Jennifer and Rocket (The Princesses of Silicon Valley Book 6)

by Claire, Anita

  Jennifer has been hesitant around me; I can tell she’s keeping me at arm’s length. I find her uncertainty…compelling. It’s a lot more fun to chase after a woman than being chased by them. It sure makes me work on my game.

  I lose track of time as we kiss while I use this opportunity to run my hands over all of her. As a sculptor, my hands enjoy feeling her curves. When we finally pull ourselves apart, she has a completely flustered look and swollen lips, which I find way too charming.

  She speaks first. Breathlessly asking, “How do we finish…them?”

  “The knives?”

  She nods as I watch her trying to focus. “I guess you’ll need to come back and visit me again to finish yours. We still need to sharpen the blade and give it a hilt.”

  Making sure to turn off my forge and other equipment, I grab a couple of beers from the full-size refrigerator in the barn. Jennifer is still standing where I left her, looking confused. I grab her hand and with a very satisfied feeling, lead her out of the studio. I stop at the picnic table located outside the Winnebago I bought as my home. Placing the beers on the table, I sit down and pull Jennifer onto my lap, open her beer and hand it to her.

  She has a sweet shy smile on her face, which has everything to do with that kiss. Clinking our bottles together, I take a sip and run my free hand down her back. She bites her lip and then asks, “How’d you learn to do that?”

  “What, kiss or make a knife?” I say enjoying her reaction.

  Jennifer gets a surprised look on her face as she stutters, “Um…use a forge, make a knife,” pointing over to my studio she continues, “All of that?”

  I find it amusing that she didn’t take the bait. “I spent my childhood following my dad around, he was always building things. In college, I took courses in chemistry, metallurgy, and material science. When I was in college, my dad hooked me up with one of his friends. He had a large commercial welding company. I learned a lot. It also was a great source of summer income. Then again, there was Wyoming.”

  “You never wanted to work as an artist for a company?”

  “When I finished college the economy was shit, no one was hiring. I didn’t have many choices. I could either get a job using the skills I had or hang out unemployed at my mom's. Needless to say, I chose the job.

  She looks at me approvingly as she drinks her beer. “You could have gone to grad school.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t ready for that. Wyoming was good for me; it made me grow up. It taught me the value of hard work and money.”

  She nods, but not knowing me then, she doesn’t get where I was and where I am now. With another shy smile she says, “Creating a knife was fun. I love doing crafty things. I never thought of industrial tools as being crafty. But it was as much fun making a knife as it is making jewelry. Except you have cooler tools.”

  “Actually I have some crucibles. If you want to design molds we can melt metal to make jewelry.”

  “No way,” she says with a huge smile as she playfully slaps me on my peck. “This is so sweet, my friends tell me I’ll never find a guy who’s into crafts, and here you are.”

  Score.

  Looks like those walls are coming down. Who’d think cute little Jennifer would be so cool about art.

  “Guys aren’t crafty,” I tell her with as serious a look as I can muster. “If you tell other guys I’m crafty, my testosterone level will decrease dramatically.”

  “So you’re cool and artsy and I get to be a lame and crafty while we do the same thing?”

  “That appears to be about right.” Taking advantage of the moment I lean in and give her a kiss. She tastes good, her mouth is sweet, and her skin is soft. When we finally part I lean my forehead against hers as I ask, “Are you hungry?”

  Biting her lip she nods. Tilting my head toward my kitchen, I tell her, “I’ve got some chicken in the refrigerator. We can barbecue it for dinner. Do you have to be back anytime soon?”

  “No, dinner sounds good. Tell me what I can help with.”

  I stand up still holding on to her. Pulling her tight, I give her another kiss while I get to run my hands over that hot butt of hers. Finally, I let her go so we can head into my Winnebago.

  Entering, I state the obvious, “The kitchen’s small.” The benefit, it gives me a reason to be close to her as I put my hands on her hips to maneuver around in the small space. I finally give in to my latest impulse and kiss those nice lips of hers again.

