Before Jurassic World

Chapter 18

A few weeks later we were no closer to a viable solution to our problem of breaking into the highly secure server room.  Sure, I had come up with some pretty amazing ideas, but they were largely ignored by the group for some reason.  After I suggested I sky dive off of a helicopter and through an air vent located on the roof Owen confiscated my Mission Impossible DVDs, and kindly asked me to refrain from helping formulate the plan.  Since shortly thereafter I got medical clearance to return to work I didn't burn his bungalow down in protest.  I still think the air vent was a viable option should we need it.

Since today was Sunday, and we had nothing better to day no matter how hard I tried to come up with something, Owen decided to start his DIY extension for his house, aka "the shed".  I was supposed to help, but after I inadvertently shot a nail out of the nail gun into his camper he gave me a computer and promptly sat me down in a lawn chair.  In my defense I've never been around power tools before, that could happen to anyone.  However, I think I got the better end of the deal considering Owen and Barry were currently drenched in sweat building what essentially looked like a glorified shack while I sipped a cold beer, setting up Owen's email on his laptop.

"Are you sure you don't want me to help?  That nail gun accidentally discharging was a one time thing," I called over to the pair.  I didn't really want to help, but felt obliged to offer.

"If I hadn't moved that nail would be in my leg," Owen responded dryly.

"So, no?"

"No!" both Owen and Barry yelled at the same time.  Jeez, almost shoot someone with a nail gun one time and they get all kinds of touchy.

"Alrighty then, let me know if you change your mind," I hollered, finishing up the Outlook setup, "I've almost got your email setup.  How is it you've worked here this long and haven't done this? I'm surprised Claire hasn't murdered you in your sleep."

As soon as the system installed Owen's inbox exploded, the bing of incoming mail so constant it sounded like a hum.  The red dot in the corner was climbing up towards 100 at an impressive rate.  I didn't blame Owen for his aversion to email, it sucked, but this was cray cray.

"Well, the good news is I got your email account set up," I said, grimacing as the email count hit the hundred mark and showed no signs of slowing down.

"And the bad news," Owen replied, walking over to peer at the computer.

"You have 387 unread emails."

"I guess we know what you'll be doing today," he said, smiling.

"What!  Why me?  This is your email.  You deal with it!" I screeched, standing up, attempting to hand him the laptop.  Email was the devil.  It was the equivalent of someone walking into your living room, crapping on the floor, and then expecting you to do something with it.

I had a hard time keeping up with my own email account, and by hard time I meant I walked around pretending to know what people were talking about when they referenced anything they sent me.  It worked for me.  However, sorting out this catastrophe was where I drew the line.  Owen put his hands on his hips looking at me expectantly.  I was getting ready to deliver the mother of all tongue lashings when I noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt.  I let my eyes roam across his chest, down the flat planes of his abs, to that sexy V at his hips that disappeared underneath his board shorts. 

I was fascinated watching the beads of sweat roll down his chest to his abs before disappearing behind the waistline of his shorts.  I've never wanted to be a bead of sweat so bad before in my life.  Licking my lips I resisted the urge to fan my face.  Had someone cranked up the heat out here or something?