Chapter 30
FIRST ANNUAL TAKE YOUR ALIEN TO WORK DAY
“So…no to telepathy, right?” I asked.
The SUV’s wipers scraped away another sheet of rain, revealing the storm-darkened street. Red lights gleamed dully on the wet road ahead, casting a soft glow over Sky’s profile as he sent me a sidelong look. One that made it clear what he thought of my question.
He’d changed back into jeans and yesterday’s button-up, the one he’d discarded during the alien-exposition-followed-by-striptease routine last night.
I’d done my best to forget the bloodstained handprint on his white shirt, as well as this morning’s brain-melting nosebleed. So far, I was doing a decent enough job. Judging by Sky’s annoyed expression, though, my coping mechanism—nonstop inquiries—wasn’t winning me any points.
I couldn’t help it. The emotional whiplash of waking up to an alien in my hallway, nearly breaking my brain, and then not immediately dying had left me craving something solid. Something grounding and logical. Like figuring out the puzzle that was Sky Acosta.
“No,” he said, lips flattening. “I already told you I can’t read minds. And I’m not sure how many times I need to say it, but I’m really not supposed to talk about the details—”
“Okay, fine,” I cut in. “Can you at least tell me what your spaceship looks like?” Or even better… I sucked in a breath, twisting toward him. “Can I see it?”
“Raven.”
It was said quietly, but his grip flexed on the steering wheel. So that was a firm no. Of course it was.
I sat back on a sigh, sipping my third cup of coffee. Because if I was going to die of a psychic nosebleed, I might as well be fully alert and caffeinated.
The memory made my stomach lurch, and I gripped my thermos tighter. The normalcy of packing my books, changing into my uniform, and dodging Bob, who’d peeked out at the unfamiliar SUV in my driveway, had helped me feel better.
I’d told Sky I wanted to maintain my routine, and I meant it. I was taking one thing at a time: lunch shift at Oasis then midterms.
Totally normal day. Just with an alien chauffeur. And alien stalkers.
No big deal.
I glanced across the center console. Sky was the picture of focus, one hand on the wheel, the other resting along the window. His mouth was tight, eyebrows slightly drawn, probably from resisting the urge to shove me out of the moving vehicle.
This Creed of his must be ironclad. Pladians took their secrecy very seriously. It seemed silly they couldn’t make an exception, considering how deeply I was involved. I mean, I’d seen Sky’s real form. Couldn’t get much more…involved than that.
I was even sporting a Pladian tattoo. I fisted my marked hand. Surely being up to my eyeballs in this mess meant I’d earned the full picture.
At least Sky didn’t seem quite so inflexible. He’d bent enough to fill me in.
To kiss me in the stairwell like his life depended on it.
A blush tried to crawl up my neck, and I quickly looked away. I really needed to stop thinking about that.
Maybe I could get him to answer just a few more questions instead. We’d reached downtown One Willow and would be at Oasis soon.
I cleared my throat, sliding my eyes his way again. “You said your biology was a lot like mine. Exactly how similar? Do you need, say…sleep?”
Sky didn’t look at me, but his mouth compressed further. Enough to form white lines. “Do I need sleep?” His turn signal clicked as he veered onto Second Street. “What kind of question is that? Of course I need sleep.”
“I meant, like, the same amount of sleep.” My flush was back. I tucked my lip between my teeth. “I know your suit makes you mostly human, but…”
There were definite differences, considering he’d just used it to do a little early-morning brain stimulating.
My attention flicked to his forearm, the tanned skin exposed beneath a rolled-up sleeve. That was a synthetic skin. I should’ve been grossed out by the idea. Instead, I found myself fascinated by the subtle shift of muscle and veins as he tightened his grip on the wheel.
“Synth-skin,” he corrected sharply. I snapped my gaze up and met his narrow-eyed glance.
In the gloom, his eyes were the color of ink.
“It’s called a synth-skin. A synthetic dermal implant.
And yes, I need sleep. I also require sustenance.
Specifically, dihydrogen monoxide and nourishment in the form of proteins, carbohydrates, and fats.
Just like you.” In the pause, his cheek bunched like he was grinding his molars.
He returned his attention to the road. “And in case you're wondering, yes, I produce waste. I don’t like pickles, green beans, or tuna fish. I eat normal human food. No Soylent Green. I breathe fine in your nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere. I drink Earth water without dying. You’re the one with the glowing fingers.
