Page 13 of Space Oddities

Leave it to a NASA engineer to bring science into trash talking.

“But if I was looking for a male escort,” Bodie crosses his arms, looking me up and down, “I could do a damn sight better than you.”

I laugh. “Fucker.”

He shrugs, looking unconcerned. “I was asking because I was given the option for a plus one and didn’t know if people were actually bringing dates or not.”

Turning, I start my walk back to the locker room. “I’m not.” The image of Trish, shotgun in hand, flits through my mind. Which is problematic when wearing a thin layer of spandex over your junk. “I’ve got my eye on one of the bridesmaids.”

“Yeah?” Bodie falls into step next to me. “Tell me more about these bridesmaids.”

* * *

Trish

“Our rides are here.”Jules hops up from the floor, phone in hand, looking no worse for wear even with the six empty bottles of champagne scattered around the floor.

On cue, although they were probably listening by the door, three saleswomen enter, heading straight for the dress rack where the gowns we didn’t want are hung.

“It may not be short or low cut, but I do look bangable, so it’ll work.” Rose sways back and forth in front of the mirror, the fabric billowing out around her legs. Even though Jackie said we could each get whatever style dress we wanted, after much debate and even trying on most of the dresses in the store that had nothing to do with chiffon or the color coral, Rose and I both finally agreed that the full-length, sleeveless A-line dress with the faux wrap front and plunging back was classy and flattering on both our shapes.

Jules said she looked good in anything, which with her body, she kind of does, so now all three of us have the same dress for the wedding.

“You know most of the people coming to the wedding,” Jackie says to Rose, trying to straighten her glasses but just skewing them even more. She stumbles slightly as she rights herself. “I’m not sure the odds are in your favor for a one-night stand.”

Not bothering to change in the dressing room, Rose pauses halfway to naked and glares at Jackie. “Don’t get all mathy and calculate odds, genius. Numbers can’t define my game.” She shimmies the rest of the way out of the dress. One of the sales ladies drapes it over her arm before rehanging it.

Jackie frowns. “But that is exactly what numbers do, they define—”

“There’s no arguing with a southern woman on the warpath to great sex.” I try to pat Jackie’s shoulder, but my hand misses, and I end up feeling her up. “Oops. Sorry, sugar.”

“I saw that.” Rose struggles into her skin-tight jeans. Takes a confident woman to bend and squat her way into skinny jeans in front of an audience. “Don’t get any ideas, Trish the Dish. If the men at the wedding are scarce, I call dibs on the hottest woman.” She zips up her jeans and wipes her brow with the back of her hand. “Whew.”

“You sure you aren’t just a lesbian?” Jules says, leaning against the glitter-papered wall. In her ripped concert T-shirt and shit-kickers, she looks like a biker in a toddler’s princess room. “Ain’t no shame in the girl loving game.”

Jackie shakes her head at Jules. “There is something wrong with you.”

“I wish I liked girls.” Rose snaps her sleeveless button-down shirt, leaving the bottom two undone so she can tie the ends in a knot. “Dick is getting complicated.”

I choke on my final sip of mimosa. Which is really just straight champagne.

“I’m serious,” Rose says, hands on hips. “Now guys want to actually date you. And it’s like, they should really be able to find your clit with any regularity before they think they’re ready to lock a girl down, you know?” She fluffs her hair. “Like, build your resume before trying to get hired by the big guns.”

“Wait. I’m confused,” Jackie says. “Are you the big guns?”

“No. These are.” Rose points both thumbs at her boobs.

“I really wish we’d waited in the car.”

We turn to see Holt standing in the doorway, running a hand down his face. Behind him is Flynn. The West brothers look mighty fine, even surrounded by the dress shop’s glitter, chiffon, and Victorian furniture.

“Hey, babe.” Jules jumps, and Holt catches her, hands under her ass. She locks her legs around his waist and smacks her lips against his. “Take me home, cowboy!”

“Good lord.” Holt rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. Usually more taciturn, he’s done a lot more smiling since he managed to wrangle Jules. “I will once we settle the tab.”

I wait for Jackie to argue, as she insisted on paying for the dresses when she asked all of us to be bridesmaids, but instead I find her squared up to Flynn, legs slightly bent and shoulder-width apart, arms swinging.

“Jackie?” Flynn’s nostrils flare, and I can tell he’s trying hard not to laugh at his intoxicated fiancée.

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