Jennifer and Rocket (The Princesses of Silicon Valley Book 6) (3 page)

After dropping Jennifer off, I run our day through my mind. Jennifer’s not my usual type. On the dance floor and today at the museum, I found her energy compelling. She’s cheerful and happy. My high school self would never have been interested in dating a perky cheerleader. But high school was a long time ago.

It’s been a while since I’ve wanted to be around cheerful and happy. Was my ex-wife ever cheerful or happy? It’s hard to remember the good of that relationship after so many years of bad. I don’t want to think back on what a negative spiral I was in when my marriage collapsed. I was busy with grad school while trying to support us. I stopped creating art. I used mountain biking to avoid home and to work out my frustrations. Eventually, I started competing. Making the cut for the elite races coincided with graduating and getting served divorce papers. Even though I cycled well enough to make the elite races, I was never good enough to get a good position on a team or a paid sponsorship that provided more than some free equipment. Instead, I used the XC circuit to exercise my anger. I drank a lot, slept with a lot of women, and I managed to get in a lot of stupid fights. I could only avoid splitting up our assets and signing papers for so long. I decided to man up and close out that period of my life. Now I ride in the hills to workout. Cal and Kelly are my remaining vestiges of my short-lived cycling career.

I find myself contemplating what I can do with Jennifer next weekend. In an attempt to play it cool, I don’t text or e-mail Jennifer on Monday. On Tuesday, I catch myself looking at my phone as I tell myself to be cool and wait till Wednesday. Wednesday comes and I finally text her.

Rocket:
Friday night—can I pick you up for dinner at 7p.m.?

I want to show her my work. If I take her out on Friday, then I’ll have her come up to my place on Saturday. Maybe we can go on a hike. I’m not sure how sporty she is, I do know I crave her company. Thinking back to Sunday, I realize I opened up more with Jennifer than I have with anyone else since my wife. Though I’m glad the questions about family and history are over, I’m not one that likes to dwell on the past

Jennifer:
Sunday was fun. Sorry I have plans for Friday night.

Is she blowing me off? I thought things went well. I stare at the reply and wish it would explain what she’s thinking. I’ve never really had to chase after women…. They usually come willingly. I hear that guys start losing their mojo when they hit thirty. Could that be it? I kick my ass for being such a wimp, but I still want to see her. Saturday would work, though it sounds kind of creepy to ask her to my place so I can show her my art. I stare at my screen. What would be fun, outdoors, and make her feel safe? I think Santa Cruz, the beach, the amusement park, lunch? Wait, why not the monarchs?

Rocket:
How about Saturday? We can head over to Santa Cruz and check out the monarch butterflies.

It takes a while for her to respond. But teachers can’t be checking e-mail in front of their class. I finally get a response:

Jennifer:
Saturday works, when?

Rocket:
I’ll text you Saturday morning.

I smile as I press send. Yeah, Jennifer’s hot. More than that, there was something compelling about her, she left me craving more.

I’m conflicted.

Rocket texts me on Wednesday, asking me out on Friday. Staring at the text, one side of me smiles and cheers. He liked me; he wants to see me again. The other side is horrified. Where will we go? Who will see us? He’s not who I date.

How can one man create so much conflict? Why am I excited and repelled? I come back to that text over and over again debating what to do. I realize at some point I need to do something, not replying would be rude. My decision is finally made.

My college friend, Juliette, sends out a group text:
Happy hour at my place Friday
.

Feeling relieved, I text Rocket back:
Sunday was fun, sorry I have plans for Friday night.

A while later I get another text from Rocket.

How about Saturday? We can go to Santa Cruz and check out the monarch butterflies.

He’s not getting blown off that easily. My text was too friendly. I need to start being less polite. I stare at his text. I’m still conflicted. Last Sunday was fun. It was more than fun. After our initial discomfort, the day got better. I enjoyed the de Young, and the Japanese tea garden, and dinner.

What should I do?

It’s not like I know anyone in Santa Cruz. It’s not like anyone will see us together. My mind twists and turns. I’ve always wanted to see the monarch butterflies at Natural Bridges, even though I haven’t done it yet. Rocket would make the excursion interesting. But Rocket? He’s so not my type. We can be friends. My college friend, Olivia, loves having a group of men all buzzing about her hoping she’ll date them. Maybe I can channel Olivia and keep Rocket as a friend on the side. My fingers hover over the keypad. I procrastinate. I need to decide. I still have homework to correct; I can’t spend all night staring at my computer paralyzed in indecision.

