CHAPTER 21

 

TARA

 

So, mopping’s out.  I’m not just saying that because he seems to disapprove.  The mop is literally out of the bucket—there is no mop.

That crazy alien stole the mop!

“I can take a hint!”  I yell to no one.  “You freakin’ grouch,” I mutter as I look around for something else to do.  It’s a day later.  I, fortunately, haven’t seen the grumpy one at all, which is just fine by me.  Apparently by him too, since I’m sure that’s his goal: not seeing me.

“I guess I’ll just go exploring.  Again.” I narrate for anyone who cares when I hear a shuffle behind me. I turn, catching a glimpse of the weird-suited alien with the helmet following me at a wary distance.  I scowl when I notice he’s wiping down every surface I so much as breathed on. My jaw drops in disbelief. Does he think I’ve got some kind of disease? Are you kidding me?  I’m so worked up I huff in indignation.

He winces distastefully and squirts a mister bottle in my direction.

“That’s it!  I’m touching everything!”

I’m accompanying my words with motions of my hands, gesturing so hard I’m sure I must look like I’m conducting small pieces of music.  “And you know what?”  I tell him, because I can see him blinking all his eyes, as if he’s not sure why I’m yelling at him.  “It’s starting to get to me.  I think I’m getting space fever.  I’m willing to believe space fever is a thing because just look at how it’s affected you!”  I point my finger in the direction of his bubble helmet.  I’d point it right at his helmet, but he’s backed like thirty feet away from me.  In other words: far, far out of touching vicinity.  What is with these aliens being all ‘anti-touch?’

“At least Kentaur is nice to me!”  And he is.  That second night, we got into bed together…at first, it was weird.  Both of us were awake, aware, and for a minute there, it was growing a bit awkward.  But then he patted my hand, flopped down on his side, and when I woke up in the middle of the night, it was because he was chattering his teeth.  It was then that I realized I’d stuck my cold feet on his legs.  He was such a good sport though: I’d been really embarrassed but when I’d tried to apologize and move away, he hooked his clawed hand behind my knee, holding me in place.  After a bit, his teeth stopped clacking together and he even sent me a sleepy smile before he patted my thigh and closed his eyes.  It’s been our pattern pretty much ever since.

It’s nice.  Now this one’s eyeing me, and it’s not nice.  He’s watching me like you would a puppy who hasn’t been housebroken.  One who likes to chew electrical cords.  Also, one who has grody germs.

I make a move like I’m going to step towards him, and watch with satisfaction as his eyes widen and suddenly it’s like he can’t book it away fast enough.

“That’s right!  Beware of the mighty human,” I huff as I spin on my heel.

I nearly smack into the grouchy one’s chest.

“S-sorry!”  I squeak, startled, as I stumble back, kind of freaked at how close I came to touching him, even inadvertently.

And, weirdly enough, this makes his smirk slip right off his face.

Then he takes a step towards me.

I move away.

Oh, he really doesn’t seem to like this.  He says something in alien-speak, all clicks and grumbles.  Not knowing what else to do, I stand here, confused, before I try to help him out.  “If you’re going to train me like a poodle, you have to be consistent.  You don’t want me close, or you do?  You’re terrible at this!  You’ve got to make up your mind.”

He waits until I finish speaking, then he picks up with his clicky words again.  I’m going to count it as progress.  Hey, it’s almost like we’re conversing.

This is when I catch the pattern to his clicking and grumpy noises.

He is trying to communicate again!  I bite my lips and do a little dance of joy—but I make sure to dance backward, not towards him, lest we repeat that awful touching-taboo.  Who knows?  The spaz behind us could attack him with the germ-cloth.  Can’t be too careful.

Also because I want to test my theory.

The verdict?  Dancing away from him is not approved.  His brows make a dipping slash before he scowls.

“I can do this all day,” I tell him, folding my arms and trying to appear unaffected by his more-than-a-little intimidating glower.  I mean, technically, there is nothing else for me to do today, considering somebody made it impossible for me to do the one thing I’m capable of so far.

He rumbles one word and his brow hikes.  I take that to mean, ‘So can I.’  Then, moving slowly, eyes locked with mine so that he knows I’m watching—he pats his thigh.

“You’re joking!”  I splutter.  “I was joking—I’m not actually a dog!”

That slashy-grouch almost-unibrow he’s got going on?  It can separate, and does when he isn’t scowling all the time.

Who knew?

Maybe he could try smiling once in a while.  See if he likes the way they rearrange on his face. It splits into two perfectly normal (scaly) brows that he brings up high on his forehead at the same time his expression takes on an edge of challenge, and this time, he lands a definite, obvious clap to his leg.  His message is indubitable.

“Ugh!  I cannot believe this.”  I shake my head.  “This better not be what it looks like.”  I mime the thigh-pat with a disgusted look written all over my face.  I know it: I feel it.  “Come on.  You seriously expect me to heel?”

His arrogant smirk says yes, yes in fact he does—and what’s more?  He’s enjoying the fact that I’m working up to a real good case of outrage.  Ugggh, this alien!  He better have more of those fizzle bars or I’m going to go after him!

That challenging look manages to ratchet up a notch as he whips out his secret weapon of incentive.

Food.  Edible food.

I groan in resignation.  And like one zests those cute little clementine peels to make tasty dishes, he’s enjoying the flavor of my stinging pride as I submit to this.

I groan again.  It’s not like my pride can fill my stomach.

I gaze at him imploringly, hoping he’ll relent and just give me the dang food.

His ears twitch, but that’s it.  That’d be, ‘No dice, sweetheart.’

Jerk.

I am choosing to ignore that he looks just a tiny bit attractive when he’s being arrogant like this.  I need to get me a date when I make it back to Earth.  ‘Single Mom of Two Seeks HUMAN Male Companionship.’

I blow out a breath.  “No, that’s fine.  I hate it when things go my way.”

His lips tug up in an irritatingly smug way.  Yeah.  He grasps my tone of sarcasm just fine.  Oh good.  I was worried there for a second.

With a sigh of defeat, I take a step in his direction.  Then I slide to a standstill, because he’s changing right before my eyes.

Instead of a threatening reddish hue, he’s—he’s changing—his scales starting to brighten with a metallic shine until he’s more like a palomino sunglow color.

It’s… pretty.

I’ve seen it once before, but up this close, I’m watching it happen, the refraction of his scales morphing basically under my nose.  Maybe it’s nothing more than the color association of red = angry, but the shiny sunny color makes his face look…

Happy.

Handsome.

Quickly, I shake my head to clear it, and whirl around.  Hunger is making me have crazy, crazy thoughts.

I scuttle-scurry down the corridor, ignoring that I’m running off much like the weird alien, all while trying to rationalize whatever’s happening to me right now.  And pep-talking myself. Back to the kitchen.  Eat the food.  The Kentaur’s food can’t be as bad as I thought it was this morning.

I mean, look at me:  I’m starting to think the grouch is hot.  If he’s starting to look good to me, then I’m hungry enough to stomach the shoe polish in a bowl now.

I promise; this time, I won’t turn my nose up at it.

I hope.