13. Metadata
THIRTEEN
METADATA
Jackie
My mouth feels like the arid surface of Mars, and I ache in places that hadn’t been touched by another in a long time.
Oh, sweet Neptune, what have I done?
Flynn. I did Flynn.
When my cerebral cortex comes back online, all the details of last night flash through my brain, causing a slow grin to spread over my face.
Holy moly, I did Flynn.
I told Flynn I wasn’t drunk last night and I wasn’t. But in the bright light of morning, I can say, with absolute certainty, that those shots had most assuredly lowered my inhibitions. Did I really...?
Yes. Yes, I did.
My smile stretches wider.
I’m on my stomach, one arm flung over the side of the bed. Awesome. Super graceful, Jackie . Gently, I pull my hand back toward my face and turn over.
The other half of the bed is empty. Huh.
On the downside, his vacancy sets off a little spark of panic in my chest. But on the upside, Flynn isn’t there to witness my hangover face, which I’m pretty sure includes dried drool at the corner of my mouth and mascara smudges under my eyes.
I sit up, pleased to note that I don’t feel sick. Just thirsty. Looking around, I notice what I hadn’t last night. You know, since I’d been so busy getting busy.
A transom window above the bed lets in a lot of natural light.
So either Flynn’s an early riser or he can sleep through blinding sunlight.
With his job as a mechanic, and the fact that he’s not in bed right now, I’m thinking the former.
Light blue walls, honey oak furniture and, of course, the massive king size bed I’m lying in.
His room feels like Earth to my space bedroom. I’m not going to think too hard about that.
Everything is a bit blurry and I scan the area for my glasses. They’re right where Flynn placed them last night, folded nicely on the side table. I smile, thinking of the care he took with them, even in the heat of the moment. I put them on to continue my perusal with perfect clarity.
The closet door is open. It’s a walk-in, so I can’t see into its depths, but just inside there’s a pile of laundry on the floor. The rest of the room is quite tidy. No clothes strewn about or dirty dishes or clutter.
My dress and jacket lie across a chair near what I assume is the bathroom door.
In the light of day, I’m not too keen on putting that dress back on.
Especially without liquid courage or girl posse peer pressure.
I still, listening for Flynn, but don’t hear anything.
Slipping out of bed, I tiptoe toward the dresser.
Surely after last night I’m entitled to steal a T-shirt and maybe some boxers.
I pause. Maybe not. I mean, Flynn hadn’t been there to say good morning as I’d woken up. Plus, my clothes are laid out for me—maybe that’s his way of telling me to get the hell out.
Holy crap. Is it happening again? Is he done now that we’ve had sex?
Panting, I sit back down on the bed and struggle to slow my breathing. Once I’m seventy-five percent certain I’m not going to hyperventilate, I begin to process reasons not to overreact.
One, I decided last night that Flynn was not Brian.
Two, I like Flynn. Getting over the fact that he’s too hot for me by half, he’s sweet. He’s also a caring brother, a talented mechanic. And he likes my glasses.
Three, I’m a full-grown woman. I’m a NASA engineer and a freaking genius. I can handle this.
And four, if Flynn does turn out to be a douche, I’ll just leave a scathing review of his shop on Yelp like the mature woman I am.
Feeling calmer, I push back onto my feet, snag my dress and head for the unopened door.
Yep, bathroom.
I catch my reflection in the full-length mirror. A whole lot of natural light helps illuminate the evidence from last night’s activities. Beard burn on my neck and oh, wow, on my thighs too. Sheesh, I have freaking hickeys on my collar bone.
I’m almost thirty and have hickeys.
Although, considering I’ve never had a hickey before, I’m sort of pleased with myself.
I shrug the dress on over my head and survey the rest of the damage. My hair is... big. No other way to describe it that doesn’t involve words like rat’s nest or tumbleweeds.
I find a bottle of mouthwash in the cabinet that I put to good use and scrub my face with water to get rid of any leftover makeup. My skin feels tight, but it’s better than facing Flynn for the first time after a night of body-tingling sex with raccoon eyes.
Back in the bedroom I pull on my jacket. In a crowded, dimly lit bar, my dress looked okay. In the fresh, annoying light of day, I don’t even think it could classify as a nightgown, let alone appropriate for public viewing.
I jump when my phone vibrates. Patting down the front of my body, I find it in my jacket pocket. Work email notifications. I can check those later. But what catches my eye are the many texts from last night.
Rose: your blow job shot skills are legendary!
Rose: check the pantry: no glove, no love
Trish: ignore Rose. Have fun, sugar
I click on a series of pictures Rose sent from last night. There are various selfies of us making silly faces, one picture of an unsuspecting Trish, a close up of my cleavage, and then one of Flynn and me dancing.
Against a background blur of twirling dancers, Flynn and I seem alone on the dance floor. In profile, my head is thrown back in laughter. This is the moment I realized I’d been dancing throughout my whole orbital resonance lecture. I appear happy, light, carefree..
But it isn’t the freeze frame of me that captures my attention. It’s Flynn.
His eyes are intent. Focused only on me. A smile plays on his lips as he holds me against him. He looks…captivated. Captivated by me .
You know that old saying about a picture being worth a thousand words?
I’m not sure I could come up with a thousand to describe this candid shot, but the expression on Flynn’s face makes me feel better about facing him this morning.
I slide my phone back in my pocket, take a deep breath, and metaphorically pull up my big girl panties, seeing as I still don’t have any, before making my way down the hallway and into the kitchen.
Holy Mercury .
Flynn’s in a tight-fitting, long sleeve Henley, the sleeves pushed up, low riding gray sweatpants and bare feet.
