12. Gravitational Waves
TWELVE
GRAVITATIONAL WAVES
Jules
When haters going to hate, pretend you don’t care.
It’s a pretty simple concept and one I’ve adhered to my whole life.
When your father is an Air Force general who wanted all boys and you grew up trying to prove that you were smarter, stronger and better than someone with a dick just to get a grunt of approval from a straight-laced, emotionally stunted, middle-aged man, you learn quickly not to let the hurt show.
Which, in the age of social media, comes in handy. Not only are trolls a-trolling from the anonymous safety of their homes with just a few thumb taps, but various news stations have spread the picture of Holt and me around like wildfire.
You bet your ass no one would troll Armstrong.
I’ve been holed up in my room for the past two hours. Just two hours since Holt’s regrettable rescue, and the picture of us on Angelo has gone viral. My social media accounts are exploding.
#SpaceCowgirl is now trending.
Icalled the public relations department at NASA to give them a heads-up.
Said I wanted them to know there was a news story about me and a cowboy and a horse.
Theylaughed, said, “You think?” and hung up on me to deal with it.
The official story will be I’m still on vacation and the picture isn’t what it seems. Close enough to the truth, I guess.
My phone keeps lighting up with various text messages from Jackie, Trish, and most annoyingly, Rose. All asking for the real story. They’re worse than the tabloids.I’m tempted to turn the damn thing off, but I’m pretty sureNASA would be pissed if they need to reach me and my phone is dead.
As if reading my mind, it rings. But it isn’t NASA.
Lying back on the bed, I close my eyes for a moment before answering.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie. You okay?” My mom’s voice is soft and lilting, like a songbird turned human. In fact, that could very much describe my mother entirely. She’s petite and skinny, bordering on frail, and perfectly packaged.
Obviously, I take after my dad.
“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine.”
There is some noise in the background, like pots clanking. Makes sense, she’s probably getting dinner ready for her and Dad. Heaven help the man if he ever needed to cook for himself.
“I didn’t know you rode horses, dear.”
“I don’t. I mean, well, I didn’t. Just decided to try it out today.”
My mom is notorious for her long sighs. They can take on various meanings, and the one I’m hearing right now is loaded with resignation. “I don’t know why you need to do dangerous stuff all the time, Julie. There are perfectly safe hobbies to take up.”
“I wasn’t?—”
“Did you know Mrs. Gilman’s daughter, Silvia, has started an online book club? Such a lovely young lady. Did you know she just had her third child? A sweet baby boy.” More clattering. “I could put in a word, get you an invite?”
Stupid Silvia. “Mom, I haven’t seen Silvia since high school.” And even then we hated each other. I was the Rizzo to her Sandy. “If I wanted to join a book club, I’d start one with my friends here.”
Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Maybe aromance book club.
I could even be a part of it when in orbit.
The wonder of e-books means I don’t have to weigh my pack down with actual paperbacks.
NASA is pretty strict on weight limits. And electronic, dirty, sexy romance novels are lighter than a vibrator.
Just saying.
“But maybe if you spent some time with women who were more… well, what I mean to say is… that maybe you could…”
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “What? Get married, knock out some babies and live the 1950s American dream?”
Another sigh.
“Mom, I know you don’t get it, but that isn’t me. Never was, never will be.”
“What about that man with you on the horse? The newscaster said his name was Holt. Is he your fella?”
“Mom, no one says ‘your fella’ anymore. Get with the times. I’m a thirty-five-year-old woman, living her dream job as an astronaut. I don’t need a fella , okay?”
“I just don’t want you to be lonely, sweetie.”
I hear her setting an egg timer. God love her, she is so old-school.
“I’m not lonely. I have friends. Work. I’m happy.” I catch myself rubbing that spot on my chest.
“You have too much of your father in you,” my mother mumbles.
I bark out a laugh. “If you say so. But if that were true, I’m pretty sure we’d get along better.”
“Now, Julie, you know your father loves you. He just has certain opinions on?—”
My hand tightens on the phone. “Where women belong?”
Sometimes I fear my mother might hyperventilate from all her sighing.
“Listen, Mom, I gotta go.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I promise to call her later in the week, hang up and snuggle deeper into the bed.
I’m more exhausted after her phone call than after my morning run. But despite the comfortable bed and quiet room I commandeered for my little escape from stalkerville, my mind is on overdrive.
That’s a no-go on sleep. Even with my meditation mantras.
