The rest of the week passed in a similar nature, I would review files for Hamada, and eventually give him the bad news that everyone InGen was sending his way was likely to get someone killed. On a positive note, he was getting better at taking the news in stride. We agreed to sit down and come up with a list of potential candidates on our own. InGen's method of recruiting from Craigslist wasn't really working out.
It had been a long week and I was ready for a day off, but first I needed to finish up at the T-Rex paddock. Currently, I was sitting against the wall in what appeared to be a plastic tube running directly through the middle of the enclosure trying to not bang my head against the wall in frustration.
"So, we drop the goat in via the mechanized system here, and it's lit with a red flare that should attract the T-Rex to signal that it's time to feed," rambled the paleontologists, waving his hands around excitedly. He was currently showing me the ins and outs of having a T-Rex for a pet.
"I get it Sparky. Red flare plus goat equals dinnertime. That's not my issue. What I'm telling you is this animal has been conditioned. It will associate the color red, any variation of the color red, with eating," I told him, standing up. "And considering you have the goat about three inches from this plastic tube you might want to consider protocols to ensure no one in here inadvertently becomes dinner by wearing a Cincinnati Red's jersey."
"These walls are built to withstand..." I stopped listening. This had to be at least the third time he'd rattled off the manufacturer specifications of the plastic tube surrounding us.
"Enough about the tube! Would you be willing to risk your own life on this piece of shit contraption?" I yelled, stalking towards him.
"What do you mean?" he asked, taking a half step back looking slightly nauseated by the idea of putting his life in any kind of danger. I hated to break it to the guy, but considering he worked here his life was pretty much in constant danger, whether he acknowledged it or not.
"I mean, are you willing to test the limits you've been spouting off with a T-Rex bearing down on you? If the answer is no, then no other person who comes down here should have to either. There have to be restrictions on what people can wear or bring down here to ensure the animal doesn't mistake someone in here for the goat out there," I snapped, pointing to the feeding spot.
I stalked off, ready to call it a day when my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Hamada asking to meet at Margaritaville tonight at eight o'clock.
"Margaritaville, really?" This place was so corny. I texted him back, letting him know I would meet him there and headed home to relax. As I drove up to the house, (I'd decided to stop calling it a camper or my Airstream; house sounded more mature, permanent, official) I saw Owen sitting on my front steps. Owen referred to his camper as a bungalow, but that just sounded stupid to me.
I cut the engine, grabbing my bag from the backseat making my way towards the house. "Why is the world's greatest raptor trainer looking forlorn on my porch?" I asked, leaning up against the railing.
He looked up at me, squinting against the sun as he stood. It was then I noticed something in his hand. He took a step down the stairs handing me a $50 dollar bill. He seemed so upset about handing it over I did my absolute best to not in any way smile or show my amusement. Maybe.
I took the money as he stepped off the porch walking back towards his bungalow. I started up the steps when I heard Owen ask, "How did you know?"
I turned around facing him. He looked tired and a little defeated. It was a strange look on him since he normally exudes so much confidence it's annoying. I'm not sure if he was upset I was right or that he hadn't seen it coming. Maybe a little of both.
I debated cracking a joke, but decided just this once to have mercy on the poor guy.
"I saw it in her eyes." It wasn't much and I couldn't really explain it, but it was the truth. He seemed to bat the idea around in his head for a minute before nodding. "Is Echo alright?"
"Yeah, thanks to you. I was watching them both pretty close, and was able to break it up before either of them could do any real damage. Blue won, just like you said she would. Echo hasn't showed any aggression since then." He shoved his hands deep in his pockets huffing out a breath. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," I said and he turned around continuing home. I walked inside feeling less than excited with winning the bet and couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why. I decided to leave it on a shelf for later examination, hopping in the shower so I could get ready to meet Hamada.
At exactly eight o'clock I was sitting at the bar at Margaritaville, dressed in dark skinny jeans, a loose fitting racerback tank top, and flip flops waiting for Hamada who was officially late. I left my hair down tonight, a bold move in this humid climate, and even though it was past my shoulder blades now it had cooled down enough this evening I wasn't sweating, yet.
In the face of having to choose between a Mesozoic Margarita or something equally as ridiculous from the menu I opted for a plain old beer. That alone set me back $8 and I suddenly realized Simon would make a fortune on alcohol alone once this place opened.
Hamada slid into the high bar stool next to me, "Sorry I'm late."
