How Not to Date an Alien Page 4

  “Buckle your seat belt,” he ordered, and Kilana decided she’d better because she was sure they were going to hit something before the advanced alien life form figured out the mechanics of driving a car.

  He grinned at her, showing all his teeth, and a nervous feeling took root in the bottom of her stomach. He turned the key slowly, jumping a bit at the growling sound coming from the engine of her brand new gray and silver Dodge Challenger.

  “I believe I am going to like this.” A manic light came into his black eyes.

  The next thing to emerge from her mouth was a loud scream as he slammed the car into gear and peeled out of the driveway. He had figured out the relatively simple mechanics of her stick shift, and they took off, almost literally flying down the street.

  Yes, she was screaming.

  The man was slamming her car into fifth gear, driving about seventy-five around the winding roads of her town. How he got it to accelerate into that high a gear was beyond her. But she was too busy holding onto the “oh, shit” bar and praying he would pay close attention to his technique. And what really worried her was that there was one gear left to go up before he topped out.

  With one hand on the wheel now, he flicked on her radio, flipping channels and barely missing an economy hybrid full of cell phone talking yuppies and a landscaper driving a big SUV.

  She was sure she lost a few years off of her life when he screamed around a funeral procession, nodding politely at the hearse in the lead before he hit the accelerator once more and sped through no less than three speed traps.

  The cops didn’t even blink.

  “How,” she stuttered, trying to do her best to hide underneath the dashboard and swallow her heart back down into its rightful place, “how do you do that?”

  He just turned to her and smiled, showing all his sharply pointed teeth.

  “I think I like this.” He settled on a radio station that was pounding out a funky techno beat.

  “I like life —” she shouted before pointing out of the windshield. “Watch the road!”

  He slammed on the brakes, the car laying rubber for a good fifteen feet before he skidded to a halt at a red light.

  “Your ground vehicle rules are inane,” he complained.

  “They are there to save lives!” she panted, one hand on her chest, one on her neck to see if her pulse was still working.

  “They need to make new rules for experienced drivers,” he groused, tapping his fingers absently on the steering wheel.

  A cop pulled up beside them and did a double take as he took in the driver’s appearance.

  That might be some help, she decided, or at least a delay. “Officer,” she called, smiling as the cop in question tore his eyes away from the alien driving to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “He’s an alien.”

  “German, from the looks of things.” He nodded. “Nice car.”

  “Wonderful primitive technology,” Valan replied.

  “Well, now I know you’re German.” The cop laughed. “But Dodge is a very good American brand, almost on par with Mercedes Benz.”

  A fellow gearhead, Kilana mused, opening her mouth to yell for help.

  But the light changed, and Valan shifted the car into first, waving at the officer, who also didn’t notice the antennas.

  “Have a nice day!” the officer called as Valan did his magic and the car rocketed away again.

  The cop never even followed.

  And Kilana was sure she developed three new gray hairs and had to check her underwear for embarrassing yellow stains as he slowed down to a conservative forty-five to sniff out another restaurant.

  Yes, sniff. That was how he was choosing their eating establishment of the day.

  He would slow down marginally and sniff.

  He rolled down the window as the newest establishment barely came into view and inhaled deeply. Finally, he gave her a little satisfied grunt.

  “This is the place,” he decided, and Kilana stared at him as if he had grown another head.

  “You think?”

  “Constantly.” He grinned at her, exposing fangs. “That is why my people have advanced so much further than yours.”

  Then, before she could give him a proper response to that bit of an insult, he was spinning the wheel, cutting off an oncoming semi and slamming into a parking lot. He burned rubber and squealed tires to the left, beating out a teenager bling-blinging in an Escalade. He narrowly missed creaming an old woman climbing out of a huge Cadillac as he slammed into a parking spot.

  “We’re here.” He smiled, reminding her of another similar pronouncement in a movie and the disastrous results that followed.

  “Give me strength,” she moaned as the old lady cursed and the teenager honked the horn in approval. “Lord, give me strength to get through this meal.”

  Chapter Seven

  Absolutely never take an alien out in public. Society as a whole is not ready to believe that they are not alone in the universe, no matter what they say. So do not take an alien out in public. But if for some reason you must, be sure to take the alien someplace quiet and rural, where there will be no crowds. The fewer people the better.

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  “Are you sure that your chef is experienced in the preparation of all-natural, chemical-free foods?”

  “Yeah.” The waiter was beginning to look put upon as he stood tapping his toes waiting for the alien to order. Funny, but he didn’t seem to notice the antennas, either.

  “Vegan chef.”

  “And the meats have to be freshly butchered with no chemical processing.”

  “Okay.” The waiter shifted his weight, rolling his eyes. “Not vegan, but definitely healthy.”

  “Very healthy.” Valan nodded. “My Kilana only eats the best quality, freshest, chemical-free foods you can procure.”

  “So, no char grilling?”

  “Char…?” He tilted his head to the side, looking cute and confused again.

  “He’s an alien,” Kilana helpfully provided, wondering if anything different was going to happen.

