A red light flashes, warning our time is up. I’m not sure whether Bette saw it or knows what it means, and I debate stepping in, but she lifts the microphone to her mauve lips once again. “Now, that’s not to say plenty of senior citizens aren’t falling in love again and even getting married for the second or third time, only that looks a lot different at our age as well…”
Crackling, snapping energy fires through the room, and Bette harnesses it like she’s Thor, Goddess of Thunder. “For one thing, we ask the guests that in lieu of wedding gifts…”
She pops the microphone neatly in place and delivers her final punchline right on time. “Send lube.”
…
By the time our celebratory afterparty winds down, the bartenders are announcing last call.
Around midnight, the bubbies declared themselves pumpkins but then stayed anyway—and not just because they needed a ride or hesitated to leave the rest of us without one, as Vonetta belongs to the elitist of rideshares and has chartered us a limo home in the past.
Bette’s still glowing as she wraps up her third retelling, including the part where she walked off the stage and got the bouncer’s number—for home repairs, she claims. “What? He’s a handyman and I have a wonky fan in my bedroom.”
“How convenient,” Grandma Helen teases in her smoky voice, a side effect of having to talk over the music and buzz of multiple conversations.
Lips pursed and nose haughtily lifted, Bette retorts, “It’s called seizing moments.”
“Well, you sure didn’t waste any time seizing everything of his that you could,” Wanda says in a razzing tone, and Bette’s laugh reaches evil-genius levels.
“Hey, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a hunk in my bedroom.” She twirls a curl around her finger.” No need to be jealous, gals, I don’t mind sharing…his contact information with you.”
My cheeks and abs hurt from all the laughing, and as I’m wiping at the resulting tears, it hits me that this group of golden gals are doing what I’d deemed impossible—making me enjoy the lulls. “Heck, I’ll take it,” Arlene says extra loudly and vehemently, causing Gertie to snort as Sophia snarks, “Get this gal a heart monitor—she’s finally ready for casual sex!” Another round of giggles breaks out, drowning out Arlene’s insistence it’s strictly for home repairs.
We’re all a little tipsy and a lot slaphappy, but at Arlene’s “I’ve taken advantage of Noah too much as it is,” I can’t avoid looking at the guy seated to my right any longer.
Not that I haven’t been stealing glances throughout.
His bored expression has been akin to dudes at shoe stores, but the casual sex comment ruffled the surface a bit, I can tell by the tic in his jaw. Not that I blame him, as hearingabout the perils of dating after sixty is also not for the faint of heart.
He’s been a good sport, sitting through the acts of the other comedians and our drunken celebration, as sober as a cucumber at a pickle party.
“It’s no big deal helping you with home repairs. I don’t mind.” His gaze locks onto mine as his mouth slowly curves into a debonair grin. “Tonight wasn’t quite as awful as I expected, either.”
I sway closer, propping an elbow on the table. “Wow, do I sense a compliment in there?”
“Not for your jokes. Bette’s, however…” He high-fives her over the table, as if her ego needed further inflating.
But then he returns his attention to me, pivoting in his seat until our bubble shrinks to him and me and the knock of our knees.
Wait. I like Dr. Vas—Carlos.
We’ve only been on a date and maybe a half, so we’re hardly exclusive or even moving in that direction. And as I peer into endlessly blue eyes that rile and melt something deep within me, I double down on being allowed to browse the menu.
“I see it now, what you’re trying to do,” Noah says in a low voice, only for me, and a tremor of guilt threatens despite having done nothing wrong.
That I knew of anyway. “Trying to do?”
“Succeeding, too, at times, no matter how misguided the methods.”
Okay, now I’mtryingnot to feel offended, and did I just rule in favor of flirting with this dude?
“Misguided?Are you paying me a compliment or insulting me? I can’t quite tell.” I start to pull away, too many conflicting thoughts careening into one another at once.
Noah’s long fingers encircle my wrist. “A compliment, I swear. Guess I’m just out of practice.”
“Not surprised,” I blurt, and his jaw hangs open for a moment before he gives a low chuckle.
“Fine, maybe I’m a little rusty in that area, too. At least where you’re concerned,” I concede, and his grin widens, which both irks and captivates me, and that’s the problem with Noah Drayton. He evokes such a wide array of emotions, and I tend to experience all of mine in ultra-high-def, full-blast surround sound.