"No worries, I ordered you a souvenir cup Mesozoic Margarita as payback." He laughed and ordered a beer of his own, and a hamburger from the bartender.
"Great, that should only set me back $30." I laughed and dug a piece of paper out of my back pocket sliding it towards him.
"Here are the names of some guys who fit the bill. I have contact information for some, but for others not so much." I shrugged, tipping back my beer. "Besides, I'm sure someone at InGen can track them down."
"Thanks Jo. Means a lot. Am I allowed to mention you when I make the calls?"
"Hell no!" I retorted, "Not if you want them to take the job."
He smiled, drinking his beer as he reviewed my list. "You know, I never thanked you. For what you did...over there," Hamada forced out, unable to look me in the eye.
I ran my hands through my hair shifting uncomfortably in my seat. "I don't really think almost getting you killed calls for a thank you." I flagged down the bartender as she rushed by ordering another beer.
"You didn't almost kill me. You came back for me. You pulled me out of there. If it wasn't for you I'd be dead." He looked down at the bar, fiddling with the wrapper on the beer.
Over there, otherwise known as Iraq. Hamada and I had served together during one of my tours. I almost got him killed with the faulty intelligence I used to plan a mission.
"If it wasn't for me we wouldn't have been there in the first place." I didn't want to talk about this with him. These things were best left in the past where they could fester in peace. I swiveled my bar stool around in a effort to end the conversation, and almost fell out of it. Walking into Margaritaville was Claire with Owen guiding her by the small of her back. I choked on my beer, turning back around to face the front of the bar grabbing a napkin to wipe my mouth.
Owen and Claire together at Margaritaville, on what appeared to be a date. I did not want to examine why that thought made me feel like throwing up in my mouth. Looking into the mirror behind the bar I could see the two of them weave their way through the crowd to a table for two in the corner. Claire looked amazing, per the norm, if not a little fancy. She was wearing a flowing blue halter sundress with wedge heels. Her hair looked immaculate with not a single strand daring to step out of place. How she managed to wrangle it into submission in this humidity was one of life's great mysteries.
Owen on the other hand was a different story entirely. He was dressed in black board shorts and a white T-Shirt with flip flops rounding out his ensemble. I thought he still look good enough to eat, but I was guessing by the look on Claire's face she was having opposite reaction. In fact, they both looked to be having about as much fun as someone undergoing a colonoscopy.
"Is there a reason you look like you are trying to fade into the top of the bar there Jo?" Hamada looked genuinely amused at my behavior. I didn't blame him, what the hell was wrong with me?
I made a conscious effort to sit up straight like a normal person, turning towards him. "No reason, just stretching."
"Uh huh. And the fact that this coincided with Owen and Ms. Dearing walking in here is purely coincidental?" There was so much sarcasm dripping off his statement I needed a Wet-Nap.
"Yep," I replied, popping the 'p' smiling sweetly. Hamada laughed and we returned to the list where he was making notes while asking continuous, rapid-fire questions. The only good news about Claire and Owen's date night, puke, was it had distracted Hamada on his trip down memory lane.
"Well, this is enough to get me started. I'll run it by InGen in the morning." He stood up from the bar stool, slapping down some money down to cover his tab. "I got a training exercise all day tomorrow so I'm headed home. You good?"
I nodded and waved as he left the bar. Feeling a little too much like a loser sitting by myself at a bar on Friday night I finished my beer, settling my own tab. As I hopped down from the stool I had to fight the urge to look over my shoulder at Owen and Claire.
I was able to make it out of the restaurant without sneaking a peak in their general direction, and mentally patted my self-control on the back. I knew I had some somewhere deep down inside it was just on vacation most of the time. I wandered down Main Street towards my Jeep in no particular hurry to get back to my empty house, but seeing as how I had nowhere else to go and no friends to speak of it left me with limited options.
Once I was back at my house I decided I had two options. One, be a sensible, responsible adult and go to bed fairly early ready to tackle another day on Isla Nublar. Or two, drink more beer on my ocean front porch alone. I weighed each option heavily before deciding option two held more promise than option one.
Since I minored in laziness while at college I filled up a bucket with ice and shoved four beers in, dragging it out onto the porch. Now, I didn't even have to get up to get more beer. I knew four plus years of school would pay off sooner or later. I had my iPod plugged in with some savory tunes filling the night. Not too bad for being by myself on a Friday night. I knew option two was the way to go.
