Page 31 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

“Gifted.” Poppy snorts.

Ravik ignores her. “Mimicry is an underrated talent. I simply observed how the original performers behaved and mirrored it.”

“Being here is cool as hell,” Tad says suddenly. “But it’s so surreal. Last week, I hadn’t even seen photos of all of you. Now we’re just hanging out, about to dig into some grub.”

As he says this, a huge plate of food is deposited on the table by a woman wearing apparel that matches the colors on the walls. Fascinating. She says, “Let me know if you need anything else,” and rushes off before we could possibly ask. Is that intentional?

I have noticed humans enjoy turning odd things into challenges. Such evidence is all over their entertainment, so it wouldn’t surprise me to hear that we must also compete to receive food or liquid refreshments in a timely fashion.

“Surreal,” Jen agrees.

But she sneaks a glance at me when she says this. Is that because of our discussion?

“How do you feel about con flings?” I ask the table in general.

Poppy chokes on a sip of her icy beverage. “Excuse me?”

Her reaction concerns me. Have I said the wrong thing? Jen slowly slides down in her chair while the others try to mask their reactions.

Tad recovers first. “I mean. I don’t go looking for it, but if someone tells me they’re into me and wanting to have a bit of fun, I’m not against it.”

He steals a look at Jaz when he says this, but she’s sawing at a brown thing on her plate with complete focus, carving it into tiny bites. I underestimated how difficult it would be to share social occasions with humans and never ingest anything. They’re quite communal with their consumption, more than I expected.

Ravik remains silent, the least communicative member of the group, in chat or in person. Jen dips a tube of food into a pot of red and takes a bite. She’s not looking at any of us, but I can see that her color has changed, a deeper, ruddy hue on her cheeks and ears.

Now I’m certain I’ve done something wrong, but she didn’t tell me it was a secret.

Poppy makes a noise in her throat. “You’re all making me find out, I take it? Fine, I can’t resist. There has to be a reason you asked. So who is it? Which one of us caught your eye, huh?” She pauses, narrowing her gaze as she skims the others. “If it’s me, I’ll just say that’s a pass. You’re way too young for me.”

At that, Jen lifts her head and stares at Poppy. I don’t recognize a lot of expressions, but I’ve been memorizing them, and this one matches the illustration for confusion perfectly. Her mouth is pulled in and the top of her face is crinkled.

“You prefer silver foxes?” Jen asks.

Now I really don’t know what they’re talking about, and Poppy is confused. I can’t let them discuss how I look. Time for a diversion. “Could I have a cheese stick?”

I can’t eat this thing. I don’t know what I’ll do with it when I have it, but Jen is quick to put one on my plate, along with some of the red stuff. I swirl it around and try to decide how to dispose of it when I notice. Jaz is quietly dropping bits of food on the floor. Once might be an accident. Twice? Definitely not.

Now she’s looking at me. Her expression doesn’t change.

“Bathroom,” she says.

I get up immediately. “Me too.”

In fact, my people can go days, in human time, without needing to eliminate. Our bodies are efficiently designed. But I’m certain Jaz wants to get me alone and I need to find out why.

I follow her through the restaurant to the back hallway and she wheels on me as soon as we reach relative privacy. “Get it together!” she snaps.

“What?”

“I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. You’re making it so obvious that you’re not from here that I don’t know what to do. I can’t keep covering for you! Humans are simple, not stupid. They’ll notice!”

The enormity of what she’s saying washes over me. “You’re from the agency? Are you my contact? My ride?”

Jaz lets out a trill. Not human laughter, but close. “Please. I’ve been here for almost ten of their cycles. I clocked you as soon as you sat down. Your tech isn’t as good as mine.”

Well, that’s a strike squarely in the self-esteem, considering that I’m using my own upgrade. Yet hope wars with disbelief and I have to ask, “Then do you have an exit strategy?”

Her response flummoxes me. “Why would I want one? This is my home.”