“Oh!” I said quickly. “I got you a drink!” I pushed the glass across the table. “It’s vodka and soda. Are you a vodka and soda guy?”
Clark frowned down at the glass, then pushed the slice of lime around the edge. “I guess so. Thanks.”
I turned to Rip, who had gone back to scowling, then back to Clark, who was studying the glass like it was one of his novels. After another tense pause, he took a big drink from the glass, then another, and then squeezed his lips together to stifle a choke.
God… do I have to do everything for these two?
“Rip has been working at a tattoo shop in town,” I said. “He actually did an alien tattoo yesterday. Didn’t you, Rip? And a robot tattoo the day before. Why don’t you show Clark?”
Rip shot me a glance. “Clark doesn’t care about that, I’m sure.”
Clark took another drink from his vodka, then shrugged. “What kind of alien? And what kind of robot?”
Rip chuckled, then pulled out his phone. “That’s exactly what Mars asked. Here, let me show you a pic.” He slid the phone across the table, and Clark pushed his glasses up to take a look. “Mars told me the alien is called a Gray, but he didn’t know anything about the robot.”
Clark smiled as he flipped through the pictures. “Grays are the most common aliens. I’m not surprised. Although they don’t appear inStar Trek. How’d you know, Mars?”
“I went down a Wikipedia hole after the movie festival,” I admitted. “Turns out, people have a lot of thoughts about aliens.”
“The robot is from an old sci-fi movie,Logan’s Run,” Clark said, handing the phone back. “His name is Box. Didn’t the person who got the tattoo tell you about him?”
Rip shook his head, returning the phone to his pocket. “She was pretty quiet,” he said. “Some people share stories, some don’t.”
“It’s pretty remarkable, actually,” Clark said. “You did a really amazing job. It’s like you caught the vibe of the character somehow, even though it’s just a single illustration.”
“Thanks,” Rip said, pleased by the compliment.
“What vibe does that robot have?” I asked. “Is it a love-bot? Is it programmed for sexy times?”
Clark laughed. “Hardly. More like a freeze-you-in-my-cave-and-eat-you-later-bot.”
Rip glanced down at the phone, then back to us. “I guess I did capture the vibe,” he chuckled.
Our laughter broke through the tension, and we settled into an easy conversation for a while. Whenever the talk lagged, I tossed an easy question to Rip or to Clark, something I knew the other one would care about. I got Clark talking about Seattle and how much he loved the city, knowing that Rip enjoyed being back home, too and that it would do him good to realize Clark had a happy life, despite everything that had happened. And even though it took a little more prodding to get Rip to talk, once he started sharing stories of our travels and of all the people we had met across the country, Clark seemed as charmed by him as I had always been.
“Let me get this straight,” Clark said. “When you were twenty, you lived in the basement of a house filled with lesbians in Pittsburgh? Why were you even in Pittsburgh?”
“My fault,” I said, draining my second beer.
“We had been in Salt Lake City. Mars met a cute guy who was moving there, but the guy took off from Utah before Mars had a chance to seal the deal.” Rip chuckled to himself. “Not that he told me that. I thought we were chasing down some high-paying seasonal work.”
I swooped up the empty glasses on the table. “Thank god those ladies took us in,” I said. “Otherwise, I think Rip would have finally run out of patience for me.” I held the glasses in the air. “Another round?”
“Oh wow,” Clark said. “How much time has passed?”
Rip glanced at his phone. “It’s 8:30. You need to get going? We could give you a ride or call you a car, if it’s getting too late.”
Clark frowned, then looked back and forth between us. His eyes were wide and clear, but the pink glow in his cheeks told me that the vodka was working its magic. I wanted to lean down, take his face in my hands, and plant a slow kiss on his lips, and to ask him to stay for the whole evening. It felt so good to have him and Rip together, to see Rip’s protective instincts reaching out to Clark and Clark’s sweet sincerity warming Rip.
“I could stay for a soda water,” Clark answered cautiously. “I haven’t even asked how the piercing is going, Mars.”
“Seattle loves him,” Rip answered, rising to his feet. He extended his arms and took the glasses from me. “But this round is on me. You two sit.”
I returned to the table and flashed Clark a warm smile. I nodded toward the bar, indicating the guy Gunner from earlier. “Didn’t you say you know a bartender here?” I asked. “Is that your friend?”
As we watched, Gunner leaned forward, clearly flirting with Rip, and Rip laughed warmly in response. I batted down my irritation at it, even though I had done the same thing with Gunner earlier.
Damn, Rip. Stop acting like me. You’ve already got two hot guys at the table.