What the hell, you only live once…it’s not like I have any other offers.

Jennifer:
Saturday works, when?

I stare at my screen. Do I want to send this? Finally, I convince myself.
Enough already, Jennifer, it’s not like you’re dating him. It’s a visit to a state park with a friend, press send already.
My finger feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. I finally click on send, and my heart jumps into my stomach. What have I done?

Rocket:
I’ll text you Saturday morning.

What’s with that?

Why can’t he give me a time? I take a deep breath.

What will I wear?

***

On Friday, as I drive home from happy hour at Juliette’s, I’m chuckling from all our crazy conversations. My head still swims from the margaritas we drank. I’m lucky to have my group of college girlfriends living so close by.

Entering my apartment, I see Kara’s not yet home. My mind is still buzzing from being with my friends; I have too much energy to go to bed. Turning on the TV, I decide to bake chocolate chip cookies. My go-to activity when I have nervous energy to burn.

As I bake, I think of the date with Rocket tomorrow. No, it’s not a date; he’s not my type. Though, I can feel a thread of anticipation and excitement winding itself through my core as I catch myself looking forward to tomorrow.

If I asked Kelly what I should do, she would tell me to take a walk on the wild side. I had my wild side my freshman year of college, and that’s what I regret.

Never again.

I like my men conservative. I like having a real boyfriend. I like dating lawyers and bankers. They know how to dress. They’re always properly manicured and completely presentable. If I brought a lawyer or banker home, my grandmother, auntie, and mother would be thrilled. I compare them to Rocket. I can hear my grandmother, “Jennifer, why doesn’t he cut his hair?” And my auntie, “Jennifer, what has he done to his skin?” And my mother, “why did he pierce his face?”

Oh, no, Rocket is not the man for me

.

***

I wake up with Rocket on my mind. He said he’d text me in the morning with the time he’s picking me up. I look at my phone, no text. How do I plan my day? How much time do I have before he picks me up? Should I text him? No, that would make me…interested.

I check my phone every couple of minutes, waiting for Rocket’s allusive text.

Kara stalks over and snatches my phone from me. “I’ll tell you if he texts, in the meantime act like an adult.”

Kara’s a high school teacher and experienced in confiscating phones and dealing with overactive hormones.

“What is it with you and this guy? He is so not your type.”

“Yeah, that’s what’s driving me crazy. The thought of him scares me. But now…I’m nervous thinking about getting together with him today. This is confusing.”

Shit. Nervous energy and anticipation course through my body.

I head into the kitchen to make apricot scones.

“Who’s going to eat everything you’re baking?” Kara asks as she munches on one of my chocolate chip cookies. “How long will this baking thing go on? I’m not sure if my waistline can deal with all your nervous energy.”

Around ten, Kara pulls my phone out of her pocket. “I’m not sure if this is your guy, but my butt’s buzzing.”

Hastily pulling it out of her hands, I read:

Group Message Princesses
: Tonight, Dinner then find a party. —Kelly

With a disappointed frown, I stare at my phone.

“What? Is he canceling?” Kara asks.

“No, it’s Kelly asking me to go out with them tonight.”

Kara holds out her hand. “I get the phone back. You don’t get it until he finally texts you.”

Reluctantly handing it back, I complain, “Really, what do you think I’ll do?”

“You already did it. You’re driving me crazy. Go update PowerSchool and stop staring at the damn phone.”

About twenty minutes later, she comes over to me. Probably your friends again, you really should get back to them. Don’t be so available. Guys think less of you if you make yourself too available.”

Unlocking my phone I read the text:

Rocket:
I’ll pick you up around noon, I’ll bring sandwiches.

Jennifer:
Great

My body tingles from that text. Kara watches me jump up and down while flapping my arms.

“I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I’ve got to get all the nervous energy out now so I can pretend to be cool when I’m with him,” I explain.

“Jennifer, you’re a lot of things, but you’ve never been cool. If that guy was looking for cool, he wouldn’t be asking you out.”

I stick my tongue out.

“Yeah, not cool and not mature,” she says.

Dressing in skinny jeans, sneakers, and a running shirt, I grab my fleece and fill up some plastic containers with the scones and the chocolate chip cookies I made.

As I wait for Rocket to text me, I listen to fun music as I dance around my living room.

