Chapter 26
LYN
What…what in the everloving hell have I gotten myself into?
What do you wear to dinner with your Nyeri’i boss/situationship/…boyfriend? and his daughter and his baby-mama. Is that even a thing? I guess it is a thing, because I’m now in the thing and I’m supposed to be at dinner in an hour and—
I squeeze my eyes shut.
And I still don’t know if I even like him or if it’s the translator. If it’s him…or if it’s the orgasms. The orgasms, which are exceptionally good, but maybe not even because of him at all.
I pull out my comm and dial Thalara, pacing back and forth and looking down at the various outfits I’ve picked out.
They’re spread out on the bed, waiting: a very professional button-up and slacks, or a purple dress I’ve literally never worn, or a cute orange romper that feels more like a date night fit but—maybe would work if this is a date?
What am I doing?
Why am I doing this?
Am I really about to wreck my whole fucking career for some arguably very good turquoise cock?
“What…what did you just ask me?”
My eyes go wide. “Shit—hi, Tay.”
“Did you just ask if you’re about to—and I’m paraphrasing here—ruin your life for some good turquoise…um…”
“I didn’t realize I said it out loud,” I mutter. “I’m sorry. It’s just—I need help.”
I can hear the concern in her voice; I must sound worse than the situation actually is. “Are you okay?”
“Debatable,” I say, scraping my hand down my face. “I can’t figure out what to wear to meet Kaelion’s family.”
“You’re—” she pauses, stuttering. “You’re meeting his family? Weren’t you…yesterday you weren’t even sure—”
“I’m aware of what was happening yesterday, but this is happening today,” I sigh. “He wants to do everything above board. Telling my committee, his daughter, his ex…God, this is a huge mistake, isn’t it?”
Thalara is quiet on the other end of the line for way too long.
“Thalara?” I venture.
“I’m thinking,” she murmurs. “And I think…it depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“On if you’re asking me for permission to back out or if you want me to explain why I don’t think this is a mistake.”
I groan and flop down on the bed, my clothes scattering.
“You don’t?”
“No, I don’t,” she says. “But I’m not human, remember? We have different customs.”
“Like what?”
“Well…” she pauses again, considering her words. I usually like that she does that. Right now, it’s making the tension ratchet up in my stomach like I’m being spun in a blender. “Because of pheromonal mating—”
“That kinda grosses me out,” I interrupt.
“Too bad,” Thalara shoots back.
I shut up.
“Because of pheremonal mating,” she says, more deliberate this time, “species like mine or like the Nyeri’i tend to fall fast and fall hard. It’s not just a matter of physical compatibility, though that’s part of it; it’s typically an intuitive sense of complementary personalities.”
I sit up. “How the hell does that work?”
“I really don’t know,” she says. “You’re the scientist here. I’m just a historian who’s read a lot of marriage records.”
“That’s somehow worse,” I groan. “You’re saying there’s documentation.”
“There are patterns,” she corrects. “Species with pheromonal mating—Merati, Nyeri’i, a few others—tend to recognize certain…compatibilities quickly. It’s not magic. It’s more like…your nervous systems notice you fit together before the rest of you catches up.”
“That’s horrifying.”
“It’s efficient,” she says, completely serious. “And it doesn’t happen with everyone. If it were just biology, we’d all bond with the first person we smelled in puberty.”
I flop back and stare at the ceiling. “So you’re saying I’m, what, biologically compatible with my cranky alien boss.”
“I’m saying,” she replies, “that your translator and his pheromones might be amplifying something that was already there. Not inventing it.”
I hate how much relief that gives me.
“Okay, but I still don’t know if I actually like him,” I argue, scrubbing at my eyes. “How do I even tell? I spend half my time wanting to climb him like a tree and the other half wanting to throw something at his head.”
“That’s called attraction,” Thalara says dryly.
“I’m serious, Tay.”
“So am I,” she says. “Answer me a question. Before all of this—before the translator glitched, before the lab floor orgasm you refuse to stop mentioning—how did you feel about him?”
I open my mouth.
Shut it.
Rewind.
Late nights in the lab where he wouldn’t go home until I did.
The way he always paused for my questions during meetings, even when we were on a tight schedule.
The way he snapped at other people for underestimating me, then turned around and made me back up my own arguments three different ways.
The way I kept secretly using his rubrics as a benchmark for my proposals, like he was the final boss I needed to impress.
“I…” I swallow. “I respected him. A lot. I liked working with him. He drove me nuts, but…in a good way? In a…motivating way. He took my work more seriously than anyone else ever has.”
“And you cared what he thought about you,” she adds quietly.
My face heats. “…yes.”
“Okay,” she says. “So that’s one data point that doesn’t involve his anatomy.”
I grimace at the ceiling. “Fine.”
“Second question,” Thalara continues. “Right now, what scares you more—losing your project, or hurting him and his family?”
I start to say obviously my project, but the words get stuck in my throat.
Because the thing is…I don’t have a great track record with relationships. It’s why I’ve never dated someone with a kid. Why I rarely date at all. My work has always taken first priority, even when I really liked someone.
And I’ve never liked someone this much.
Not like I like him. Not like I’ve liked him for what I’m realizing has been a very, very long time.
“Lyn?” Thalara says quietly.
I close my eyes. “Right now? The idea of walking into his apartment, meeting his kid, and then messing everything up scares me more than tanking my project, okay? Happy?”