Outside my window, a bunch of ranch hands shout back and forth at each other, calling it a day. I wonder if Holt’s down there, still trying to make his mouth form the word fuck .
Such a do-gooder.
Sigh.
Okay. I may have been too hard on him. I mean, he didn’t know I could’ve dismounted old Bess on my own, and he hadn’t brought the reporters here.
If I want to be honest with myself (and I never do), the reporters were my fault, even if I didn’t call them.
I could’ve been nicer to Pearl and let her know her designs were the fashion equivalent of fugly in a more diplomatic way.
If I had, maybe she wouldn’t have opened her big, stupid, Southern lady mouth.
And if I’m really honest with myself (Jesus, Holt must be rubbing off on me), the reason I was such an uber bitch to that loathsome woman had been because she quite literally had her red painted talons on Holt. And that pisses me off even more than the stupid viral picture.
It’s time to face facts. I’ve got a raging lady boner for the Leave-It-to-Beaver cowboy.
Ugh. Being honest with myself sucks.
A car door slams, followed closely by the bang of the screen door. Seeing as I just heard the ranch hands leave, and the construction workers left not long before with the promise of an early start tomorrow, it must be Holt.
And if Holt is half the gentleman I think he is, he’s brought me dinner even after I possibly overreacted earlier.Just a little bit.
Gotta love those good guys.
Holt
I’ve never made a pizza peace offering before. But I’m pretty sure you should do it without your dick twitching.
Common courtesy and all that.
So before I get out of the truck, I need to stop thinking about the way Jules’ eyes had flashed when she’d pushed her knuckle into my chest. Or the seductive sway of her heart-shaped ass as she’d stomped up the stairs in her shitkickers.
And I most certainly should not think of her teasing throwaway comment about sitting on my face.
Dick twitch .
Ignoring it, or trying to, I grab the pizza box off the passenger seat, determined to play nice with Jules. Especially now that I know exactly how much Jules hadn’t been overreacting.
When Rose texted the picture of Jules and me on the horse so quickly, I knew the incident was already public.
But it hit home just how public when the bartender at Boondoggles recognized me.
I’m not sure if it was from the bar fight a few months ago between my sister and my brother’s ex, or from the picture being flashed around on the television at the bar when I went to pick up the pizza.
Either way, it made for an awkward five minutes as the bartender rang up my order.
“Holt?”
I jump in my seat, Tucker having snuck up on me while I was thinking. I motion him back from my passenger side window and slide out. “Hey, Tuck. What are you still doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you before I left.”
I grab the pizza box and close the door. “What about?”
“I just wanted to say sorry for earlier. For taking Jules—I mean Miss Starr—out for a ride today.” He grabs his hat off his head, running his free hand through his hair. “Honestly, I never in a million years thought Bess would rear up like that.”
I clap the kid on the shoulder, his large muscles reminding me that he isn’t much of a kid anymore. He’s all grown up. “It isn’t your fault. No one could’ve predicted the reporters, or that Bess still had the energy to move that fast. She would’ve been my first choice for a novice rider too.”
He lets out a deep breath of relief. “Good. And I’m glad Miss Starr is okay. She’s one cool lady.”
I grunt.
“I’d hate to see a lady like her hurt.”
“Lady, huh?” I scoff, thinking of the curse words she threw at me earlier.
“Well, yeah.” He frowns at me. “What else would you call someone so accomplished and such a loyal friend to boot?”
And I’m thoroughly put in my place. “Uh, well…”
“She’s real nice. Taking time off work when she’s hoping for a promotion to make sure Dr. Lee has her dream wedding. And making sure you didn’t get taken advantage of by that city woman.” He blushes. “That, uh, Melissa sure is nice too. Really appreciates what Jules did for her.”
“Yeah.” I’m suddenly deeply ashamed by all the ways I’ve judged Jules. Just because I found myself inconveniently attracted to her on sight, I’ve been unfair in my opinions.
“Took the time to go over what it’s like to enlist in the armed forces, too. Did you know her dad is a general? That’s serious stuff.”
“A general?” That snaps me back to the moment. “Wait, why was she talking to you about enlisting? Are you thinking of joining up?”
He shrugs. “I’m not sure. I can’t be a ranch hand forever. And college isn’t for me. I never liked school.”
I take a deep breath, willing the tightness in my chest away. “If you ever were thinking of moving on from the ranch, or needed anything…” I clap him on the shoulder. “You know I’m there for you, right?”