10. #TBD
TEN
#TBD
Vance
How do you booty-call a billionaire?
I’ve been staring at my phone for longer than I care to admit asking myself that question.
My cubicle on the astronaut floor of building five is quiet, the silence broken by my intermittent typing and the sound of book pages turning.
My phone rings, and I nearly throw it across the room in surprise.
A few cubicles down, Jackie, with various books and manuals stacked in front of her, is deep into the informational part of astronaut training, one of her black high-top Converse shoes bouncing like a jackhammer as she reads. At the ring, her foot stills, and she looks up, her head tilted.
I hit the side button, silencing the phone. “Sorry.”
But Jackie’s already looking down at her books again.
My shoulders brace when I see the name on the screen. I slide my thumb across my phone and hunch forward. “Hello, Brittany.”
“Don’t you ‘hello Brittany’ me.” My older sister’s condescending tone, which she has perfected over my lifetime, comes across loud and impatient as ever. “Why haven’t you called me back?”
The better question is why did I answer her call now? I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sorry, I’ve been busy.” Busy trying to smooth talk a billionaire.
“You’re always busy.” Brit’s tone is swimming deeper into annoyed territory. “Every holiday, every birthday, every soccer season and family get-together—you’re busy. ”
I rub the hand at my nose down my face. “Well, I am.”
“Bullshit.” I hear someone over a loudspeaker talk about turkey prices.
“Where are you?”
“Grocery shopping for Thanksgiving.”
Ah, fuck. That’s this week.
“You remember Thanksgiving, don’t you?” Her voice gets sweet, letting me know I’m in for Brit’s classic sarcasm. “Your favorite holiday. The one where you show up just as dinner’s ready and leave before pie is served.”
“I’m watching my diet.”
“You’re such a girl.”
“How chauvinistic of you.”
She groans, causing me to pull the phone away from my ear. “Listen, bro.”
I very much doubt that other forty-year-old women with two children use the term ‘bro.’
“I want to see my brother. Your nephews want to see their uncle. So tell me you are coming to Mom’s this Thursday and not just for an hour.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Uh huh, sure.” Brit tests her heavy sarcasm skills. “I’ve heard that before.”
As my sister grumbles about past holidays and other get-togethers where I was a no-show, I glance back at Jackie, wondering if she can hear my sister from her desk.
She’s still studying with a furrowed brow of concentration, so I doubt it.
I notice a black-and-white picture of Neil Armstrong in a pilot jumpsuit, wearing the same shoes she’s wearing, pinned to her corkboard.
Next to it, a picture of Flynn and her at the wedding, standing in front of the West mansion where Rose rocked my world.
“Are you listening?”
I spin in my seat. “Of course I am.”
Behind me is Jules’ desk—a mess of papers both stacked and spread out everywhere like a tornado went through.
Her corkboard is decorated with pictures of a cow wearing a rhinestone collar, standing next to a small pink barn.
Pictures she likes to show me every time we happen to be in the office at the same time.
Also in one of the cow pictures is Rose, alongside Jackie and Trish.
I lean closer.
How did I never notice that before?
Everything is Rose. And it’s only been two days since I’ve seen her.
“So you’ll be there on time, right?” My sister’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Where?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
Sighing, I spin back to face my computer. “I’m just messing with you, Brit. Yes, I’ll be at Mom’s for Thanksgiving. On time.”
She finally lets me go, and we hang up.
Tossing my phone on my desk, I lean back and squint against the sun blazing in through the windows along the perimeter of the mostly empty floor.
Not only is it the week of Thanksgiving, but the astronauts that are still onsite are either training, traveling, training, studying, training, public speaking, or training.
Some of my colleagues are in the gym, running through their detailed weight training regimes, or in a class somewhere being briefed on a new science experiment they’ll be doing in zero gravity sometime in the future, or in the Neutral Buoyancy Lab running through the order of operations for an upcoming spacewalk.
My high-priority tasks have dwindled now that the Bartolomeo’s mission has been set eight months out.
NASA isn’t usually one for last-minute procedures, so with everything in place, there’s just a lot of email double-checks and yes, more training.
But today is not a training day. I may have told my sister I’m busy, but today I’ve got nothing but time to think about Rose.
And the fact that I want to spend all that time thinking about her is concerning.
I refresh my emails, checking for anything new. There isn’t.
I think about distracting myself with the gym, but I’ve already been. My most arduous self-appointed task today has been avoiding Jules, who’s dogging my every step, trying to get me to break first about why I was so friendly with Rose at the bar.
