by Cara Bristol
One more reason to break up their public tête-à-tête. As busy as we were, Kord should be working, not flirting. “I think his girlfriend would mind.” I stomped to the exit.
“And that’s your business how?” I heard Holly say before the door snapped shut behind me.
* * * * *
Holly
Barb shot out of the office faster than a jackrabbit with a bobcat on its tail.
“My work here is done.” I blew on my fingernails and polished them against my shoulder.
Kord wasn’t dating anybody, nor was Barb, but neither would admit, let alone act on, their obvious attraction. Their chemistry skyrocketed off the charts. They lit up like supernovas whenever they were around each other. You’d have to be an idiot not to see it—and the only idiots at Barbie Q’s were the two of them.
The staff had a pool going to pick the date they came to their senses. My bet was riding on next Saturday. If I couldn’t get them together by then, I’d lose the $200 pot, and baby needed a new pair of shoes.
Hopefully, rattling the cage containing the green-eyed monster would hurry them along.
Besides, if anyone deserved a good man in her life, Barb did. I’d worked with her since she’d sold barbecue out of a food truck. She had a heart as big as the state of Texas. She’d never turned anyone away who was hungry. Even now, leftover food went to the homeless mission. She kept unsuitable staff on long after she should have fired them. She pretended to be a hard-ass business owner, but she offered a soft shoulder and ready ear to any of her girls wrestling with personal issues.
Since most of them were twenty-somethings on the hunt for Mr. Right, they had a lot of personal issues. The no-fraternization policy had been implemented after one of the waitresses started dating the cook who’d worked here before Slade. All had been fine until he dumped her for another waitress and a catfight broke out on the restaurant floor, leaving a customer with his dinner in his lap. I’d been the one to suggest and push for the policy.
Unfortunately, being scrupulously fair, Barb wouldn’t violate the rules. But if ever two people were meant each other, she and the Dakonian were. She deserved to be happy. She didn’t talk much about her past, but, over the years, I’d gleaned a few details.
She’d been born and raised in New Los Angeles. Her parents were real pieces of work, both alcoholics. During the day, Barb could escape to school, where she pretended things were normal. But at home, at night, the two drunks had some hellacious fights. One summer, they’d ended up in jail for a few months, and Barb had been sent to stay with an aunt in Texas.
“Texas is so big and vast, you could get lost there, and nobody could find you,” she’d once said. Nobody like alcoholic parents who turned your life into a living hell. For one summer, Texas had been Barb’s safe place.
She was still hiding in the Lone Star State. The Texas hair, the pageant makeup, the drawl, her rhinestone cowboy boots, the big boobs—those were larger-than-life affectations to keep people from seeing the vulnerable woman inside. A cherry lipstick smile concealed a whole lot of pain. So when I saw the way she lit up whenever Kord was around, how could I not nudge her toward him?
I sensed Barb believed she didn’t deserve happiness. The better the guy, the more reasons she came up with as to why a relationship wouldn’t work. I’d seen her sabotage quite a few potential good ones. I wasn’t going to allow her to do it again.
I peered through the glass to check on the status of my project. Hands on her hips, Barb glowered at Kord. The poor man looked confused—and besotted.
My plan was coming together.
Chapter Five
Kord
My tingling horns signaled Barb was here.
The blonde female customer dug her fingers into my forearm. Several times I’d tried to excuse myself but to no avail. Dirty tables needed tending, but mostly I wished to escape. She’d communicated her interest, and while she was attractive in a predatory sort of way, she inspired no reciprocal desire in me.
I yearned for the one who stood behind me, her ire palpable. “Tables four, nine, ten, and sixteen aren’t going to bus themselves.” Barb tapped the toe of a boot adorned with sparkling stones.
“No, ma’am.” I parroted a response I’d picked up from Raul. “I’ll do that right now.”
“Who are you calling ma’am?” She scowled. “How old do you think I am?”
I’d assumed we were close in maturity, but Dakonians and Earthers used different scales to measure time, so I didn’t know how their ages equated to ours. “Forty maybe?”
“Forty? Forty! You think I look forty? I’m thirty!”
“Oopsie!” The blonde snickered. “Don’t want to get in the middle of this one.” She tucked a slip of paper into my apron pocket. “I don’t care how old you think I am. Call me.” She scooted away to my immense relief.
Barb glowered, her bosom heaving, swelling over the top of her faded denim vest, but her lips thinned, and, to my dismay, I saw her eyes glisten. “What’s wrong?” I said quickly.
Everyone stared, but I tuned them out. They weren’t important.
She averted her head and blinked. She had a lovely profile, her skin like cream, her upturned nose like a button, her hair a magnificent cotton cloud. “Nothing.”
She didn’t act like it was nothing.
“Why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset. Just go—do your job.” She waved.
I caught her wrist, held on when she would have pulled away.
“What are you doing?”
“Tell me what’s wrong.” I stroked her hand. Such soft skin.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“It bothered you that I thought you were forty years old?” I guessed.
“No!” Most of the bright paint she applied to her mouth had worn off, but her lips were still pink. An enticing plump pink. My horns throbbed.
“I was born thirty-two solar rotations ago. We are close to the same age,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter.” She tossed her head. “It doesn’t matter that you think I look old.”
Ah. Now I understood. Never having had a female, I’d never experienced firsthand the contrariness IDA assimilation class instructors had warned us about. Fine could mean not fine. “Do what you want” meant the opposite. And if I was ever asked, “Do I look fat?” the correct answer was no. I grinned in relief to have figured out what was happening.
“What are you laughing at?”
I shook my head. “Not laughing.” My horns swelled and pulsed, and heat coiled in my groin as my manhood hardened, but I ignored my body’s needs. I’d inadvertently hurt her feelings and needed to make amends. I’d been told kissing could comfort a female.
I stepped closer, ducked my head, and meshed my mouth to hers.
Her body relaxed. Our lips slid against one another and parted. Our tongues touched, and she moaned. Good Fates! A rush of heat lit up every nerve ending in a surge of pleasure. Emotion unleashed, and the physical desire I’d tried to suppress roared to the forefront of my awareness. My mate. Mine. Meshing mouths, having her in my arms felt incredible. She clung to me, digging her fingers into my biceps. She returned my caresses with fervor. Surely that meant she cared?
The clatter of dishes, the hum of conversation dropped off. The restaurant fell silent.
I deepened the kiss, drawing her tighter against me, delving deeper into her mouth. She emitted another moan, seemed to melt against me then stiffened and wrenched away.
Before I could react, her hand cracked against the side of my face. