Jennifer and Rocket (The Princesses of Silicon Valley Book 6) Page 5

  My chest constricts.

  My jaw tingles.

  The base of my brain buzzes

  He pulls away. I rest my hand on his chest. I feel it reverberate from his deep moan. Running my hand along his strong jaw, he stares into my eyes. Neither of us says anything. He grasps my thigh as we kiss again. The kiss is soft and sweet, but gradually gets deeper as our tongues continue to meet.

  We separate for a breath. His voice is gravely as he says, “Let me take you home.”

  Looking into his eyes, I wonder what he’s thinking. My college experiences come back hauntingly strong. Except for one notable lapse last year, I don’t hookup anymore. This is our third date, is it too soon to sleep with him? Is that what I want?

  Damn.

  I want him…but not really…I lean in for another deep amazing kiss.

  Yes, really.

  Finally, I move off his lap and back to my seat. Softly, I tell him, “That was some nice kiss.”

  Quirking his lips into a smile, he slowly nods. We drive back to my place in silence.

  As he idles in front of my door, he says, “Will you come up to my place tomorrow? We can take a hike, I can show you my art.”

  I was so busy debating if I should let him in, I’m shocked he doesn’t try to come up now. This is confusing. That kiss was hot, but he doesn’t want more? I want more.

  This is only a small departure from finding the man of my dreams. It’s what I need. He’s my walk on the wild side before I find the perfect man.

  “Text me your address,” I say. My voice comes out shaky and raspy.

  “I’ve got some things to do in the morning. My driveway isn’t paved. I’ll meet you at the Boulder Creek coffee shop. How’s two?”

  I nod. “Two works.” I open the door of the truck. Looking back over to him I say, “tomorrow.” I jump down and run to my front door. Before going in, I give him a flirty smile and a little wave.

  **

  After lunch, I head up the windy road to Boulder Creek. Does he really drive this road every day? I park at the only coffee shop in town. As I open my car door, I see Rocket walking toward me. He has that slim hip, broad shoulder build that looks good.

  My breath hitches.

  My body buzzes.

  My face feels hot.

  Why does he have to look so good?

  Why does he have to be so much fun?

  He offers me his hand as he helps me out of my car. Semi jokingly, I say, “I have no problem getting out of my car, it’s your truck that’s hard to get in and out of.”

  With a sexy half-smile, he leads me by the hand over to the passenger side door of his truck. Opening the passenger door, he leans down, cups the side of my head, and our lips lock.

  I gasp.

  His lips are soft. He smells amazingly masculine.

  How did he learn how to kiss like this?

  My brain short-circuits as my toes curl and my body buzzes…from a kiss. My finger grazes along the stubble of his beard. I hate it when guys don’t shave.

  Why does an unshaven face make him look even sexier?

  Why have I lost all will power?

  Releasing the kiss, he grabs me by the waist and lifts me into the seat as if I don’t weigh anything. Those muscles of his are not just for show.

  He gets in on the driver's side and gives me a satisfied smile. “It’s only about ten minutes to my place.”

  I nod. My nervous system is in overdrive from that kiss. I sit quietly, unable to form words, recovering from all my conflicted feelings as he drives up a narrow, winding road.

  As I watch the rural scenery go by, I ask him, “Is Rocket your given name?”

  This amuses him; he gives me a small smile. I feel like he’s sizing me up, figuring out if his secrets are worth sharing. What I find surprising is that I want to know.

  “My parents have always been alternative, but they actually gave me a traditional name. It’s Richard, after an uncle that was killed in Viet Nam. My dad started calling me Rocket when I was crawling. I don’t think I would look up if someone addressed me as Richard.”

  “Sounds like you were a holy terror as a kid.”

  “My mom said as a preschooler I could destroy any home within a few moments. My dad called me the ‘nuclear bomb,' which eventually evolved into Rocket.”