  From the moment he’d ushered her into this overpriced garden bowl, people had been falling all over themselves to assist them. No one made mention that the man with her was paler than watered milk and was wearing a pair of ladies’ Doc Martin leather

  loafers with his girl jeans and too-tight t-shirt. No, the hostess just whispered to her assistant that he was very fashionable and cutting-edge trendy.

  She, in her dark peasant skirt and matching tunic, only got semi-interested glances before all eyes turned to the long-haired alien. Not that she was looking for the attention, but for God’s sake! Was she the only one to notice the silver in his skin or that his black eyes were just a little too perfect to be contact lenses?

  No, they glared at her like they were jealous and simpered at him like they could steal his attention.

  “Germany?” the waiter asked, looking less irritated and more intrigued by the second. “He definitely has that European look. Maybe Prague?”

  “Explain this char grilling?” he asked, cutting off Kilana before she could explain.

  “We use charcoal briquettes…”

  “Condensed carbon?” he asked. “Does that not leave carcinogens in the meats?”

  “There have been studies that say both,” the waiter answered honestly. “But it’s a time-honored tradition to burn meat here. Your lady —” He all but sneered the word.

  “— will be fine.”

  “Hmm.” Valan considered.

  “Well, it’s not rocket science,” Kilana muttered, and the waiter’s eyes burned as he glared at her.

  “Miss,” he began, slamming both hands on his nearly non-existent hips, “he is trying to show his love by ensuring that you receive proper nutrition. I wish my boyfriend could have cared half as much.” He pouted. But that pout soon turned into a grin. “Plus he has some most wickedly awesome contacts. I bet he did that for you.”

  “Everything I do is for her plea
sure.” Valan spoke earnestly, batting those long eyelashes at their waiter.

  “Oh, he is so darling,” the waiter gushed, shooting Kilana a harsh look. “I couldn’t even get my man to buy me a soda without a lot of grief.”

  Kilana widened her eyes in shock, aghast. When did his lack of understanding about barbeque and aliens become her issue with his relationship problem?

  Besides, she had enough problems of her own. Before she could deliver a well-deserved one-two verbal punch, Valan was once again speaking for her.

  “My lady is gracious in her thanks,” he informed the waiter, pouting a little. “She gives me everything I can ask for with just a little convincing. And I like the way she yields beneath my touch and orgasms almost at command. It is a wonderful thing for the male ego.”

  “Lucky bitch,” the waiter muttered to her, but subsided in his hostile glares. “So you want to order her a medium steak cooked over the open flame instead of the charcoal?”

  “Yes, please.” He smiled. “And a fresh garden salad with extra cucumbers. It is said that cucumbers improve the taste of bodily fluids.”

  “Be still my gay little heart.” The waiter fanned himself with his hand.

  “Your heart races, yes?” Valan asked innocently, and the waiter actually blushed.

  “Yes.”

  “I have a brother who will be very interested in you… But you have a boyfriend.”

  “Is he anything like you?” the waiter asked, almost breathlessly.

  “He is nearly my exact duplicate in appearance.”

  “Twins!” The waiter began to fan himself faster. “The boyfriend is on the way out the door anyway, sweet cheeks.” He grinned. “As a matter of fact, I gave him his walking papers this morning. My relationship with him ended a long time ago.”

  “So you are open to being hunted?”

  “Hunted?” he asked, turning toward Kilana.

  “He means his brother will want to eat you.”

  “Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” the waiter moaned, his eyes rolling up in his head.

  “All of you,” Valan informed him. “His tastes are very similar to mine. He is designed to hunt and to bring pleasure to his prey before consuming them body and soul.”

  The waiter clutched the back of Kilana’s chair, pulling a startled “hey” from her as she steadied himself.

  “Yes, he would love to strip you bare and wash the outside influences from you.

  He is more oral than I so he would slowly lick you from the tiniest toe on your foot to the tips of your blushing ears. He would massage your muscles until you were —”

  “Tender.” Kilana rolled her eyes, but the waiter had his eyes closed, his hips grinding as Valan’s voice filled his ears. It seemed she wasn’t the only one the sex voice affected.

  “Tender,” Valan went on, his voice going deeper as his words seemed to reach out and intimately caress all within listening distance. “Yes. He would want you blissed out and tender before he began to stretch you out, slowly. He is rather meticulous and slow when delivering pleasure. He would want you moaning and clutching at your sheets before he swallowed you whole.”

  The sound that rolled from the waiter’s throat caused a blush to fill Kilana’s face.

  Not because of what had just obviously happened, but because she found herself making similar sounds when in bed with Valan.

  “My name is Robert,” the waiter informed them. “And I think I just… I need to change my pants.”

  “I can smell.” Valan grinned, his voice losing just a touch of that caressing huskiness. “You are very sensitive. My brother will love this. I must send him here to this place to meet you.”

  “You can smell?” Robert’s blush looked almost burgundy, it was so strong.

  “He’s an alien!” Kilana pointed out to Robert the waiter, shaking her head at this whole fiasco.

