Page 53 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
I don’t move.
“AndI’ve got a new toothbrush with your name on it.”
That perks me up. Lifting my head, I chance a good look at him. He doesn’t seem annoyed. His smile is gentle, almost… loving? I don’t blink, trying to memorize this moment. The embarrassment fades, and I feel—
He slaps my ass over the covers. “Come on. You stink.”
Well, then. Moment over.
Twenty minutes later,I feel great. Nay, fabulous.
Conditioner and a toothbrush. Is there really anything else a girl needs?
Well, maybe orgasms. Yes, definitely orgasms. But one thing at a time.
I’m sitting at Vance’s counter in one of his T-shirts and a pair of his boxers—washed, cleaned, conditioned, and eating oatmeal.
Not a trace of nausea to be felt.
Hashtag win.
“Are you sure you should be eating that?” Vance eyes my oversized bowl. “I mean, oatmeal by itself wouldn’t be so bad when you’re not feeling well, but did you even measure how much brown sugar and maple syrup you put on that?”
“I feel great,” I say with my cheeks full of sugared oats. “I don’t think I was actually sick. I think my stomach just revolted because I ate so much last night.” I manage to swallow, the hot cereal making my eyes water a bit. “Otherwise there is no way I’d feel better so quickly.”
“That would explain why no one else got sick.”
I pause, a large spoonful halfway to my mouth. “How do you know?” I glare at him. “You didn’t tell Helen I was sick, did you?”
“Calm down, champ.” He holds out both hands toward me. “I only texted Brit and told herIwasn’t feeling well.”
“Oh.” I jam the spoon in my mouth. “Thanks,” I mumble around the oatmeal.
Vance is making me uncomfortable. And this time it has nothing to do with waking up with vomit breath. Rehashing all my past relationships, it isn’t like I dated losers. Okay, I never reallydateddated, but then neither are Vance and I. And it isn’t like any of the guys I’ve been with were jerks. No one talked shit to me or was overly aggressive. But they also didn’t invite me to family Thanksgivings or hold my hair back while I threw up (which, during my younger, pre-legal party days, they had plenty of chances) or took the blame for something to save me embarrassment. And they sure as shit didn’t ask me to stay around for breakfast in the morning when they caught me trying to Uber my way home.
I eye the phone in question, its glitter case turned over and placed out of my reach. “So how long are you going to confiscate my phone for?”
He pours milk over his Mueslix. “When you promise not to high-tail it out of here until you feel better.”
“Like I said, I feel fine.” I scoop another spoonful into my mouth. It’s mostly maple syrup. So good.
He gives me an eye roll worthy of myself. “Uh huh, sure.”
“Okay,Dad.”
He shivers. “Please don’t ever say that again.”
“Yeah.” I nod, feeling cringey. “It was weird for me too.”
We smile at each other. Another moment I’m unsure about.
Music blasts, and we both jump.
“‘Whip It’?” Vance’s lips quirk as he grabs my phone when I lean over to get it. “I didn’t know you were a Devo fan. Isn’t that a little before your time?”
“It’s my ringtone for Flynn.” I reach out, making the gimmie motion with my hand. “You know, ’cause he’s so whipped.”
Chuckling, he ignores me, answering the call before I can stop him. “Hey, Flynn.”