Thalara hums sympathetically. “It never makes me happy when you’re on the edge of breaking your own heart, my friend.”
Something in me wobbles at that. She sounds…sad. Not disappointed, not exasperated. Just sad that this is where my brain goes.
“I’m not trying to,” I say. “My heart is just extremely breakable and has a long history of flinging itself at brick walls.”
“Yes,” she agrees softly. “But you are allowed to stop, you know.”
I stare at the ceiling. “Stop what?”
“Treating yourself like you’re dangerous to care about,” she says. “As if you’re the risk in this situation instead of one person among several who are all making choices.”
My throat tightens. “I am a risk, though. I mess things up. I get obsessed, I overwork, I forget to—” I flap a hand at the bed, the piles of clothes, the general chaos. “Live a normal life. And then someone decides they don’t want to deal with the maintenance anymore.”
There’s a rustle on the other end of the line, like she’s shifting in her chair.
“You are a little intense,” she says gently. “But that isn’t the same as unsafe. You’re not a bomb, Lyn. You’re a person. People are allowed to be a lot.”
I swallow. “It hasn’t felt like that in the past.”
“I know.” Her voice is very soft now. “Some people couldn’t hold you and their own fear at the same time. That doesn’t mean no one can.”
I press my wrist over my eyes until stars burst behind them. “Are you saying he can?”
“Maybe,” she says. “And if you have a plan to make sure your project is okay then…why not let it play out? See what happens?”
“Last time I did that I ended up writhing on a laboratory floor.”
“And I’m sure you’ll do it again,” she says with a short laugh. “So…what are you wearing?”
I stare at the bed. “Three bad choices.”
“Describe them to me,” she says.
I narrow my eyes. “Okay. Option one: button-up and slacks. Very professional. Very interview. Very ‘this isn’t a thing, it’s just business.’”
“So not that.”
“Already nixing it?”
“Well, yes,” she says. “Because this isn’t business, Lyn. You like him.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Option two…purple dress. Pretty. Not me at all, but very girl who has a very grown-up boyfriend. Maybe trying to measure up to his ex. Probably failing because she’s gorgeous.”
“Sounds like another no to me.”
“Great,” I mutter. “So we’ve eliminated ‘emotionally constipated adjunct’ and ‘backup singer in my own life.’ That leaves…option three.”
“Which is?”
“That orange romper I wear when we have girls’ night with Page.”
“Oh, duh. That one.”
I blink. “That was fast.”
“You actually like that one,” she says. “Out of all three, it’s the only thing I’ve ever actually seen you wear.”
“But shouldn’t I wear something fancy?”
“Is it putting too much pressure on you to think you should wear something fancy?”
I pause. “Touché.”
She makes a confused sound in the back of her throat. “...touchy?”
I laugh, leaning forward to pick up the romper, to take a closer look and experiment with how it might feel to wear it tonight. “Sorry. You’re such a good friend I forget you’re an alien sometimes.”
I can practically hear her blush. “To me, you’re the alien,” she laughs.
“Yeah, but you’re the one with the cultural competency badge,” I say, holding the romper up to myself in the mirror.
“Okay, hypothetically…if this goes well, what does that even mean? In Nyeri’i terms. Human terms I get.
You date, you see how it goes. Nyeri’i terms sound like ‘hey, meet my kid and my terrifyingly competent ex the same day we decide to stop sneaking around.’”
Thalara hums thoughtfully. “In Nyeri’i terms, it means he is taking you seriously.”
I look at my reflection, at the riot of orange in my hands. “That’s what scares me.”
“I know,” she says. “But it also means he trusts you. He’s letting you see the part of his life that matters most, and he’s giving you a chance to decide if you want to be part of it.”
“I don’t deserve that,” I blurt before I can stop myself.
There’s a quiet inhale on the line. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t even know if this is real.” The words come out in a rush. “Because my brain is soup and my body is glitching and I might wake up in a week and realize that this was all just one long, extremely horny lab accident.”
“Lyn,” she says, very gently. “You are the one who just said you were more afraid of hurting them than losing your work. That doesn’t sound like a lab accident to me.”
I glance at the clock. I really need to get changed and go…just to be brave and do the damn thing. But I have one more thing I need to get off my chest.
“I think this would be easier if it were more alien,” I finally say.
“If he was like…you know, a psychic like Page had, like he could read my mind. Or if he was some big burly Skoll who was just like—you mate, me marry you. But he’s just…
a good guy who’s way too good for me, and who wants me to be part of his life.
Why is that scarier than the psychic vampire or the alien barbarian? ”
She pauses. I can picture her sitting at her desk, chewing on a pencil…giving my interpersonal bullshit just as much attention as her galactic-class research. “I think it’s because…he requires you to participate. To say what you want. To risk disappointing him. To risk being known.”
My chest goes tight in a different way than before. Less panic, more…oh shit.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” I whisper.
“I think you already are,” she says gently. “You told him you wanted him. You told me you are afraid of hurting his family. You are calling your friend before you go, instead of pretending you aren’t scared. That all sounds very…participatory to me.”
I let out a weak laugh. “You make it sound noble. It just feels like my brain is a wasp nest.”
“That, too, is very normal,” she says, and I can hear the smile now. “Look, Lyn…no one is asking you to decide the whole future tonight. He is only asking you to come to dinner and be yourself.”
I make a face at the mirror. “Have you considered that ‘myself’ is a terrible idea?”
“Yes,” she says. “And I still like you very much.”