  “I think the chicken is going to burn,” she says only millimeters from my lips.

  Who cares about chicken? Once I got a taste of those lips, I knew I wasn’t going to have any self-control. She backs her head up a little more.

  I finally breathe in deeply and say, “Yeah, I’ll get the chicken.”

  Entering the Winnebago with the chicken, Jennifer has set the table and is now sitting on the bench. As I place the only slightly burned chicken on the Winnebago’s table, I place one knee next to her on the bench using the table to brace myself. Then I lean in and start kissing her again. She squeals in response, which instantly ignites me. My fingers twitch with desire to feel her smooth skin. Soon she’s under me in a deep kiss as I hold myself from crushing her by angling my arm on the table while her arms are around my neck. After a while my arm starts to ache, which is the only thing that finally gets me to sit up.

  She gives me a sweet smile when we part and asks in a rough voice, “Is the chicken cold?”

  “Yeah but you're hot, so who cares.” My comment causes her to flash me a look, which, too, is hot.

  After eating, I find the couple of beers I’ve had have given me a nice relaxing buzz. I grab her hand and start pulling her toward the door. “Come on, I’ll show you something else great about this place.”

  “Shouldn’t we clean up?”

  “I’ll take care of that later,” I say as I open the door. As the cool night air hits, she noticeably shivers. “Hold on,” I tell her as I grab a warm fleece for her and a hoody for me. Placing the fleece around her shoulders, I throw on my hoody. What is it about a girl in my clothes that turns me on? Checking her out, I realize I like the way it’s really big on her.

  I reach for Jennifer’s hand. “Now the fun,” I say, as I lead her to the clearing on the top of the hill. The night is clear and there’s no moon. It’s only early evening, but it’s October so the sky is already dark.

  At the top of the hill she says, “Now what?”

  Sitting down and pulling her onto my lap, I say softly into her ear, “We get to look at the stars and make out. It’s the rural form of homegrown entertainment.”

  Chapter 12 – Star Gazing

  Jennifer

  Kissing Rocket is…amazing!

  I have no idea how he kisses so well, but I’m not going to analyze it, I’m just going to enjoy.

  He makes this form of rural entertainment astounding. With my eyes closed I can’t see any stars, though I don’t mind since I think kissing is more fun. I sit on his lap, my legs straddling his hips. At some point, he leans back, pulling me down with him. Our kissing gets intense as we reach under each other’s clothes and start touching skin.

  His fingers are rough from working in his studio. Before tonight, I would have never thought that callused fingers would feel nice, but now I know better. Reaching under his T-shirt I run my hand up over his chest and I feel metal.

  As in there’s a metal loop dissecting his nipple.

  As in he pierced his nipple! This is shocking.

  I pull away with a small shriek.

  “What have you pierced?” I exclaim.

  Rocket starts laughing. Finally, he says, “I went through a piercing stage. I probably went a little overboard with the piercings.”

  “You think?”

  “I still like my piercings as much as I still like my tattoos,” he tells me in an amused tone.

  “Didn’t it hurt?”

  “You pierced your ears. Didn’t that hurt?”

  “Only for a minute
.”

  “Same with all my piercings.”

  “I think the only thing you haven’t pierced are your ears,” I blurt out.

  “Yeah, I never had any interest in piercing my ears. Rather conventional, wouldn’t you say?” he says with that charming half-smile of his.

  Reaching up and touching the loop on the corner of his bottom lip, I ask, “Doesn’t it annoy you having something on your lip. When I cut my lip it drives me crazy.”

  With a smile, he runs his finger along my bottom lip. “Yeah, but the piercing is healed. You get used to it. I like it,” he says, then sucks in the loop on his lip.

  “Didn’t all the rednecks in Wyoming give you grief about your tattoos and piercings?” I question.

