Page 50 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

“Who’s that?” Tad asks.

I’m grateful because I don’t know either.

“Only the writer behind the super-addictive Space Venom series,” Jennette explains.

“I could use a little more context,” I put in.

“It’s a romance series between aliens and humans,” Poppy explains. “I’m embarrassed by how much I love those books. Basically, the aliens exude an addictive substance and it’s an aphrodisiac to humans, so it’s all sex, all the time.”

Ravik snorts.

I’m stunned at the depth and breadth of the human imagination. “Would anyone want that? Constantly craving sexual contact would be quite distracting.”

“It’s a fantasy,” Jaz says. “If you can’t resist your lover, you’re allowed to demand all sorts of things that you might otherwise feel guilty about.”

“Guilt is unproductive,” Ravik says.

Tad grins. “I wish my mother agreed with you.”

“Excuse me! Pardon me! Fan club coming through!” Poppy calls, parting the crowd with the charm of a seasoned diplomat.

But there’s still a queue. I can’t see the woman we’re waiting in line for, but she has a table piled high with colorful books and small articles strewn about. She too seems to be in costume, based on what I can glean from this distance. I doubt her natural fur shimmers with the iridescence of a marine mammal, nor does human hair normally have so many colors. In some ways, her bold makeup and large-framed eyeglasses seem like a disguise.

At last, we reach the front. And I haven’t received any strange looks at all.

This is very surreal.

“I’ve read Addicted to Love seventeen times,” Poppy confesses, digging into her bag to produce a battered book.

“Thank you so much,” Sapphire replies. “This means the world to me. Readers like you give me the strength to keep writing.”

Nobody else has a copy of the book on hand, though Jen has the woman sign the cover of her tablet case with a shimmering marker. The others seem ready to delve deeper into the con, and I’m along for the ride. It’s not an adventure in the way running across lava floes was, but the warmth is more pervasive and less life-threatening.

The group moves, browsing the stalls. Tad argues with a man for a while over the cost of some icon. I don’t recognize the figure. Jaz lingers nearby, catching my attention.

“You’re feeling bold today,” she whispers.

Belatedly, I realize she’s using a subharmonic that won’t be audible to humans. There’s no risk in conversing with her in the open. I wish she had done this before, but she couldn’t have—not without revealing her own Vertesian origins.

“So are you.”

“There’s nothing to fear. I suspect even if these humans knew our truth, they would venerate us instead of attacking.”

“It’s not these particular humans I’m worried about,” I reply.

“Fair enough. I sense a shift in the way Jen regards you, though. You told her?”

“Do you think that’s unwise?”

“Not at all. If anyone will stand by you, it’s her. But be sure that she sees you as you are, not as a symbol.”

That is one of my concerns as well. Jen might have been equally delighted if Jaz had revealed herself first. Perhaps I’m not special to her in the way I’m beginning to hope I am. Rather, it’s my “otherness” that appeals to her because she’s made no secret of the fact that she struggles to connect with other humans.

“I’ll be cautious. But…do you know of any way off-world?”

Jaz studies me, and a poignant olfactory note suffuses me, evoking a sense of sorrow. Vertesians communicate with multiple senses, including scent, sight, and sound. Then she says, “I do not. I sought refuge from the complications of the Galactic Union. When I arrived, I had no plans ever to depart.”

“Complications?”