He’s working a pan and spatula over the cooktop.
And if that isn’t enough to cause heart palpitations, his hair is all mussed and his lips are pursed to one side.
The morning scruff gracing his chin reminds me of the beard burn between my legs.
I feel my face flush just as he looks up at me, spatula in hand.
His face is blank, as if I’d awakened him from a daydream.
Then he blinks, a slow smile creeping up his face.
“Holy Mercury?”
Crapola . I said that out loud? I open my mouth to?—
“Fuck!” Flynn slams down the pan and shakes his hand out.
“Sorry.” He glances up at me, looking a bit sheepish.
“Burned myself. And breakfast too, by the looks of it.” He runs his other hand through his hair, then places both on his hips.
“But I make okay coffee.” He pulls a mug out of a cabinet. “Or at least, Rose tells me I do.”
“Is Rose here?” Please, don’t let Rose be here.
“No. She texted me last night that she’d be staying with Trish.”
“Really?” I walk over toward the stools pushed under the island.
“Yeah, but that’s Rose for you.” He shrugs. “Girl has a sweet-ass apartment downtown, but never uses it.”
I pull out a stool and sit down. The large island separates us, and I’m grateful because when I sit, the dress inches up my legs again.
“Anything I can help you with?” I ask, looking over at the counter topped with cracked eggs, a bowl, whisk and open milk carton. There are splashes and spills everywhere.
He moves over to the coffee maker and pours a cup. “Nope. I was just making us breakfast. Or trying to. I usually just have cereal, but I thought I’d step it up today.” He lifts the milk carton. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Oh, uh, I don’t drink coffee.” Shoot, I should’ve told him that before he poured it.
Flynn’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? How do you not drink coffee?” He sets the mug down on the island. “I’m not much use without at least one cup in the morning.”
Embarrassed over something so trivial as not liking coffee, as well as the general situation of what to do after a night of hot loving, to my horror, I start to babble.
“Well, during my first week of college, the study group I was assigned to took a coffee break. I’d never had coffee before and I didn’t know what to order.
Looking back, I should’ve asked one of my study group members, but I wanted to fit in.
I could already tell they weren’t happy getting stuck with the kid. ”
Flynn throws me a look.
“College at sixteen, remember?” He nods, and that sets me off rambling again.
“Anyway, when it was my turn to order I just ordered the same as the guy in front of me. Turns out he drank a venti Americano. After I forced myself to drink it, I had to run back to my dorm to throw up. I had the shakes for the rest of the day. Never wanted to drink coffee again.” I push my glasses up my nose and force myself to stop talking, focusing on tucking my hair behind my ears and folding my hands on the counter in front of me.
Flynn chuckles. “Yeah, I can see how that would spoil coffee for you.”
It’s silent for a beat, and I think it’s no wonder I don’t have more friends. Or date. I’m pretty sure sad, embarrassing childhood memories aren’t on the list of appropriate morning- after-sex topics. Especially if childhood memories happened in college.
“Okay then, no coffee for you. OJ? Water?” He places the full mug in the sink.
I give him a grateful smile. “Water would be great. Thank you.”
Flynn opens another cabinet and grabs a bottle of water. “There you go. Unless you want ice and a glass?”
“No, this is fine.” I take my time unscrewing the cap and placing it gently on the counter, studying the thin striations of gray in the white marble countertop.
“And now for breakfast.”
He arranges two plates, putting one in front of me.
Two eggs, both yolks broken, burnt toast and bacon.
Flynn surveys the plates and blows out a hard breath.
“I know this sounds weird, but I’ve never tried to fry an egg before.
Rose or Holt always made breakfast.” He looks back at the pan.
“I made scrambled earlier, but I think I added too much milk. They were runny as shit.”
Though it looks vastly unappealing, I pick up a piece of burnt toast and take a bite.
I don’t want Flynn to think I don’t appreciate his effort.
I make sure my face remains passive as I crunch the charred remnants of bread.
I take a large gulp of water to help swallow it down.
Determined, I go for the eggs next. They aren’t bad exactly.
I just never knew fried eggs could be this tough.
When my fork doesn’t cut it, I pick up a knife to saw through it.
Flynn busts out laughing. “Stop, please. I mean, I really appreciate you trying, but I just nearly cracked a tooth on this bacon. It’s not worth it.” The corner of his mouth kicks up in that sexy grin I love.
I mimic it with my own. “It isn’t that bad.”
“Yes, it is.” He stands, grabbing both plates. After setting them in the sink next to the wasted mug of coffee, he turns to the cabinet and takes out two boxes. “So, Lucky Charms,” he says, shaking one box, “or Apple Jacks?” he asks, shaking the other.
I giggle. Who knew I was a giggler? “That’s not even a choice. Lucky Charms all the way.”
He places the Lucky Charms box over his chest. “Girl after my own heart.”
A weird feeling travels through me. Not embarrassment, but warmth, almost like a physical manifestation of happiness, flows under my skin. Which is crazy. I’m being crazy.
Clearing my throat, I try to start a normal conversation and not randomly babble. “With your family owning a ranch, what made you want to become a mechanic?”
Great, now I am simultaneously picturing him in his mechanic overalls and a cowboy hat. I take a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly through my mouth while Flynn pours the cereal and grabs the milk carton that’s still on the counter.
“For a while I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do.” He shakes his head. “No, that’s not true. I guess I always loved cars, but I didn’t have the guts to go after it until recently.”
I can’t imagine Flynn anything less than confident. Even the way he stood there making a breakfast he had no idea how to make, he looked sure of himself. He is so very fascinating to me.
I prop my elbow on the counter and my chin in my palm. “Tell me all about it.”