Page 64 of I Think I’m in Love with an Alien

Stargazer: Not for me. ⛔ Relationships are complicated enough already.

SquidHead: 🍺 Again, I tried. I did not succeed.

FarfromHome: 🍺

Jeneticist: No further comment, FFH?

FarfromHome: Some memories are too painful to share.

Stargazer: Aw. You do have a heart. 🫂

Seeker: ⛔ I travel too much.

Jeneticist: ⛔ I’d try it for the right person, though.

JazzyPlum: Anyone particular in mind?

Jeneticist: …maybe.

Seeker: You have my attention. ❤️

Stargazer: Get a room, you two! And that does it for Never Have I Ever.

SquidHead: Fun game. Thanks, Star. We appreciate you. 🤗

Jeneticist: Until next time. 🥰

23

Jennette

If Seeker was human, I would have kissed him.

That’s what the lean meant, right? But I’m not sure if he understands that. Plus, his features are…different. And he doesn’t have lips, per se.

Our hands are still joined, and I marvel at the difference in digits and joints. Some people might think that there’s an arachnoid quality to his hands, but I find him beautiful and graceful. And the way he smells…

It goes straight to my head, making me feel warm all over. Not in the usual science fiction way, as if I’m unable to resist his pheromones. But he just smells right to me, spicy and delicious, like I need to breathe him in. I can withstand the tingles he creates, but I’m not sure if I want to. I would love to trace the patterns on his skin, but I’m unsure if that’s welcome or even acceptable.

I’m in unchartered territory, so far as I know. Seeker stands, his motions fluid, a glide of muscle and sinew that is distinctly other, not the way human bodies move at all, more of a swivel than a turn. Then he lets go of me, and I silently curse myself for not taking the risk.

Not leaning all the way in or asking if I can touch him.

But I’m not a thrill seeker, unlike him. I fear rejection and I turtle when I’m nervous.

I’m so very nervous now. We’ve been quiet for so long now that this feels like a new conversation yet it relates to the loneliness that tethers the two of us to our uncertainties, like lunar bodies unable to break free from that stable orbit.

“Is it difficult?” I ask. “Being here on your own?”

He doesn’t sugarcoat his response as he closes the curtains. “It is.”

That’s a smart move. People will think it’s strange if he never takes off his “costume” in the motel room, even at Space Con. Even the most devoted cosplay fans would still take off their makeup and prosthetics to shower. He’s better at predicting consequences, probably because he’s taking the risks.

“Anything I can do?” I ask. “I want to help.”

“You already do. More than you know. You’ve been more of a lifeline to me than you realize, I suspect.”

“I’m so glad,” I say softly.