AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I eye her, thrown by her sudden capitulation and trying not to see(i.e., be distracted by)her very female features. Normally, I’d never offer a female employee the option of coming to my house, let alone invite her to share my space for any length of time. But this isn’t a human, and these are abnormal circumstances in the extreme. “Okay. Yeah. Get whatever stuff you need. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 7
It’s a mostly silent walk back to get my car so I can take Inara to my place. Having her in my car with me proves to be interesting because she watches me start, shift gears, and steer my vehicle so avidly—and then she snorts and declares, “I can operate Earthen vehicles.”
I’m majorly caught up wondering how she can sit with her tail… well, poking out of her tailbone. How does that work? Does it ever feel uncomfortable? Is she sitting on it, or does it like, tuck to the side or something? Can I ask or is that a rude-ass question?
I clear my throat and try to refocus. “Since you can drive a spaceship, I don’t doubt you can handle a car.” I calmly keep both hands on the wheel and do not laugh at the absurdity of letting an alien drive this family heirloom of a car. “But this is a 1969 Boss 429 Mustang, which was handed down to me from my grandfather after I worked my ass off to prove I could take care of it, and I wasn’t going to wrap it around a tree.Nobodydrives it but me. Plus, there are rules of the road; those you don’t know. So keep that in mind.”
“May I drive your vehicle once I learn the rules of your road?” she asks.
“Not a chance,” I reply.
“Because you don’t know me well enough to share?”
“Because even if we were friggin’ married and we shared a VW Bug I wouldn’t be putting my ass in the passenger seat and letting my woman drive.” I shrug unapologetically. “My women don’t pump gas either—which was the way my grandpa was with my grandma. He saidprincesses don’t pump gas.He’d say that, and she’d smile. It was this thing between them, some joke I guess. I liked how it made her blush and her eyes sparkle, to hear him say that—to be treated like that.” I glance over at Inara, and she meets my eyes, her gaze not wavering from my face. I look back to the street. “She knew he thought of her as special because hetreatedher special. He was big into showing, not just telling. He always helped her out of the car too, and opened doors. Although he did that last one for all the ladies.” I shrug. “The door thing though—some women do not like that. It drives them nuts. I know that. But maybe they should all be shown a little more consideration by the men in their lives. It teaches them to expect respect.”
Inara makes a hollow thrumming noise beside me that has my eyes peeling from the road and fixing on her nose.What the…?
Inara’s ears tip forward then fold back and tighten against her head as she eyes me back. “Why are you looking at me this way?”
“Because what the hell was that noise?”
“This?” She hums again, and it’s a hollow thumping whirr.
“Yeah! That. Fucking weird.”
She ducks.
“No—shit, sorry—just…” I face the road again and drag in a deep growling breath.“You’renot weird. I didn’t mean to say—that’s not how I meant it. I’m an insensitive prick. I apologize.”
I glance over in time to watch her brows jump together, see her eyes studying me for a beat before she relaxes and she huffs a little laugh.
At this time of night, traffic isn’t bad. It’s easy to slide into mindless tour guide mode when Inara asks me to clarify what Printers Row is when I mention it while trying to explain the Loop. My apartment complex is in a building that used to be a book printer, and it’s a nicely updated spot that I’ve always thought looked sleek and modern until I try seeing it through an alien’s eyes.
We park my car in a garage that I might as well start buying shares in. It would be significantly less hassle if I gave up trying to commute and just made use of Chicago’s perfectly accessible public transit—but besides the benefits of bypassing lengthy bus rides or the L, I love my car. I don’t have a cat or a wife or children to spoil; I have my car. For me, the astronomical parking fees are necessary evils.
Once at my place, it’s not my hardwood floors, my quartz countertops, or my floor-to-ceiling windows that get appreciation. Inara oohs and ahhs over my CD player—
(Yes, I still have one. I was born in the ‘80s and I will die with my CDs and no iPod, do you hear me?)
—and my Super Nintendo—
(I don’t tell her it’s a relic; she finds ‘human tech’ “quaint” no matter how old or new it is.)
—and my fish tank.
She loves my fish, for some reason. Which is cool, really. I can’t say the ladies go nuts for my fish very often. Or ever.
Hand on the glass, peering at my dragon-faced pipefish, Inara asks, “What do they taste like?”
Well, that answers that. “Like nothing you’ll ever have. Leave my friggin’ fish alone.” Dammit, I’ve seenJungle 2 Jungle.That was with mere African dwarf cichlids and a modern day Mowgli. (Or… was he supposed to be Tarzan? Whatever.) That kid in that movie was human and he cooked the inhabitants of a supporting character’s cichlid tank, most of them beloved pets. (Hey, fish can have personalities. It’d amaze you how friendly some can be.)
I’m greatly attached to my marine fish. (Which may as well be another way of saying they’re seriously expensive.) They’re rare, diver-caught specimens and captive-bred saltwater beauties; they’re colorful, showy, eye-catching, and worththousands.
With a deep sense of foreboding, I experience concern that my new alien roommate will eat my fish if I don’t watch her.
Meeting her eye with a steely stare of warning, I step in front of the tank, forcing her back. “Stay away from my fish, Inara.”