  “What kind of people do you think are working there? The Mormons aren’t sending their clean-cut proselytizers up there. Up in the fields, I don’t think I met a guy who didn’t have tats.” With an unreadable expression he questions, “Is this an issue?”

  Wow, now that he says it….

  I feel embarrassed at having an issue. My old boyfriend Carter had a tattoo, but it was discreet and kind of preppy. Then again, I always thought of myself as open and accepting. Now, I need to rephrase what I consider I’m open and accepting about. Rocket and his tattoos and piercings are nothing I would ever choose in a man. However, I’m here with Rocket now, and at some level I find them enticing.

  Stop thinking like that, Jennifer.

  This is not a date; this is not your man. You’re hanging with a friend, a really hot friend, with an amazing body, plenty of nice muscles, and a friend who kisses really, really, well.

  I make a quick pact with myself. Enjoy Rocket this weekend—on Monday I’ll go back to normal. That’s when I’ll start looking for the right kind of guy. One who doesn’t have tattoos and pierced nipples—a guy who shaves, styles his hair, and wears clothes that are nicely pressed. But tonight…tonight is for enjoyment.

  Lying on top of him, leaning on his chest with my forearms, looking into those dark eyes of his, I quietly tell him, “Your body art is surprising. I couldn’t imagine getting a tattoo or getting any more piercings than I already have. It’s…different.”

  Dipping my head down, I softly kiss his lips. As I reach my hand up his shirt I play with the ring. Pulling away from the kiss, I ask my question with a whisper. “Does it make touching more enjoyable?”

  He doesn’t answer in words, but he does start kissing me again, which is probably an answer in itself. At some point, he rolls us over so I’m on my back and he’s on top, but he’s being careful not to squish me. After a nice deep kiss, I open my eyes. It’s the first time I’m facing the sky.

  I’m so surprised by what I see, I exclaim, “Wow, the stars are really amazing here.”

  “Segue much?” he says in a deep and rumbly voice.

  “You said you get a great show. This is amazing; I can actually see the haze of the Milky Way. Is that Venus?” I gush, as I point to the brightest star on the horizon. There are so many stars it’s hard to pick out the different constellations.”

  Rocket moans, dips his head, then rolls over onto his back and moves me so my head is on his chest. One of his arms is behind his head while the other is wrapped around me.

  “You into astronomy?” he asks.

  “As a kid I was really into astronomy. I was a big time member of the Hawaiian Astronomic Society and the Hokulani Imaginarium. There was too much light pollution where I lived, but we’d go stargazing in Kahala Community Park. It was totally amazing; amazing like this.”

  As I lay on my back, leaning against him while looking up at the sky, I try to identify the different constellations.

  Finally I tell Rocket, “I’m not sure about the mainland’s constellations. I’m not sure if you see a different part of the sky than what we see in Hawaii?” Lifting my hand up I point to a rhombus of stars to the east, “I think that’s Lyra and Vega.” Moving my hands to the middle of our field of vision, “that could be Aquia. I would need to pull out Google Sky if I wanted to know for sure.”

  My head rumbles from the vibration of his voice as he says, “We’re looking at an amazing sky.”

  After staring at the light show for a while, Rocket continues, “Lyra and Vega were associated with the myth of Orpheus, the musician who was killed by the Maenads, the female followers of Dionysus. After his death, Orpheus' lyre was thrown into the river; Zeus sent an eagle to retrieve the lyre and ordered both of them to be placed in the sky.”

  “Greek Mythology?” I question.

  “Yeah, as a kid I was really into Greek and Roman Mythology.”

  “You must be a fan of Percy Jackson and Jason Grace,” I say.

  “Who?”

  “A series of children's books based on Greek and Roman Mythology.”

  “Yeah, I missed that one.”

  We lay there for a few more minutes before Rocket starts talking again, “I think it’s amazing that some of the light we’re seeing now could have been generated thousands, if not millions, or billions, of years ago.”

