4. Nadir
FOUR
NADIR
Ian
“Hello?”
“Ian. It’s Gale. I have your father on the line.” With a click, my father’s secretary connects the call.
I shift in my bare feet and rest my forehead against the locker in front of me. I shouldn’t have answered. I only have so much time before I need to pick up Trish from dress shopping. I wanted to make the most of it with a swim workout to burn off my frustration with Trish.
“I’m bringing someone to the fundraiser.” My father’s voice cracks across the line. He never bothers with pleasantries. “Make sure you’re ready to make a good impression.”
“Had to round up a date for yourself? Did Mom finally leave you?” Though I know that isn’t possible, one can hope.
“Don’t be a smart-ass. She’s for you.”
I figured. “Don’t bother. I’m already bringing someone.”
A moment of silence, followed by, “What do you mean, ‘you’re bringing someone?’” My father does not like his plans interfered with. But just as he strategizes his political career like a game of chess, I’ve learned to do to the same with my life. The best offense starts with the best defense.
“What with our last conversation, I thought you’d be pleased that I’m introducing you to the woman I’m dating.” I nod at Ricky, one of the dive specialists at NASA’s Neutral Buoyancy Lab, when he walks into the locker room.
“And just who is this woman? Who’s her family? Where’s she from? What does she do?”
I remain silent, not because I’m trying to be a brat, but because I don’t know the answers. Pissing off my dad is just a bonus.
“You can’t date just anyone, son. We have a reputation to uphold.”
Ignoring his use of the royal we, I pivot the conversation. “What time do I have to be at the event?”
“Gale set up a photo op for us in the ballroom at six, before the dinner begins.”
Gale. My dad’s long-time chief of staff and sometime fuck buddy. I learned that last tidbit of information the hard way when I walked in on them going at it in his office in the middle of my fifteenth birthday party laser tag battle.
A memorable birthday, to say the least.
“We’ll be there.” Before he can ask more questions that I probably can’t answer, I hang up.
“Hey man, you ready for a swim?” Ricky asks as I place my phone in the locker and slam it closed.
Agitation funnels through my muscles, and I shake out my arms before stretching them overhead. It’s going to feel good burning off this energy. “You ready to lose again?”
“Aw, man.” Ricky shakes his head. “You keep trash talking and I’ll revoke your pool privileges.”
“Nah, you won’t.” I smirk at him.
Chuckling, he closes his own locker door. “Yeah, you’re right. I won’t.”
Ricky is a damn good diver, that’s how he made dive specialist at NASA, and he’s a pretty good swimmer. But he has yet to beat me.
Whenever I have time, I come to the NBL and swim laps. It started my first year at NASA when I was low man on the totem pole, learning the ropes during an EVA practice run in the pool.
Only select personnel are allowed in the water. Basically, astronauts and dive instructors/specialists. But after some good-natured trash talk, and Ricky recognizing me from my swimming days, I’m one of the few who can dip their toes in the NBL pool.
A few minutes later, my hands slice through the water, fingers spaced eight millimeters apart to increase the drag coefficient, propelling me forward.
I’m wearing fins, as I always do. It isn’t required at NBL, but I like to use them as they reduce the kick rate by forty percent.
Fewer kicks equal less splash. Less splash means a better view of the fascinating sight below.
And that sight is a life-size mock-up of the International Space Station, resting at the bottom of the forty-foot-deep pool.
Head down at a forty-five-degree angle, goggles on, I can pretend as I pass over the International Space Station below. Pretend that I’m an astronaut floating through the infinite vastness of space, doing my part to further man’s knowledge of his place in the world.
It’s the highlight of my week.
Or at least it was until Trish moved into my garage.
At the edge of the pool, I make the turn, passing Ricky on my way back. He flips me off under water, making me smile for a moment before Trish invades my mind again.
The woman is still living in her trailer. I haven’t seen her much. Just her hand as she waves to me from her window when I leave for work in the morning.
I have a huge house with plenty of space, modern amenities and conveniences, and Trish chooses to live in my garage.
It isn’t until the next turn, when the view beneath me ripples, that I realize Ricky’s caught up. Now Trish doesn’t have to be in the room to distract me; just the thought of her is enough.
Focusing on the conversation with my father and the upcoming black-tie event where I’ll have to do battle, I kick harder, the extra propulsion sending me farther and farther away from Ricky until I hit the wall.
