Page 13 of Stolen By Her Alien Mate

Outside, once the ship is past the orbit of the Dark Moon, Græpus, I carefully chart the course to Earth. I schedule in numerous stops along the way to drop comm buoys so I can stay in contact with Nerida throughout the trip.

This means the trip to Earth will take longer than the trip back, but I can be patient. I’ve waited this long for my Jaylerena … No, my Joey.

If that’s the name my mate has chosen to go by, I should get used to thinking of her that way.

Once I set the shuttle on the course I’ve charted, I engage the Pyruhonic Drive. Then I head for the hypersubsumation chamber. A few sessions in there will allow me to download straight into my memory most of the files about Earth and Joey Kincaid that were sent by Irick’s mate Cressida.

By the time I reach her, I should know everything I need to know about Joey Kincaid.

chapter

four

JOEY

“Why has this been the slowest day ever?” I ask Lorraine.

“It has been,” she agrees. “Probably the rain. People are just staying home, I guess.”

I glance out the front diner windows and the rain is still coming down in sheets. The parking lot is already a muddy mess. “Yeah, that’s not going to be fun driving home in.”

“No kidding. I think I’ll have Barry come and pick me up. Leave my car here until tomorrow. I hate driving in this weather.”

“Same. And one of my windows leaks. I guess I should be thankful it’s not the driver’s side window.” I finish my coffee creamer sculpture. “Check it out.”

Lorraine looks over and laughs at my makeshift Creamer Castle. “Look at you! Bet you were good with LEGOs.”

“Probably would have been, but I never had any. Maybe someday. I love those ones that are like flower bouquets. So clever.”

The bell over the door rings, indicating a customer. I quickly swipe all the coffee creamer pods into a basket we keep under the counter. Then I grab a rag and go around the counter to wipe down the empty tables. Again.

“There are my favorite girls,” a man says.

I glance up and find Brandon Jacks. He’s been coming in more regularly since his last visit. Lorraine has covered for me a couple of times, telling him I’ve got too many tables to wait on him. But we obviously won’t be able to use that excuse today. The only other people in here with us are Mr. McEntire and Mr. Phillips, the two octogenarians who spend most of their days here playing checkers in one of the booths.

Brandon gives me a slow once over that makes my stomach flop with ick as he walks towards me.

“It’s raining,” I say, blurting out the first words that pop into my head. “I mean, it’s probably dangerous driving out there.”

He stops too close to me, so that I’m all but wedged between the booth behind me and his body and then puts a possessive hand on my hip. Lorraine is still behind the counter and Kyle, the guy who mans the griddle, is in back. It’s not like I’m in danger, but my back is to the door so I can’t catch Lorraine’s eye to let her know I’ve been cornered.

Brandon leans in closer, murmuring, “You sweet thing. Don’t you worry about me. Nothing’s too dangerous for me.”

I’m tempted to mime puking. Or puke for real. Either one.

I try to move away from his touch, one because he’s gross, and two because his fingers are digging into my skin. Which, frankly just pisses me off.

Honestly, I know I could get free of him if I needed to. Most places I lived were fine, but some weren’t. I learned how to take care of myself. I didn’t have any fancy training, but I’ve watched a lot of videos online about how to defend yourself. So if I need to get free, I can.

However … there’s always a bit of calculation involved. After all, I’m a waitress and I live off tips. And, as Lorraine has reminded me, Brandon Jacks is hot shit in town. Which is not to say I’m going to let him grope me on the regular. I just need to figure out how to wiggle free from his attentions without pissing him off and bringing my life down around me.

Before I decide how exactly to handle Mr. Handsy, the bell over the door rings again and another customer enters. On a rainy, slow day like today, that alone might be enough to snag my attention. But on top of that, Lorraine, lets out a sigh of appreciation.

“Oh my,” Lorraine says. “Aren’t you a tall drink of water. You need some help, sugar?”

It’s enough to catch the attention of both Brandon and me. He backs up a step, giving me just enough room to turn and face the door. Brandon is standing behind me now, with his hand on my hip, but I hardly notice now, because my attention zeros in on the man who just walked into the diner.

He’s hella tall, with mile-wide shoulders, and the kind of arrogant swagger usually reserved for professional athletes and movie stars. Not that we get many of those in Hat Creek.