My Crazy Hot Interstellar Affair

42. New Age Mom Spouts Unhelpful Advice at Worst Time

Sterling sat at the edge of the sofa, perched like an angry statue, arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed, eyes narrowed in on Andie like twin lasers. She could practically feel the assault-weapon sights trained on her face. Andie knew this expression well. Usually, it worked. She would give up any information when confronted with that look. It was so effective, the government would've been wise to put Sterling to work interrogating foreign spies.

In fact, Sterling had once played a government interrogator in a movie. Opposite Ryan Reynolds. Shirtless—him; black rubber jumpsuit—her. They ended up having kinky sex in a room the size of a broom closet with a single yellow bulb rocking overhead in rhythm to their thrusting.

In a visual innuendo of bludgeoning proportions, the light exploded at the moment of ... release. A comedy, if Andie remembered correctly.

Rachel, fingers steepled in her lap, looked back and forth between the girls in her standard "let them figure it out while I sit here and act all Zen" mode.

Andie held firm in her resolve, though tiny beads of sweat erupted on her forehead. She crossed her own arms. Her legs. Glared back. After all, she had been at the foot of the master for many years now. She was bound to pick up some skills. Be strong. Oliver's life, and perhaps the life of their theoretical unborn child, depended on it.

Oh, Oliver. Losing him tugged so deep it was as if someone had lassoed her heart and ripped it from her chest. Vibrant memories left her breathless—his cinnamon scent, the blue light sizzling in his eyes when he looked at her, his overprotectiveness to the point that he thought throwing her in a dumpster was an act of love, his adorable malapropisms.

"Malapropisms? Ugh! How about 'the feel of his clever mouth,'" Bad Andie suggested.

"Well, that too," Andie conceded.

"If you think you're never seeing Oliver again, you are a complete idiot," Bad Andie said.

"We don't even know where he is," Andie replied in a prim thought-voice.

"Your best friend is running the joint. She said she'd find him. And then what? How are you getting us off this rock and back to some trial balances or amortization schedules?"

"I thought you hated that stuff. You said it was boring."

"I'm ready for boring."

"Me too," Andie agreed. "Well, my plan is to convince Sterling to come home and also arrange for our transport. Pretty straightforward."

"And just how are you going to accomplish this?"

"Hard, solid, indisputable logic."

"And when that fails?"

"Blackmail?"

"We're doomed. Anyway, I have to go now. I've got reading to catch up on."

"What now, dinosaur porn? Ravished by the Raptor? Bucking Bronco-saurus? Jurassic Park-it-in-the-Rear? Dino-sore?"

"Those are awful. Keep the day job. And no. I am reading What to Expect When You're Expecting: the Alter Egos Edition."

"Huh?"

"If I'm going to be a mother, I need to know what to do."

"Oh, my god! What would you teach a child?" Bad Andie as a parent was about the worst thing ever conceived. It would be like ... "Darth Vader running a preschool."

"What are you mumbling about? Darth Vader running a preschool?" The Sterling statue came to life. Oops, Andie must've started arguing with Bad Andie out loud. Dumb, dumb, dumb. "Can you please lock up the crazy for 5 minutes while you explain your weird blue powers? Is it like the Force? Is that what you're trying to tell me? You're like a Sith Lord, and you've discovered the dark side or some crap like that?"