figures.
“You like rough sex, huh?”
We both turn to see Rose in the next aisle over. Trish struggles to her feet.
“Rose?”
“In the flesh, darling.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on the top of the shelving. “Thanks for the ride last night.”
“You’re welcome.” I look at Trish and then back to Rose. “This is Trish.”
“I know. She helped haul my drunk ass into your car last night.”
“You remember that?” Trish asks. She sounds as surprised as I feel. Who knew Rose hadn’t been completely comatose last night?
“Yep. People rarely think I’m paying attention when intoxicated. But I do.” She’s wearing large black sunglasses and her hair is one step away from birds being able to inhabit it.
“How did you know we’d be here?” I ask.
“As I said, I was paying attention. Heard you two talking about boot shopping last night. And as this is the place to get boots, I took a chance.”
I raise my eyebrows. “The probability of us meeting here at the same time isn’t very likely.
I mean, how did you know what day we would meet up, or what time to come?
Or if Trish would actually call me?” I run through some numbers in my head, but there are too many variables and possible outcomes to calculate.
“Well, girl, the probability was increased by the fact that I paid the gentleman at the cash register a hundred bucks if he’d call me when a short brunette and a tall blonde with geek-chic glasses showed up.
” She raises her glasses up on her forehead, revealing a surprisingly fresh looking, makeup-free face.
“I’d say money well spent for the looks on your faces alone. ”
“I’m not short.” Trish pouts. “I’m just a petite Southern woman.”
“Hey, there. Nothing wrong with a petite woman. Good things come in small packages. Especially if that package is Tiffany blue.” Rose purses her lips and looks up at the ceiling.
“I take that back. Some good things come in small packages. If you’re a dude, and your package is small? That’s just sad.”
Their conversation fades while I contemplate Rose’s approach to finding both of us. “You solved a complex problem with a multitude of probable outcomes, due to nearly unquantifiable variables, by introducing the concept of capital gain.”
They both stare at me for a beat. I fiddle with my glasses.
“Don’t you just love the way she talks?” Trish asks Rose.
“I truly do.” Rose nods, taking her glasses completely off and resting her head in her hands.
Face flushed once again, I change topics. “Anyway, I hope your boyfriend wasn’t mad at you this morning.”
“Boyfriend?” Rose’s forehead creases.
“Mr. Holy-crap-o-la hot guy from the bar.” My body stiffens. “I mean...”
Trish and Rose laugh loud and hard.
Rose recovers first. “Did you just say?—”
“Never mind. Don’t repeat it.” I cut her off and look at Trish, mumbling, “He was the guy leaning against the wall at Rose’s party last night.”
“Oooo.” She squeals while turning her eyes to Rose. “Well done, sugar.” She holds out a fist to Rose.
“You mean Flynn?” Rose bumps the fist with her own in a way that is somehow cool and not ridiculous. “So, you think he’s hot, huh? Even after he yelled at you, and quite unfairly I might add?”
“Wait, what? How am I just hearing this?” Trish looks at me accusingly. “I asked you what happened and you made no mention of any hot guy drama.” She winces slightly in Rose’s direction. “I mean, Flynn.”
Rose waves Trish off while lifting her brows at me. “Hmmm. Now why wouldn’t you mention dear old Flynn?”
“It’s nothing. It was nothing. No big deal.” Damn it, my face probably looks like I had heat stroke. “ Anyway, I’m just glad I got you home okay.”
“In her piece of shit car, no less.”
“Thanks a lot, Trish.”
“Oh, speaking of your car. There might be a problem,” Rose says as she meanders around to our side of the shelving.
“What do you mean? Did you leave something in it?”
“I definitely left something.”
“I didn’t notice anything. Maybe it rolled under the seat. Was it your phone? Wallet? We can go look now if you want. My car’s just out front.” I start making my way past her toward the door, but Rose stops me with one hand, and gives me a business card with the other.
“What’s this?” I ask. She’s given me an automobile mechanic’s business card. “West Auto?”
“Yeah, that thing I left? It wasn’t last night. It was ten minutes ago.” For some reason, she looks quite pleased with herself. “It’s a big-ass dent.”
The car stutters as I park it at the garage Rose directed me to.
She had hit the side of my car, right by the back left wheel.
I still don’t understand how she did that pulling into the space next to mine.
She would have had to drive straight into my car.
When I explained that her accounting of events didn’t match the basic trigonometry of the accident’s angle, Rose just shrugged.
Next to me is a white luxury car that only seems to highlight the decrepit nature of my own vehicle.
It might be time to get a new one. I grab my bag and haul myself out.
Maybe I’ll get an SUV so I don’t always feel like I’m climbing out of a hole.
I pass what I now see is a BMW, and a vintage sports car with a For Sale sign propped on the dash.
Now, I don’t know much about cars, but I do know this particular car is badass.
It’s a cherry red convertible. It has that classic, boxy look to it, with the initials GTO on the front grill.
Wowzers.