I don’t lay eggs. I don’t reproduce by face-hugging. Does that cover the bases?”
He’d taken me by surprise. I bit the inside of my cheek against a shocked laugh. Green beans?
I fought it down, though, when guilt surged immediately after. Especially because his nostrils flared with his forced breath. He didn’t look happy. Apparently, I’d struck a nerve.
I turned my head toward the window and sipped my coffee. I wasn’t being fair, pushing him. He was doing me a favor by sticking close like this. Driving me. Staying over. The least I could do was respect his boundaries.
All of them. Even if I couldn’t stop thinking about that damn kiss.
The SUV sloshed through a deep puddle when Sky slowed at a red light and came to a stop. He balanced an elbow on the steering wheel and twisted toward me, and I lowered my cup, glancing over.
With the full force of his gaze trained on me instead of the road, I could see the dangerous gleam in it. He wasn’t just unhappy. He was borderline pissed. My throat tightened.
“Since you’re so interested in my physiology,” he murmured, running his eyes over me, “you may have also noticed I can experience sexual arousal.”
I choked on my own saliva. “I…”
Any response melted when Sky leaned a little closer, into the space between us. His voice dropped an octave. “I can even orgasm,” he said, holding my gaze. “In case you were wondering about that, too.”
Was that a challenge? A promise? I didn’t know anything for certain other than the fact I’d forgotten how to breathe.
Fantastic. Now I was thinking about Sky and orgasms and orgasms with Sky, and all the ways I was totally on board with all those things.
My coffee nearly slipped from my numb fingers, and I caught it just in time, tightening my grip to avoid dumping it in my lap, unable to tear my wide eyes from his face.
He watched me fumble with a faintly arched brow, like he’d done it on purpose. Maybe he had. Maybe this was a defensive reaction to my prodding.
I recovered enough to sit back and managed to close my mouth, though I didn’t look away.
Neither did he. A charge vibrated between us.
His lips parted like he was about to say something else—but then he scraped his teeth over his bottom one, muttered something under his breath, and turned back around.
Hands on the wheel, he went back to staring out the windshield.
The silence stretched.
I eyed his profile, a little shocked, a smidge turned on, and more than a tiny bit confused.
But then he exhaled again, quieter this time, and ran a hand through his hair. I’d never seen Sky actually angry. It didn’t exactly feel great, being responsible for almost getting him there.
“Sky,” I started, intending to apologize, but he cut me off.
“I’ve got the same basic needs as you,” he said without looking away from the red light.
He sounded resigned, like he’d accepted answering some of my questions—if only to shut me up.
Or maybe this was an apology for dangling the word orgasm in my vicinity.
“The only real difference is the suit’s ability to manipulate and generate electricity, the cloaking mechanics—which include the interference with recording technology.
And my enhanced immune system.” His gaze darted my way then back to the road.
“My body runs at…peak performance, I guess you could say. I heal a little faster. Can’t get infections or viruses.
Metabolize quickly…” He turned his head.
That calm, reserved expression was back, but his firm tone held finality.
“But I’m really not supposed to talk about it. ”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.” I slid deeper into my seat. My face still burned. Had he just told me his body runs at peak performance? “I get the picture. I’ll stop pushing.”
“Thank you,” he said, subdued.
My pulse hadn’t settled quite yet, mostly because the tension lingered. Sky was quiet as the light turned green, and we took off again.
He couldn’t entirely blame me, though. Anybody would have questions. How many people could say they’d interviewed an actual alien over a to-go coffee cup?
Well…considering how many aliens I’d discovered were hanging out on Earth, maybe more than I thought. Maybe FETR had the market cornered on alien dialogues. I wouldn’t be shocked if they had a podcast or something.
Regardless of who was doing any interviewing, I couldn’t be the only one who knew about this.
Somebody high up had enough information to come up with a cover story, after all.
But even that lie would only last until the Enil decided to make a more public appearance.
Hard to cover up a seven-foot-tall angry robot busting through walls and shooting pink lasers.
Then I remembered Sky was worried they were after me, and the two and a half cups of coffee churned in my stomach. I tightened my hold on my thermos.
But that was why Sky was here. In case he was right, and the Enil were still a threat. I risked glancing at him. He didn’t look irritated anymore, just pensive. Brooding, even. That was better than mad.