  We pass very few homes, only big trees and mailboxes. We take a left onto a small paved road with an older single-story house on each corner, and a discombobulated assortment of mailboxes in front. About a hundred yards down the paving stops and the road becomes gravel. We pass a couple mobile homes, which look well past their prime. I’m starting to think this is a rather sketchy neighborhood as I question my decision to come here. Rocket turns onto a rutted dirt road, driving up and around a hill settled between redwood trees. The backside of the hill flattens out, opening up to a clearing. The trees wind around a large metal barn with piles of metal scrap organized along one side. On the same side of the building as the piles of metal, around fifty feet away, is an old Winnebago that looks like it was in a head on collision, it’s missing it’s tires and is now propped up on blocks. There is a picnic table and grill out in front. Rocket parks in front of the Winnebago. A brown lab comes racing over to the car. After greeting the dog, Rocket jumps out of the truck and comes over to my side.

  He smiles up at me as he rubs the dog’s head. “This is my partner in crime, Hartley.”

  Rocket grabs my waist and swings me out of his truck. I can’t help the squeal that flows out of my mouth. That’s when Hartley turns her attention to me as she tries to jump up and lick my face.

  Rocket casually grabs my hand and walks me toward the metal building with Hartley following us. The front has two doors that slide on hinges. They’re locked with a big chain and padlock. Rocket unlocks the padlock and unwinds the chain. Grabbing the large handle, he pulls the door open causing a loud metal on metal squeaking noise.

  Standing at the opening and looking around, it appears to be a machine shop. Rocket turns on the lights. The inside is raw. The building has a metal frame, three walls of corrugated metal, with the fourth wall being mostly the door. It has a corrugated metal roof lined on the inside with insulation and a cement floor. There are some pulleys connected to the roof along with industrial lighting and a couple big fans. Along one wall is a lot of sorted and stacked metal. The back has some shelving, a refrigerator, a large industrial sink, and a long counter with machines on top. Stacked in one corner are a bunch of bikes with snowboards behind them. On the right side is some sort of fireplace.

  On the left side of the large room, freely standing is a large rectangle that must be seven feet tall and three feet wide. It looks like someone ripped out a piece of a brook and magically mounted it vertically in the middle of the barn. As I approach the structure, I’m compelled to touch it. It’s not water, it’s metal, but the play of dark and light, shiny and dull makes it look like it’s a free standing rolling brook. Stepping away then walking back over and touching it my brain tries to rectify the optical illusion.

  Rocket stands to my side, with his arms crossed over his chest and an inscrutable look on his face while watching my reaction.

  “This is what you were talking about? It looks like one thing from far away and something totally different up close?”

  He nods.

  “What about the negative space and shadow? You said you like playing with those elements, too.”

  Rocket grabs some light poles of different heights and moves them to where he has placed taped Xs on the floor. Plugging them in, he turns the light poles on then turns the barn lights off. I jump back and gasp. It looks like someone’s hiding behind the sculpture.

  Rocket smiles as he grabs my hand and leads me over to the sculpture. The shadow kind of spooks me out so I grab onto his arm. The lights hit the sculpture in just the right way, making the sculpture’s shadow look like there’s a person behind it. Without the lights hitting it at the right angle, you don’t see
the person’s shadow. Walking around the sculpture, you don’t notice the different pieces of metal that cast the shadow as being anything other than an abstract element at the back.

  Leaning into him I ask, “Why did you do that?”

  “Unexpected?”

  “Definitely not what I expected. Though it kind of creeps me out.”

  “I don’t know if my statement makes my art less or more marketable.”

  “What kind of statement?”

  “We’re in a drought. The news is full of battles over water access. Everyone thinks their need is the most important, and there are a lot of people with illegal wells. It’s a hot conversation.”

  Thinking about what he said, I can see it, the stream with the water thief hanging behind it. Regarding the piece's marketability, I respond, “I’ve never been in the market for art; I have no idea what art buyers are looking for. I think most people don’t know about art, they buy what looks right in their space or they look to the critics if they see it as an investment.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably a big part of it. It’s hard making a living as an artist.”

  “Is that why you went back to school?”

  He nods, finally telling me, “Welding was a skill I had. Wyoming was interesting for a while. But it wasn’t my goal. I dreamed of being an artist. I figure this way I can do both.”