I walk up to the driver’s side and peer in. White leather seats with a red dash. Stick shift. Hmmm, I don’t know how to drive a stick. Maybe Trish or Jules knows? With the way Rose apparently drives, I don’t think it’s a good idea to ask her.
A loud clank brings my attention back to the garage. It’s off NASA Road 1, about two minutes down the road from my apartment. Though it’s in the opposite direction from NASA, I still must have driven by it quite a bit. Funny what you miss when you’re not looking.
The auto shop is comprised of several open bays, most of which have more luxury cars in them. Even with my limited car knowledge, I know that my POS does not belong here.
I enter the glass-front office situated to the right of all the bay doors.
A guy about my age, maybe younger, is standing behind a hip-height desk clacking away at a computer.
I stand for a moment waiting for him to look up, but he doesn’t.
Instead he keeps ‘typing,’ which is really him just pounding two index fingers at some keys.
Who doesn’t know how to type properly these days?
“Hello?”
He pounds a few more keys and looks up. That’s when a smile spreads slowly across his face as his eyes drop to my feet and make their way up to my eyes.
Again—slowly. It isn’t the most seductive moment of my life, but as he has a nice smile, and he doesn’t actually leer, so I appreciate his appreciation.
Jules always says that a little innocent appreciation does a body good.
“Hello there.” He leans forward, resting both forearms on the counter. It does nice things for his biceps as they flex to take on some of his weight.
“Hi, yes. I’m Jackie. Rose sent me. Told me to ask for the owner, a Mr. West? Said he would know who I was.”
“Rose, huh?” His eyes travel over me, his eyebrow quirking when he gets to my Chucks. “Unusual.”
Before I can figure out what that means, he walks away. What the heck? I stand there for a few minutes and am about to leave to find my own mechanic when the office door opens and he walks in.
I can’t be this unlucky. Or lucky, I guess, depending on how you see it.
He already looks angry. I wonder if he’s perpetually pissed, or if there’s something about my general appearance that puts him off. Maybe hot guys are only nice to hot girls. And he is definitely a hot guy. Why didn’t Rose mention that her boyfriend owns the place?
Flynn, that is what she’d said his name is, has grease-stained coveralls on. Coveralls that are universally unflattering on any man, woman or child, and yet there he is looking like sex. Just straight-up sex. I’m peering over the counter to see if he has cowboy boots when he speaks.
“You wanted to see me?”
I snap my gaze up. He’s caught me checking him out. Crap. At least he doesn’t look angry anymore.
“Uh, yeah. I mean, yes. Sorry.” I will myself to relax enough to rifle through my bag and emerge with the card Rose gave me. “You’re Mr. West?”
“I’m surprised you don’t know that, as you were in my house last night.” He places his palms on the desk and leans forward. I endure yet another perusal of my person. This one leaving me a bit breathless.
I hear a snicker and realize the guy from before is behind him. I feel my face flush.
“Well,” I start, clearing my throat, “I was just getting Rose home. You never really introduced yourself, now did you?” I don’t like how he’s looking at me. It is... I don’t know, confusing. I don’t like being confused.
“Oh, I remember you all right. Just another college student home for the summer, I’m sure. Going out, getting drunk, being stupid.” He shakes his head like a father scolding a child.
I am not a child.
“Excuse me? I believe I was the one who got Rose home last night. Not you, her boyfriend , who was at the bar and then conveniently left when it was obvious she needed to go home.” I put my hands on my hips and lean right back into him.
He seems to pause at this, so I keep going before I lose my nerve.
“Here are my keys.” I slam them down on the counter between his palms. “My car is parked out front.” I jerk my thumb towards the parking lot.
“Apparently, thanks to Rose, who was nicer to me in a state of complete intoxication than you have been stone cold sober, I have a nice-sized dent on the side of my car. She gave me your card and told me to come here, that I would be... let’s see, how did she put it?
‘Treated kindly,’ as a favor for getting her home safely last night. ” I even use air quotes. I’m on fire.
Flynn has the decency to cringe at my words. It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience. My mind can’t believe that I am actually talking to a hot guy. Angrily. Coherently. Without stuttering or freezing up. And still I keep going.
“Now I don’t care if you fix it or not, but what I won’t do is stand here and listen to you blame me for doing nothing but care for your girlfriend while you were home doing God knows what.”
His brows pinch together and he opens his mouth, but I raise my hand.
In. His. Face.
I have no idea what has come over me, but it’s like I’m a bitch on a roll and I’m kind of enjoying it. I grab the pen on the desk that’s attached to a chain and flip over the card Rose gave me.
“Now.” I slam the pen back on the counter and thrust out the card.
“Here’s my number. If you want the job, fine, let me know when it’s done.
If you don’t, fine, let me know when to pick it up.
” When Flynn doesn’t take the card, I reach around him and hand the card to the other guy, who is now staring at me with a wide smile.
He takes the card with a wink. If I hadn’t already been red with anger I probably would have blushed.
A rumble comes from Flynn’s direction. He might have actually growled. I can’t be sure, as he’s looking at the other guy. But I do know I’ve poked the bear enough. I turn on the heel of my Chucks and beat it out of there.