I heard a rumble in the distance, and closed my eyes praying I wouldn't see Owen whipping past my house with Claire clutching him as they rode by on his motorcycle. I had somewhat come to terms with them being on a date, but reconciling the fact they were at his douchebag bungalow all night was seriously testing my gag reflex. Then, I mentally karate chopped myself because the likelihood of Claire Dearing getting on a motorcycle was about one in a billion.
Besides, it was none of my business who Owen brought back to his stupid bungalow of love. I had no doubt that man didn't spend consecutive nights of the week alone. I, on the other hand, was experiencing somewhat of a dry spell. I blamed my current predicament on the fact I was essentially marooned on an island with a limited dating pool. How I accounted for the other two year's back in Houston was slightly harder to explain.
"Up for a little company?" I was so caught up in my mentally gymnastics I hadn't heard Owen approaching. Not waiting for an answer he plopped down on the couch next to me, and I handed him a beer.
"I'm not an expert or anything, but isn't having a date end before ten o'clock bad?"
He snorted, chugging half his beer before answering, "That, was not a date."
"Seemed like a date," I responded matter-of-factly.
"You and Hamada's date doesn't seem to have ended in any headboards rattling."
Eww. "Hamada is married with about 50 kids. That image is just disturbing."
Owen seemed to like the idea of Hamada and me not being on date. Why he cared when he was out with the Senior Park Operations Manager was confusing.
"She printed out an itinerary," he scoffed, finishing his beer, grabbing another before sitting back against the couch. "Who does that?"
OK, I'm no dating guru, but that seemed a little strange. "She was probably nervous. Give her break. You're the one who asked her out. Have you met Claire Dearing? She's not exactly laid back." I had absolutely no idea why I was trying to make his train wreck of a date sound better.
He glanced over at me, but remained silent so I forged on. "Besides, from her perspective your board shorts weren't exactly screaming I'm taking this date too seriously."
That got a reaction out of him. He sat up twisting to face me head on. "That is exactly what she said! Is there some kind of class all women go to outlining what is and is not acceptable for men to wear on a date?" He was pretty fired up.
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Do you think my board shorts look bad?"
"I didn't say you looked bad. I think you look hot, but someone like Claire is going to see it as a big, fat fuck you," I told him honestly, finishing my beer and reaching for another.
"You think I look hot?" he asked suggestively, leaning towards me completely ignoring the point of my statement.
I froze, my hand halfway to the beer. Did I say he looked hot? I hadn't meant to, that's for sure. I mean, he was definitely hot, but you absolutely did not say things like that to people like Owen Grady.
"I, uh, what I meant..." I looked over at him and his face had lost all trace of humor. He was looking at me using the full force of his "I'm an ex-Navy, raptor training, extremely muscular man" look. I felt like my panties might spontaneously combust at any moment. I jumped up from the couch, backing away from him like he was a Velociraptor. I'm pretty sure I even had my hands up in the air as a defensive measure.
"Stop looking at me like that you're freaking me out," I hissed, backing away even further. This man was seriously dangerous. He looked every bit the predator I knew he could be. He understood exactly how to get under a woman's skin once he had them in his sights, and currently I felt like he had me in his crosshairs.
He stood up slowly, moving towards me, and I felt my fight or flight response kicking into overdrive. I'm not sure why watching Owen stalk towards me with a slow, steady gait freaked me out except I'm pretty sure if this man ever touched me I would absolutely never recover.
"You're cute when you're nervous." I balked at his statement, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. I wasn't nervous. I was mildly concerned I'd either run screaming into the jungle or jump on him right there on my porch, but that didn't equate to nervous. Did it?
"Owen, seriously, cut it out. I don't want to have to hurt you."
He tipped his head back and laughed. "Jo, no offense, but you're about as intimidating as an angry kitten."
"What the actual fuck!" I would show him how much damage an angry kitten could do. I was done lusting after him on my porch now. I was no longer nervous. I was ready to rumble.
"Alright, calm down there Mike Tyson," he laughed, moving past me towards the stairs with his hands up much like mine had been a few minutes ago. "I think it's time we call it a night."
I moved to my door swinging it open, stepping inside quickly. I slammed it shut as hard as I could only to watch it bounce back open. I couldn't even storm off and slam a door right tonight.
"Good night Josephine," Owen called out as he fired up his motorcycle.
"Screw you Owen!" I yelled through the half open door. I gauged my maturity level to currently to be around that of a toddler at the moment. I was having an outright temper tantrum, and not real successfully either. I finally got the door closed, cut the lights, and retreated to my bedroom. I'd aim for a higher maturity standard tomorrow. Maybe.