Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“Work?” I asked Twink.
“I work at the bookstore down the street—well, in the coffee shop part since we’ve been short-staffed. There’s this girl Monika who stopped coming in, but for whatever reason, my boss hasn’t fired her. Something to do with corporate red tape. Anyway, I’m not a very good barista. They need to hire someone and get on with it.”
So many words, so many elements I couldn’t make sense of, the customs and hierarchal order of his community.
“What do you do, Daddy?” Powerbottom asked. “Some cushy job with lots of benefits, I hope. Charlie needs some decent health insurance, and the bookstore ain’t cutting it.”
Charlie must’ve been a nickname for Twink.
As Twink and Powerbottom awaited my response, I considered my options. I couldn’t say intergalactic scientist without giving too much away, so I played it safe. “It’s complicated.”
Powerbottom shrugged. “I hear that.”
“That said, if Twink must get to work, I have work I need to get to as well.”
“Oh, he works on Saturday?” Powerbottom said to Twink. “Might not be such a cushy job after all. You’re still fucked.”
“Did you want me to put these waffles in a container for you?” Twink asked me.
Again, there was this nurturer in him that assured me of what a good mate he’d make. This was clearly a man who would do a good job caring for my young.
“I would like that,” I told Twink, and he pushed to his feet.
He found a container in a cabinet—an opaque box—and placed the waffles inside. “There. Now you have to see me again to return it.” He passed it across the kitchen island. His eyes illuminated as his lips curled into that gorgeous smirk I was quickly becoming obsessed with.
I pushed to my feet and started for the door when Twink said, “Dude!”
I wasn’t sure what this was—another nickname?—so I turned back.
“You can’t go out there wearing that.”
I searched myself over, uncertain what the issue could be, since I was still in the clothes I donned the night before. I’d already been out there in them, and they had proved a success.
“What are you worried about?” Powerbottom asked. “Worst thing that could happen is he winds up getting a BJ on the way home.”
This earned a look from Twink, who approached, saying, “You are not doing a walk of shame in that.” He took my hand, guiding me into a bathroom, which connected to a short hallway back into the bedroom. On one side of the hall, clothes were hung up opposite two dressers, and Twink sifted through the drawers of these dressers before handing me a few garments. “Here. You can throw these on.”
I stripped out of the clothes from the night before, and Twink’s gaze went right to my reproductive organ, which pleased me. If only I had a better handle on the mating ritual that was expected of me, then I might have been able to impregnate him immediately.
No—this was my primal Furker impulse. I couldn’t bow to it. I had to repair my ship and get back home, despite how enticing he was.
By the time I put on a T-shirt and shorts, Powerbottom had joined us with a plate and waffle. He cut a slice of the waffle and popped it into his mouth. When he finished swallowing, he said, “Did you really think that shirt would fit him?”
I figured this had something to do with how my belly was exposed under the article of clothing.
“Yeah, well, it’s the biggest thing I have.”
“Eh, pink looks good on you, big guy.”
Big guy. Another nickname. I would have to adjust to the multitude of nicknames this species gave one another.
Twink struggled with the shorts as well, unable to get the top button closed, so he offered a belt that would disguise what might’ve been offensive to other members of his species. Then he led me to the main door, directing me on how to get to the first floor, before he said, “Oh, and I almost forgot, I need to get your number.”
He retrieved the Chelsea—it must’ve given them each identification numbers. Perhaps now he was finally onto something being wrong with me.
“I…”
“Or I could give you mine? Here, give me your phone.”
I didn’t know how I would get out of what could potentially be an attempt at verification.
“Oh, I don’t have it on me.”
“I guess it wouldn’t have fit anywhere on that thing anyway,” Powerbottom said, stepping into the doorway. He took another bite of waffle.
“Yes, that was the reason,” I said.
Twink’s expression twisted up. “Well, then I guess…”
I feared he might discover my deception if he realized I didn’t have this mysterious number, so I quickly found my best way out. “I must hurry, but I will find you again, Twink.”
I started off, though not moving so hastily as to rouse any concern that I might have been intentionally evading providing a number.