  After another break, he continues, “Looking at the night sky has always been grounding to me. It makes me realize that everything going on in my life is trivial. Sometimes I need to put things in perspective.”

  “Your current art is about water. Have you ever used the night sky as inspiration?”

  “Not yet, but lying here with you, I find staring at the night sky to be very inspirational.”

  I’m not sure if he’s big with the sappy lines or being serious, probably a little of both. After lying on him for a little bit longer, I realize that even wearing Rocket’s coat, I’m getting cold and a little uncomfortable with the way we're laying.

  “Are you Okay?”

  He adjusts himself so we’re now both sitting up. “Yeah, but I liked having you here.”

  Rolling over so I’m now on my knees, I give him a soft kiss on his lips, then say, “Do you think we can head back?”

  He groans, stands up quickly, extending his hand to help me stand up. As we start moving down the hill, I hear Hartley’s tags jingling.

  “She’s been up here with us the whole time?” I question.

  “She’s been leaning with her head on my leg. She’s my shadow, following me wherever I go. That’s how she got her name.”

  “Hartley?”

  “The Hartleys lived next door to us. They had this kid, ‘Little Hartley’ who was always following me around.”

  “The kid's name was Little Hartley?”

  “The kid’s name was Jessica. But she was the littlest of all their kids, so I called her ‘Little Hartley.' She was always popping up at my house asking me questions or watching me work on a project. Kind of like this dog, who showed up one day and started following me around.”

  “Whatever happened to Little Hartley?”

  “I don’t know. She’s now in her 20s. I assume she’s out of college and found a guy of her own to follow around.”

  “How old are you?” I blurt out. Oh, Jennifer, can’t you try to be more diplomatic?

  “Thirty. And you?”

  “Twenty-four”

  “Yeah, I figured you were around that age,” he says.

  Chapter 13 – A Drink with Kyle

  Rocket

  Hoping Jennifer would spend the night, it became obvious she’s not yet ready. Feeling how tentative she is about me, I don’t want to push it. I’m enjoying slowly getting to know her. Anyway, I’m old enough to realize it’s better to wait.

  She tells me she’d like to drive up tomorrow to finish up her knife. After dropping her off at her car, I stare at the clock in my truck. It’s only ten thirty. I text my buddy, Kyle, the guy who gave me my tattoos, he and a few friends are hanging at a bar down in Santa Cruz. I’m not interested in going home. I feel restless and want to be around other people. A beer at a bar would work.

  The bar definitely caters to an alternative crowd. Kyle’s hair has a blue streak this week; his g
irlfriend’s a fellow artist. Sophia’s got tattoos, piercings, and her blond hair is all in dreadlocks. Looking around, I can’t see Jennifer with this group. None of the women here would be surprised by pierced nipples. Damn, wait till Jennifer finds out what else I’ve got pierced. It makes me wonder why I find a sweet straight girl like her so compelling.

  As I reflect over my beer, I realize that she’s sucking me in. I’d rather hang with my squeaky cheerleader and that smooth virgin skin of hers than hang with any of the women I’ve been meeting.

  Kyle interrupts my thoughts, “Dude, Claudia has been asking about you. Are you going to tap that?”

  I shake my head.

  “You got something else going?”

  I shrug my shoulder.

  Kyle and I have been friends for a long time. I’m not much for sharing, though I’ve been sharing a lot with Jennifer.

  “Yeah, good luck with that. Let’s hope it works out better than Marissa.”

  Did he have to bring up Marissa? Anything can be better than that. Looking back, I could kick my dumb twenty-five-year-old ass for getting bullied into marriage. Talk about the little head leading the big head. I vividly remember my wedding day, with my dad telling me, “It’s not too late, son, you might think you can’t back out, but you can.” Three years later, every nagging concern about Marissa came true. Luckily the kid she so desperately wanted us to have never happened.

  “Kick my ass if I bring around a girl like Marissa,” I respond.