Busted Flush

“I’m only sixteen,” Aliyah said, looking at hers, then paused.

Go for it, Ali, thought Ellen. I could stand a drink myself.

Aliyah took a sip. It tasted like high-octane Hawaiian Punch. “What happened?”

“Zombies,” Jonathan said. “We’ll let Lilith explain it to Bubbles. And actually, that’s not a half-bad idea . . .” He ordered some Zombies to go with the Hurricanes, paired with jambalaya and crawfish étouffée. By the end of the evening, they were both pretty giddy.

Aliyah squinted at Jonathan’s forehead and watched as a lump traveled down, moving under the skin, then down the bridge of his nose. The next moment a luminescent green wasp stuck its head out his right nostril. “Ew!” She giggled, pointing. “You’ve got a wasp booger!”

Jonathan snorted, his whole nose dissolving into wasps that swirled around before settling back into a nose sans wasps. “Uh, sorry. It happens sometimes when I get drunk.”

Aliyah giggled. “It’s actually kind of cute once you get used to it.”

“So are you.” Jonathan bought himself time by taking another drink. “Uh, well, Ellen’s pretty easy on the eyes, but I thought you were cute—though completely underage—when I first met you . . . before you, uh, died.” He looked uncomfortable, and not just because a trio of drunken wasps were trying to figure out how to turn themselves back into his left eyebrow.

“How did I die?” Aliyah clutched her Hurricane. “I mean, how did the Djinn kill me? No one’s wanted to tell me. No one’s even wanted to talk to me much except you. . . .”

“Uh . . . well . . . the Djinn had all sorts of powers. He’d turned himself into a giant and nothing could touch him, at least until you turned into a whirlwind and sand-blasted his hands.”

“And . . . ?”

“Um, he reached out kind of like this.” Jonathan grabbed a leftover alligator fritter, “And, uh . . .” The appetizer came apart in his hands and the broken pieces fell to the tablecloth.

Aliyah gaped at the crumbles of wasted meat and began to tear up. “That’s horrible!”

Jonathan moved his chair and put his arms around her. “It’s okay. You’re back.”

“For how long?” She sobbed. “I never even got to have a real boyfriend!”

Ellen felt like an awful voyeur, but knew it was best to hold her tongue. Jonathan Hive seemed to be a gentleman anyway, seeing to it that the bill was paid and giving Aliyah a shoulder to cry on as he escorted her back to her hotel room. “Um, we’re here. Got your key?”

Aliyah opened her eyes, wiping at them. “Uh, yeah . . .” She opened the door, then looked at Jonathan, blinking, his sweet face and brilliant green eyes, and reached a snap decision.

She stood on tiptoe, Ellen tall enough it didn’t take much to bridge the gap, and Jonathan’s lips parted almost immediately. Tongue met tongue. He tasted like nectar.

Drunk on alcohol and sorrow, Aliyah finally came up for air. “You’re a good kisser.”

He grinned his sweet grin. “Wasps know what to do with their tongues.”

Aliyah grabbed his T-shirt and pulled him inside the room. After a second clinch, she admitted, “They do.” She bit her lip. “I, uh, I’ve never been with a guy, but I . . .”

“Well, you’re not exactly underage anymore, but is Ellen okay with it?”

Just ask if he has protection.

“Uh, yeah. She just wants to know if you’ve got a condom.”

Jonathan’s grin was still there. “That’s one thing I was able to get at the UN gift shop.” He took her for a third clinch, running his hands down her back, stroking her sore muscles.

It had been a long while since Ellen had been touched like that. And Jonathan was an excellent kisser. For Aliyah, it was all completely new. When she pushed back for just a slight breath, she asked, “Do you want to take my clothes off or let me do it the ace way?”

“Maybe a little of both.”

Light jazz still crooned seductively from the radio. “Take off my jacket then.”

He did, his fingers deft and supple despite the drunkenness, the dexterity of someone who worked with his hands. Next Nick’s dress shirt, the buttons sliding free in sequence. Jonathan softly brushed his knuckles down the T-shirt underneath, between her breasts and over her heart.

Aliyah sighed, the soft sigh of a desert breeze, and allowed her form to blur slightly. The slacks pooled about her feet, followed by the dress shirt as it slid through the sand of her shoulders. With a soft susurrus, she reformed, naked but for the baby-doll shirt and earrings.

Jonathan Hive’s grin got wider. “Two can play at that game.”

His figure blurred as well, but where Aliyah became dull brown sand, Jonathan exploded into brilliant green, bright as his eyes as thousands upon thousands of neon wasps flew across the room to swarm atop the coverlet, a half minute later forming into Jonathan, naked but complete, his head propped on one hand, the other hand . . . well, maybe not quite complete.