  “Both?”

  “My programming job is visually intensive. I work in a team that builds 3-D modeling software. My sculpting knowledge and proficiency with CAD software comes in handy. On the weekends, I get to work on my art.” He shrugs before explaining, “It would be nice if I could sell my work. My dream is to eventually be self-sufficient.”

  I think about our conversation two weeks ago, when Rocket talked about the New York movement after WWII. “You should do what talks to you. From what I could see by the show we went to at the de Young, when talented artist create what they like, others can feel their energy.”

  “Or I’ll have my property filled with metal only I find compelling.”

  “Do you plan on filling your woods with art?”

  “Only to take pictures of my sculptures in a natural setting. This land was perfect for me. It was cheap, private, and close enough to friends and work. I’m a city guy who prefers the peace of living in the country.”

  “Why up north? If you’re from LA why didn’t you find land closer to home? I would think there are a lot of programming jobs for artists down in LA.”

  Scratching the back of his neck he looks at me then says, “I’ve friends in the area.” He then shrugs before continuing. “I’m close to my folks, but they have boundary issues. I needed miles to keep them in control.”

  “That I can relate to, I have three thousand miles to maintain my boundaries. We grew up down the street from my grandparents and around the block from my auntie. Everyone feels they need to share their opinion, everyone is in everyone else’s business. My family is close, but still, I like my privacy.” Looking around the studio I ask, “Do you have any other sculptures?”

  “I’ve got a couple over there.” He points to the rectangular mounds covered with tarps. “My mom and dad each have some down at their places. A friend o my dad has one on consignment decorating the garden of his restaurant. There’s a gallery in LA that has one. I’ve actually sold some. Slowly, I’m starting to move commercial.”

  Looking at the other side of the barn where he has that funky fireplace, I ask, “Do you cook in here?”

  Rocket finds this amusing as he pulls me by my hand over to the fireplace. “This is my forge. Some projects I weld, some projects I need to heat, bend and hammer the metal.” Pointing at the fireplace that is about four feet off the ground with a simple industrial flue, he explains, “This is where I heat the metal.” He has a couple anvils mounted waist high. He walks me over to them and runs his hand over their used, shiny surface. “This is what I pound the heated metal on. Depending on what I’m trying to do with the metal, I either let it naturally cool, or if I need the metal to be denser I quench it.” He tells me as he kicks a large metal bucket.

  Chapter 11 – The Forge

  Rocket

  Jennifer reacted well to my latest piece of work. It’s nerve-racking to show my work to someone new. Will they get it?

  Having her in my studio is inspiring; I can see why artists throughout history have had muses. Some women have an energy that’s intoxicating. Jennifer makes me want to create. While showing her around my studio, I get an idea.

  “You said you like crafting. Would you want to create something?” I ask.

  Her pupil gets big while she gets an excited smile and nods her head, clasping her hands together she says, “What?”

  Jennifer cracks me up; she’s my own personal cheerleader. I get off on her energy. Bringing her over to the forge area, I wheel out my cart that has my small farrier forge on it.

  “We’ll use this little forge. It will take too long to heat up the big forge.” She looks at me in confusion. I explain, “We can make a knife. Nothing fancy, something simple.” As I turn on the propane I continue, “This forge needs to heat up to over 2,000 degrees. We’ll need to give it a bit of time”

  Grabbing a leather apron off the hook for each of us, I place one over her head. Staring at her lips, I wonder if I should skip making the knife and make out with her instead. We’ll have time for that later. She’s still hesitant about me. I need to take my time with this girl. I think she’s worth the effort.

  I spin her around and tie the apron in the back. Then I place the safety glasses on her face. “You’ll need to pull your hair back,” I tell her as I look around for some string or a rubber band.

  She smiles and then does this twisting thing to her hair as I fantasize what I would like to do with her and that hair.

  Stay focused.

  I wade through the bins where I store different lengths and types of metal rods and strips of metal. “Here we go.” I say as I pull out some high carbon steel. “This will make a good blade.” With my apron and glasses in place I move to the workbench as I ask, “Have you ever used a table saw before?”

