Mach showed up at precisely that moment. He took a long look at Becca double fisting the beverage of the night. “No-oh-oh.” He removed both cups from her grasp. “Avoid the punch, they were dumping a crap load of stuff in it. Stick with the medication punch.”
“Medication punch?” Tanner asked.
Linx wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. Actually, he was certain he didn’t want to know.
“For those with pharmaceutical prescriptions,” Babushka chimed in, scooting between him and Becca so they had to separate. “We don’t add the good stuff.” She made a gag sound, as though this were a repulsive idea not to have the good stuff.
Mach lifted his cup. “It’s just like when I was a kid. Like the orange drink my mom used to make out of powder and water.”
“Good to know,” Becca said, eyeing the beverage table. “I’m glad I brought my own drinks.”
She set her cup down on one of the tables, sly like. No one else noticed, but Linx did. He slipped her his cup as well. She did the same with his.
“Shall we sit and drink my purse beverages?” She asked, arm still linked with his, her side pressed along his side in a way that made him not really care if he got any cake after all.
He pulled out a folding chair for her. Then, cautiously, sat next to her.
She handed him the ginger ale from her purse and grabbed a sparkling water for herself. He popped the top on his can, took a long drink, and eyed the cake table.
Babushka shuffled toward them. She patted her hands together, clapping quietly with glee. “You are at Etta’s table.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Becca started to stand. “We didn’t know.”
Linx followed suit.
Babushka pointed her wrinkled finger at Becca and Linx and then waived it toward their chairs, “You vill sit. She vill be happy to have customers.”
He glanced to the chair. Then to Becca. She did the same. They both came to the same conclusion because they both sat.
“What is Etta teaching at this table?” he asked, the metal folding chair suddenly uncomfortable against his ass. Truth was, he was sort of afraid of the answer, but held out hope it involved frosting and carbohydrates. Maybe Etta was a baker.
“Lap dances.” Babushka lifted her hands. “Of course.”
Becca barked a laugh. Loud.
Linx did not laugh.
“You two are together?” Babushka asked.
Becca seemed to freeze a bit at that question. “Um.”
“Yeah, we’re working that part out,” Linx said, giving Becca’s shoulders a squeeze. “Becca here is on vacation. She’s here because I promised cake.”
Becca cleared her throat. Then she grinned like she’d just found out she sat at the cake table. “I’d… be willing to learn to give a dance. That would be fun. Very vacation-y.”
He wasn’t convinced.
“I thought you liked me,” he said low.
Becca’s eyes sparkled like the elderly had spiked the punch with champagne instead of vodka. “I have a hunch here that it’s going to be more fun for me than for you.”
“And you?” Babushka directed this question to him. “Vill you dance for her?”
He cleared his throat. Twice. “No. But… I’d be willing to learn.”
Becca clapped him on the shoulder. “And, just like that, this night just got fun.”
She looked to him with expectant glee.
