“I sure do!” Parker exclaimed happily, giving Tanner a fist bump.
“How are the ribs?” Tanner asked, since the last time he’d seen him, he’d been injured and in a lot of pain.
“Better with every tequila shot,” Parker answered with an exuberant laugh. “Do you guys want me to mix you some drinks?” he asked, jumping back behind the bar and grabbing some glasses.
“Yes, please!” Tanner replied, chuckling.
“What would you like? I have some amazing top shelf booze and a gazillion mixers here, bro!”
“No Gatorade.” Lance had no idea how Tanner was able to maintain a straight face when he said that. Parker burst out laughing and gave them both a high five in response.
“So, how about I make you guys the all-American classic?”
“Which is?” Lance asked, watching as his brother began to pour different ingredients into the blender.
“Margueritas, baby!” Parker replied with enthusiasm.
“Pretty sure those are Mexican,” Lance remarked with a laugh.
“Yeah but stealing shit and taking credit for it isdefinitelyAmerican,” Tanner agreed with a proud smile. Parker snapped his fingers and pointed at him in the universal gesture forexactly.
“How very unpatriotic of you, G.I.,” Lance criticized with an exaggerated frown.
“I’m retired.”
Parker snorted and passed their drinks across the bar.
“G.I.?” Parker asked, leaning against the bar. “You were in the military?”
“Yep. Army. Helicopter pilot.” He always kept his answer short and to the point when asked that question. His tone indicated that he didn’t care to elaborate further, and most people got the message loud and clear.
“Jeez! That’s fucking cool. How come you’ve been hanging out with his lame ass?” Parker barely dodged a punch from Lance.
“Because I don’t want to pay to have my income taxes done.”
Lance laughed and elbowed him in the ribs, forcing Tanner to yank his drink out of the way to keep from spilling it.
“Where’s Jeremy? I want to go noogie his bald head and tease him about it,” Lance said, looking around for his youngest brother.
“Where do you think? Hiding inside playing World of Warcraft or some weird shit like that,” Parker replied. “Anyway, I love hanging out with you guys, but you better take a hike soI can get back to making drinks.” He nodded towards the line forming behind them.
“Fair enough. Don’t poison anyone!” Lance advised with a casual wave before dragging Tanner away from the bar.
They found a nice, out of the way, shady spot at the edge of the backyard that had several lounge chairs. With no one nearby, they could sit and talk without being disturbed.
“Income taxes, huh?” Lance asked as they sat down, shaking his head and laughing in disbelief.
Tanner shrugged then sipped his drink. “What was I supposed to say? That I think you have an exceptionally fine ass? I don’t think that would have gone over too well.”
“No, I guess not,” Lance agreed. Sipping on his marguerita, he recognized that Parker was, in fact, a gifted mixologist, despite his rotgut booze creations at his frat house. Lance shuddered, remembering the last time he’d been there. “This marguerita is infinitely better than Gatorade and vodka.”
“I think your mom’s bar budget for this party might be a tad higher than that of a frat house party. Though, to be honest, I’ve had worse than Gatorade and vodka.”
“Yeah? Like what?” Lance relaxed back in his chair, looking forward to hearing the story.
“One time we got this assignment in a place so remote that we called it Bumfuck, Egypt. After about two months into our time there, one of the guys got a care package from his wife. The box had the usual shit in it. You know, cookies, candy bars, and Red Bull. But she’d somehow also managed to sneak him a bottle of Everclear.”
“Ah, shit! That stuff is gross,” Lance said, shaking his head.