“For a guy you’re not interested in, he sure inspires a lot of energy.”

Shit!

In the morning after my ride, I text Jennifer then rifle through my refrigerator to see what kind of sandwiches I can make. Damn, I’m low on supplies; I drive over to the local market. Boulder Creek is a small mountain town; we have a lot of old hippies, new age people, and hermits. Thinking about it, I, too, live here. Since I’m not a hippie or into new age crap, I must be turning into one of the hermits.

Arriving back home, I barely have time to put my groceries away and make sandwiches before it’s time for me to leave. As I drive to her place, I wonder why I picked Santa Cruz since I’m now driving in the opposite direction.

I pull into her apartment complex and text
: Downstairs.

I’m about ready to text her again when I see the door open. She has a big smile on her face as she raises her arm and waves. Man, she is one pretty girl. She's got an attitude like human sunshine. As she gets close, I have to use all my restraint not to grab her and kiss those pretty, pink lips.

The forty-five-minute drive turns into over an hour with all the traffic, but I don’t care since the two of us have such a nice and easy conversation.

Parking on a street near the park, we walk down to the ranger station.

“You want to eat now or after we visit the Monarchs?” I ask.

“How long is the hike to the Monarchs?”

“You haven’t done this before?”

Shaking her head, she gives me a little shrug of her shoulders.

Damn, that is too sweet.

“It’s not even a half-mile walk,” I coolly reply. I look up at the perfectly blue sky. “It’s a great day.”

Her body language is more casual than last Sunday. She’s less guarded. As we start walking along, I grab her hand.

Zing!

That wasn’t static electricity. Something just happened.

She looks at me in surprise. Did she feel that too?

We walk toward the grove as I tell her, “I would have picked you up earlier. That way we’d have missed the traffic, but then we would have had to sit around and wait for the fog to burn off. It’s no fun visiting the monarchs if they’re all clumped up.”

She nods and smiles in reply.

Is she nervous?

I continue talking, “Do you know about the Monarchs?”

“Yeah, they travel from Mexico up the coast, this is one of the groves they take cover in for winter. Right?”

“Yeah, that’s about it. I think they summer in the Rockies.”

We walk down the wood stairs and along the decks that negotiate the uneven terrain, then continue walking down the wide path under the trees until it ends.

Jennifer squeals and lets go of my hand as two Monarchs chase each other about ten inches from her face. Pulling out my Nikon D700, I try to capture the picture. Unfortunately, I’m too late to capture the monarchs, but I get a couple good shots of Jennifer.

“That’s a fancy camera,” she says with admiration in her voice.

“I’m an artist, tools of the trade.”

“You’re also a photographer?” she asks in surprise.

“I use it to capture textures and movements, also for my portfolio. I need something a little more sophisticated than my phone.”

A couple monarchs flutter passed us. An idea pops into my head as I make a request. “Put your hand out; let’s see if one lands on you.”

I back up a few feet and make sure I have my camera adjusted right, and the light is right to capture a good shot. A monarch lands on Jennifer’s head. As it flutters around, I get about fifty pictures and another idea.

“Hula for me. Let me see if I can capture some movement.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, let's see how it comes out.”

Her eyes get big, but with a sweet smile she shrugs, then slowly bends down to place her backpack on the path. Gracefully, she sticks her elbows out and performs a simple two-step, fluidly swinging her hips. Reaching out with one arm, she turns around while rhythmically shaking her butt. She starts slowly adding in moves while lowering and raising herself as she turns. Finally, she’s rolling her hands like they’re the ocean.

Beautiful.

A monarch lands on her head, staying there the whole time. A couple of other people come down and join us as she starts moving in a way that I can tell is a choreographed dance. By now the monarchs have flown off and the filtered light is perfect. I continue shooting her—I’m getting some wonderful shots. Her hair is so long it grazes the top off her butt as she gracefully moves.

“This is one of my favorite dances,” she says. Then she sings a song in Hawaiian. When she finishes, she says, “That’s enough.” The people standing behind us clap as Jennifer demurely bows while saying, “Mahalo.”

We spend a little more time in the grove, watching the monarchs fly around. Finally, with a tip of my head, I say, “Let's head back up and have some lunch.”

I snatch her hand; our eyes catch. She smiles shyly. I smile back.

Now this is a date.