“Damn it, Kincaid.” Ricky huffs, his arms crossed on the edge of the pool. “I thought for sure I had you.”
I laugh. “Dream on.” A few of my fellow EVA officers walk onto the floor, pushing along a cart of space suits. “Who’s going in today?” Whether running through a specific spacewalk or generic training for space flight, the NBL usually gets at least six hours of NASA-driven use every day.
In one smooth move, Rick hoists himself out of the pool and twists to sit on the coping, legs dangling in the water. “Some of the new class. Can’t remember which. I’m not diving with them.”
I follow suit and unhook my fins.
“Kincaid!” Rick and I both look up to see Vance Bodeaway jogging over. “What are you doing here?”
“Kicking this guy’s ass.” I hit Rick on the shoulder with one of my fins.
Bodie eyes Rick. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Hardy-har-har.” Rick gets up, shaking out the water from his ears. “Catch you later, assholes.”
I nod at him before he turns away. “See ya, man.” Tilting my head, I direct my attention back to Bodie. “What’s up?”
He holds out his hand, helping me up. “I got a question for you.”
“Shoot.” My mind starts replaying the different procedures for Space Walk Sphinx, the EVA I’m leading to make all remaining external wires on the International Space Station internal.
A preventive measure I felt was necessary after space junk hit the ISS a few months back.
Bodie is scheduled as lead on that particular EVA.
“You got a date to Jackie’s wedding?”
“Man, I’m honored a man of your prestige would consider me, but I’ll have to politely decline.” I run a hand back and forth through my hair, setting off a shower of water. “You’re a great guy and?—”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I smirk at his confused expression. “So you weren’t asking me to go to Jackie’s wedding with you?”
He barks out a laugh. “Jesus, no.” He shakes his head, still amused. “I like to be the only Y chromosome carrier in the relationship.”
Leave it to a NASA engineer to bring science into trash talking.
“But if I was looking for a male escort,” Bodie crosses his arms, looking me up and down, “I could do a damn sight better than you.”
I laugh. “Fucker.”
He shrugs, looking unconcerned. “I was asking because I was given the option for a plus one and didn’t know if people were actually bringing dates or not.”
Turning, I start my walk back to the locker room. “I’m not.” The image of Trish, shotgun in hand, flits through my mind. Which is problematic when wearing a thin layer of spandex over your junk. “I’ve got my eye on one of the bridesmaids.”
“Yeah?” Bodie falls into step next to me. “Tell me more about these bridesmaids.”
Trish
“Our rides are here.” Jules hops up from the floor, phone in hand, looking no worse for wear even with the six empty bottles of champagne scattered around the floor.
On cue, although they were probably listening by the door, three saleswomen enter, heading straight for the dress rack where the gowns we didn’t want are hung.
“It may not be short or low cut, but I do look bangable, so it’ll work.
” Rose sways back and forth in front of the mirror, the fabric billowing out around her legs.
Even though Jackie said we could each get whatever style dress we wanted, after much debate and even trying on most of the dresses in the store that had nothing to do with chiffon or the color coral, Rose and I both finally agreed that the full-length, sleeveless A-line dress with the faux wrap front and plunging back was classy and flattering on both our shapes.
Jules said she looked good in anything, which with her body, she kind of does, so now all three of us have the same dress for the wedding.
“You know most of the people coming to the wedding,” Jackie says to Rose, trying to straighten her glasses but just skewing them even more. She stumbles slightly as she rights herself. “I’m not sure the odds are in your favor for a one-night stand.”
Not bothering to change in the dressing room, Rose pauses halfway to naked and glares at Jackie. “Don’t get all mathy and calculate odds, genius. Numbers can’t define my game.” She shimmies the rest of the way out of the dress. One of the sales ladies drapes it over her arm before rehanging it.
Jackie frowns. “But that is exactly what numbers do, they define?—”
“There’s no arguing with a southern woman on the warpath to great sex.” I try to pat Jackie’s shoulder, but my hand misses, and I end up feeling her up. “Oops. Sorry, sugar.”
“I saw that.” Rose struggles into her skin-tight jeans.
Takes a confident woman to bend and squat her way into skinny jeans in front of an audience.
“Don’t get any ideas, Trish the Dish. If the men at the wedding are scarce, I call dibs on the hottest woman.
” She zips up her jeans and wipes her brow with the back of her hand. “Whew.”