  “Got to love those foreign dudes,” he panted, fanning himself hard. “They are so loose and free with their desires, not closeted like a lot of men we have running around

  here beating their chests and hiding what they really feel. And the proper term is foreign visitor, hon.”

  Before she could offer a rebuke, Robert reached into his pocket and pulled out, of all things, a business card.

  “Give this to your brother,” he told Valan. “He can get in contact with me any time, day or night. I may want to take him for a drink when he gets into town. Does he have far to travel?”

  “Light years,” Valan reported. “But Vanta loves to travel and will eagerly follow in my footsteps here when I inform him that a treat such as you exists.”

  “Aren’t you a doll?” he gushed. “And don’t worry about your meal. I’ll see to that… after I change. This dinner is on me. Even if you are full of BS, at least I got a quickie out of the deal. Which is more than what the ex was able to give me in recent months.”

  And just like that, the waiter was gone. Valan turned serious. “Why were you out consuming copious amounts of alcohol anyway?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “It looks to be a dangerous undertaking.”

  “Well,” Kilana sighed, looking down at the table, forgetting Robert the waiter and what he was in store for in the future. After all, she had warned him. “If you must know…”

  “I must, I must.” He leaned forward, genuinely interested.

  That was odd — not that concern was coming from an alien being, but that the hunter was concerned in the first place. She shook her head. The world was indeed a strange place.

  “Well, it was my divorce pity party.”

  “Divorce?” he asked, curiosity making his antennas quiver.

  “Yes.” She stared harder at the table, a frown forming on her face.

  “Who did you leave, or did he leave you?”

  “I did the leaving, buddy,” she snapped, watching as his antennas stood straight up for a moment before dropping down to blend in with his dark hair.

  “I — calmness, please,” he urged, rising to his feet and making his way over to her side of the table. Once there, he proceeded to stand behind her, his fingers gripping her shoulders where he began to massage the knots of tension from her body. “You will undo all of my good work and sour your flavor,” he told her. “Now tell me, who did you leave?”

  “My husband, if you must know.” She rolled her eyes, but moaned softly. His fingers were kind of like magic. She would keep talking if he would keep massaging.

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say his nickname for me was cow,” she muttered.

  “Cow? As in the large bovine land animal that you are about to consume? Why would he call you that?”

  “I am not actually model slim,” she pointed out. “He wanted someone with bigger boobs and a smaller waistline.”

  “But smaller breasts are more sensitive to touch.” One hand casually flowed down to caress one of the boobs in question, making her gasp in pure pleasure before red began to highlight her face. She quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and relaxed a little as no one even gave them a second glance. “And as for your waistline, what is wrong with it? It gives me pleasure to run my hands over your soft flesh. I like how it feels against my face and on my tongue.”

  Oh, dear, she thought as a familiar flush of arousal began to fill her.

  “It gives me something to hold on to as you buck your powerful hips,” he added.

  “I need something to hold on to as you spasm and orgasm at my touch. You are wild in your pleasure, my Kilana. I enjoy trying to tame you for your taking.”

  Before she could even think to respond, Robert returned, bearing two large salad bowls.

  “Naughty minx,” he accused, but carefully set the bowls before them before whipping out a small glass bottle of dressing from a pocket on his apron. “Couldn’t even wait for me to change and get the salads before you two are all over each other. So sweet.”

  Apparently, Valan could do no wrong in Robert’s eyes. But his interruption was the
break she needed to get herself back on track and her mind out of the sensual fog it was sinking into.

  “Is the dressing…”

  “All natural,” Robert promised. “And the steaks will be medium rare, warm all the way through with just a little pink showing.”

  “I like a little pink.” Valan spoke in even tones with a straight face, and Kilana almost choked on her own tongue.

  “Wicked,” Robert declared before going on with the menu. “Your sides will be a healthy mix of steamed summer veggies and asparagus. People say cucumbers improve a person’s, you know, personal taste, but asparagus works much better.”

  “He is going to eat me,” Kilana added.

  “Which is why your order is double.” He rolled his eyes. “Stop bragging. It’s unbecoming.” Then his eyes went back to Valan’s. “Your other side is a nice wild rice pilaf with mushrooms and fresh scallions. Everything is directly from the chef’s personal stocks, and he is more than pleased to find someone who delights in proper preparation of food. He will be bringing out the steaks himself. He is so excited to meet you.”

  And somehow Kilana knew that the rest of the meal would proceed like this.

  People would ignore the antennas, swear he was German or from some kinky European country, and gush all over him.

  Odd, but instead of making her angry or upset, it was starting to make her feel —

  well, good. Especially when he referred to her as his “lady.” It made her feel special, like she was the sort of woman to win an international lover.

  And the knowledge that she was beginning to fall for the flesh-eating alien was scarier than knowing he was out to eat her.

  Chapter Eight

  Some aliens, for nefarious purposes, will try to lull you into a sense of peace. Don’t be fooled! The alien’s deviousness is only matched by his ability to manipulate. Be wary!

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  “I can’t believe I survived that,”

  “Your meal was excellently presented, Kilana.” Valan’s black eyes looked troubled as he stared at her. “Was there something amiss that I had not noticed?”