  She gets a timid look on her face, backs up a step, and she slowly shakes her head.

  “Come over here,” I say as I motion her toward me. Standing behind her I take a deep breath to control myself from the feel of her body against me. I show her how to measure out the length of metal as I place my hand over hers. Together we pull down the arm of the table saw as we cut the metal.

  The metal on metal action causes sparks to fly. Jennifer squeals and backs up into me. Then quickly says, “I can do it.” She moves back in, pulls down the arm, and squeals again.

  Thankfully, she’s not a giggly girl, something I find annoying. But this squealing of hers, it’s shockingly…hot. Grabbing a couple tongs, I show her how to attach them to the length of metal we just cut. Once the forge is hot enough, I show her how to stick the metal inside.

  “Now we need to wait for our metal strips to heat up, we’re looking for the metal to turn yellow,” I explain.

  As we wait, I show her how we’re going to hammer one side to create the blade, “We’ll heat the metal, hammer it, then heat and hammer it again until it’s the shape we want.”

  The hammer I prefer to use is too heavy for Jennifer, I hand her a couple of lighter hammers. Then I ask her, “How do they feel? Are they too heavy?”

  She holds them each in her hand, “How do I know what’s too heavy?”

  “Once you start hammering the metal you’ll know what’s too heavy.”

  She holds a hammer in each of her hands, weighing them before insecurely lifting her shoulder. “I’ll start with this one,” she says as she hands me the heavier one.

  “Let me show you, and then you can do it.” I snatch my tongs out of the forge and place the metal that’s turned yellow onto my anvil. I hold onto the tongs with my left hand while I use the hammer to bang on the hot yellow metal. After the metal starts t
o cool I place it back in the forge and say to her, “your turn.”

  While staying close to Jennifer, I watch her pull out her piece of metal, place it on the forge and start hammering away. She’s such a little thing this is going to take her forever since she doesn’t get much force with any of her strikes. Reminding her to flip the metal so she can give both sides an edge, I watch her slowly starts to create the bowed shape.

  “This is exhausting,” she exclaims as she rubs her upper arm. “If this is what you’re spending your days doing, then I know why your arms are so buff.”

  I’m hoping that comment is a good sign as I tell her, “Time to put your blade back in the forge.” We then switch positions as we continue to do this for a while.

  “We need to true up the blade using the grinding wheel. Afterward, we’ll let the blades anneal, which improves their properties by letting them air cool.”

  She nods while watching me walk over to the bench to turn on the grinding wheel. I then look her over, making sure her protection is still on correctly. I wave her over to watch. Leaning into the wheel I work on the edge. As soon as the sparks start to fly Jennifer squeals and backs up.

  Damn, that squeal is a direct line to my dick.

  Moving out of the way, I pull her in front of me so she can true up her blade. As I wrap myself around her I reassuringly say into her ear, “Slow and steady now.” As I place my hand over hers to help her guide the metal along the wheel.

  Not surprisingly, as soon as the first spark flies, she moves back. But since I’m right behind her and real steady, she moves into me. My goal isn’t to seduce her in my studio. But damn, that hot little body against mine turns me on. Without thinking, I take a small step back, wrap my free hand around her stomach and kiss that soft sweet neck that’s been tantalizing me all day.

  Over the sound of the wheel, I can hear a small gasp. I simultaneously reach over and turn off the wheel while running kisses up her neck to her ear. Then I take the blade she’s been working with and place it on the bench as I turn her around. We look at each other eyes for a second, though it feels like time has stopped. Her lips are parted and are unbelievably inviting. I reach up and pull her protective eyewear off. I lean down and softly kiss those beautiful pink lips. She giggles, places her hand on my chest, and moves me back. With a serious look on her face, she removes my protective eyewear. As soon as they’re off, I lean down to those lips. Since a light kiss is not doing enough for me, I pull her tight and kiss her so she knows I mean business. I can hear her moan, which causes my dick to twitch. Man, I’d like to take her here, but I’m done with uncomfortable hookups. When I’m finally with Jennifer, it will be in my bed.