Page 24 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
Not liking how serious Vance has gotten, I nudge him in the ribs with my elbow. “I’m surprised they had televisions back then.”
“Back then?” He looks mildly affronted. “I’m only thirty-six.”
I try not to let the surprise show. “And I’m only twenty-one.”
Hissurprise does show.
Honestly, his Native American heritage is working for him. I really hadn’t thought him that old. I just liked giving him shit.
I grab my glass and salute Vance with it. “That’s what they call a generation gap, old timer.”
Holt and Flynn come back with a handful of rum and Cokes.
“What’d I miss?” Holt asks, eyeing the mixture of surprise, amusement, and confusion we’re all expressing.
“Rose wham, bammed, and thank you, ma’am-ed Flashlight here.” Jules pipes up. “Though he doesn’t seem to know that the ‘thank you’ implied that she was done with his ass.”
“Or how young she was when the whamming and bamming happened.” Trish sips her drink through the miniature cocktail straw.
Without a word, Holt turns and walks back toward the bar. Jules gets up and follows him, laughing so hard she stumbles.
Flynn stands frozen, eyes narrowed on Vance.
“Yo, big bro.” I kick out with my boot and connect with Flynn’s shin, making him wince. “Just remember all the times I have to hear aboutyoursex life from Jackie.” I shiver and take a big gulp of my drink. “So just be thankful this was a one and done.”
My brother’s frown turns upward in what I think is supposed to be a smile but doesn’t quite make the mark. “What?” Flynn’s grimace is frightening. “It’s cool. I’m cool.” He shrugs awkwardly. “Besides, we all make mistakes.” He throws Vance some serious side-eye. “No offense.”
Jackie tilts her head up, her eyes confused behind her glasses. “How is that not offensive?”
Her naïve question busts the table up laughing. Flynn pulls her to her feet. “I’ll explain it while we dance.” He takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor.
Ian puts his beer down. “Dancing sounds like a good idea.”
“You go ahead.” Trish waves him away without looking at him, her eyes still moving between Vance and me. She tends to take people watching to a whole new and creepy level.
Sighing, Ian tugs an unwilling Trish up and away from the table. “Good luck,” Ian mumbles to Vance as they move past.
Vance does that personal space invasion that some men do, where they turn their whole body toward you and lean forward, blocking you in so they can’t be ignored. It’s usually annoying as hell and a good reason for a well-placed knee into their junk.
But this time, a thrill runs through me.
I’m a disappointment to feminists everywhere.
“You look good.” His eyes travel low and high, taking in my high-waisted skinny jeans and one shoulder cropped T-shirt with my hot pink bra strap on display.
I fluff the wild blond mess that is my hair over my shoulders. “I do, don’t I?”
He smiles. It’s a good smile. A smile that does things to a woman’s lady parts. Made worse by the fact that I know all too well just how happy my lady parts could be if I gave in to it.
I shift in my seat and regroup. “So what was with the Elvis impersonators earlier?”
He huffs out a laugh. “To be honest, I’m not all that sure.” He runs a hand through his hair. “The boys and I just arrived when they were dancing. Then someone yelled ‘rat,’ and we were nearly trampled by the horde of sequins and pleather.”
“There was a rat?” I push my drink across the table.
“No.” He laughs and slides it back to me. “Turns out someone snuck in a cat.”
“A cat.”