Stopping at a picnic table, I pull out sandwiches and a couple of drinks from my pack. I ask her, “Do you like orange or lemonade? I also have water.” She takes the orange.

Jennifer’s lips quirk up in a small smile as she opens her backpack and pulls out two plastic containers, she gives me an apologetic shrug of her shoulder as she explains, “I like to bake.”

Opening up each of the containers, the smell of freshly made chocolate chip cookies and some kind of scone fill my nose. Man, Jennifer gets better and better.

“I’m waiting till I eat my sandwich, I hope Swiss and chicken works for you? They also have apple, mayo, and mustard. I have no idea what you like, but you had everything on your hamburger last week. I figured I was safe making what I like.”

She smiles sweetly at me and takes a bite. With a surprised look says, “This is good.” Taking another big bite, she points the sandwich at me and says, “You make a good sandwich. I’d never thought of putting slices of apple in a chicken sandwich.”

“Haven’t you had a Waldorf salad?” I ask.

“Yeah, I guess. But I would never eat that. Don’t they have raisins?” she says with a grimace.

“You don’t like raisins?”

“Not so much.”

“You’re a good baker,” I tell her as I take a bite of a really fresh, buttery, apricot scone. Feeling the need to move, I watch her finish her drink. Finally I ask, “Do you want to walk along the beach?”

“Sounds good.”

After packing up, I grab a hold of her hand as we walk to the beach. The sky is blue and the air is cool as we pick up pebbles and throw them in the cold, calm water of the inlet. For a girl who grew up on an Island, she has no idea how to skip stones. I find a couple of flat ones.

“Hey, Jennifer,” I say as I hand her the stones. “Here, get your arm like this, it’s more like throwing a Frisbee than throwing a baseball.”

She throws the stone and squeals. “Yikes! I only got one.”

I pull her to me, so her back is to my chest, then I take a hold of her wrist. With a flat stone in her hand, I take her through the motion. It’s kind of awkward, but the stone makes three skips. She squeals, and then claps her hands and cheers.

Damn, that squeal of hers goes right to my dick.

“Try it on your own this time,” I say as I cross my arms and watch her.

She nods, then repeats the motion I showed her. The stone skips three times. She squeals and jumps as if this is a great victory. Getting into her energy, I clap. After a while, we give up on skipping stones and head up to the road. We take the wide sidewalk that runs between the ocean cliffs and the street. As we walk, Jennifer’s phone keeps on buzzing.

Finally I ask, “Do you need to get that?”

Smiling shyly at me, she shakes her head. “No, it’s probably Kelly. She can be quite persistent.”

When her phone rings again, I tell her, “Put Kelly out of her misery and pick it up.”

She looks at me skeptically and then finally pulls out her phone. As she unlocks it, she points to the phone and nods. “Hi, Kelly.”

Feeling mischievous, I grab her phone out of her hands, pull it up to my ear saying, “She’s busy, call her back next week.”

Jennifer squeals at me, which makes me laugh. Am I really on a date with a girl who squeals? Jennifer tries to pull the phone out of my hand. Laughing even harder, I keep the phone away from her since I like Jennifer’s hands on me. I can hear Kelly saying, “Who is this? Why is your voice familiar? Give Jennifer back to me.”

Finally handing the phone back to Jennifer, she puts her hand on my chest to hold me back. Like that does anything except get me more excited about having her touching me.

“I’m fine, what do you want?” she says.

“Who is that? I know the voice.”

“What do you want?” Jennifer says in response.

“Not until you tell me who you’re with.”

I yell at the phone, “It’s Rocket.”

Kelly screams, “ROCKET! You’re with Rocket?”

“Got to go,” Jennifer says as she turns off her phone and puts it back in her pack. In her best schoolmarm voice she says, “Behave yourself.” Then, in a conspiratorial way, she adds, “Kelly has the biggest mouth.”

Moving close to her, I softly say, “You don’t want Kelly to know you’re here with me?”

Jennifer’s eyes get big. She looks startled by the question. Finally shaking her head, she answers quietly. “Once my friends find out I’m with you, their inquisition is worse than my parents. That’s what I want to avoid. They're all really gossipy.”

She looks sweet as she tells me about her friends. I let my desires loose as I pull her in tight for a kiss. The kiss is getting good when a car honks at us and someone yells, “Hey, get a room.”

Jennifer pushes me away looking embarrassed.

Damn, this day is turning out to be more fun than last Sunday.