“Houston, we have a problem.” Tom Hanks’ voice rings loudly around the empty floor.
“Oops.” Jackie reaches for her phone. “Sorry.”
Whatever she reads on the screen makes her smile, then pack up all her stuff.
“Hot date?”
“Hmm?” She glances up. “Oh, no.” She pushes up her glasses looking more like a college student than an astronaut. “I’m meeting the girls for lunch.”
“Girls?”
“Uh-huh. Trish just got approval for her spousal support badge.”
NASA finally got hip to using less sexist vernacular and renamed the Wife Security Badge that all partners are allowed to apply for to the Spousal Support Badge. I’ve seen Jackie eat lunch with Flynn a few times, so he must have one, too.
“That’s cool.” I watch Jackie putting away her notes and books. Everything in its proper place.
“Ian even got Rose a day pass so we can all eat together first.”
I stand. “Rose is here?”
Jackie frowns, tilting her head again. “You know, I’m the one who isn’t supposed to pick up on social cues, and yet even I hear the note of excitement in your voice whenever Rose’s name is mentioned.”
I can’t argue, so I just shrug at being called out.
Jackie slings her bag over her shoulder, calling out over her shoulder, “You can come if you want.”
Oh, I want.
After a few security clearance swipes and a short walk through the quad, Jackie and I arrive at the cafeteria parking lot. Rose and Trish are part of the small crowd waiting in line at one of the food trucks set up on the side.
Yep, NASA has food trucks. They are on a rotating schedule, a different two each day of the week. It’s a clever way for Uncle Sam to cut down on the cafeteria budget. Today it’s chicken and waffles and Asian fusion.
Rose is in line for chicken, wearing Birkenstocks, denim shorts, and one of those threadbare T-shirts that like to drive men crazy. It’s a dark olive-green color, but due to the thin fabric, I can easily see her black bra underneath.
What really catches my eye, though, are her pigtails. Her wild blond hair is caught up in two low ponytails draped over her shoulders, the ends hanging right above the shadow of her bra cups. She looks both seductive and adorable.
“There you are, Flashlight.” Jules comes up behind me, clapping me on my shoulder. “And here I was thinking you were avoiding me.”
“Me?” I put my hand on my chest in a dramatic fashion. “Never.”
She snorts. “Uh huh.” She glances over to where I’m looking, a sly smile growing on her face.
Before she can ask, I close the distance between Rose and me. Jules and Jackie follow.
When I reach her, Rose is holding one of those red-and-white checkered cardboard containers, filled with a large chicken and waffle sandwich and an unhealthy helping of french fries, a can of Coke shoved in her back pocket.
She stops short when she sees me. “What are you doing here?”
“Seeing as I work here, I think I should ask you that question.”
Rose rolls her eyes.
“I was going to call you right before Jackie told me you were here.”
Her eyes cut to Jackie, who, oblivious, is now waiting in line at the Asian fusion truck. “Was and did are two different things.”
Her tone has me smiling. “Do I detect disappointment in your voice?”
“No.” She sticks out her hip, leveling me with a look of annoyance. “You detect an admonishment for not having the balls to pick up the phone.”
Jules’ eyes are bouncing between us as Trish walks over with a plate from the waffle truck.
“No balls, eh?” I raise a brow. “That’s not what you were saying Saturday night.”
Rose straightens, her eyes widening before she shoots a quick glance toward her friends, whose mouths are hanging open.
“When we were taking those Blow Job shots.”
Her shoulders relax, and she snorts again. “Yeah, it did take balls to give good head in a bar.”
“Trish!” We turn to see Ian jogging up. He takes Trish’s plate of food from her with one hand, wraps his other arm around her shoulders, and kisses the top of her head. “Hi, babe.”
Trish sinks into him. “Hi, sugar.”
It isn’t until my nostrils flare that I realize I’m annoyed. Not because Ian is here, but because he can so easily show affection to Trish. I’ve never wanted to have that level of relationship with someone before. But now that I do, I’m annoyed I can’t.
Or can I?
Mimicking Ian, I sidle up to Rose, grab her food, and drape an arm around her.
Jules smirks. “And just what?—”
“Rose and I are going to eat in the quad.” I tip her basket food in the direction of the green space nearby.
Rose, looking quite unimpressed by my show of chivalry and affection, raises an eyebrow at me. “We are, huh?”
“Yep.” I kiss the top of her head, and she stiffens.
Jackie bounds up with a container of egg rolls. “What’d I miss?”
“Rose is ditching us for Flashlight.” Jules, hands on hips, frowns at me.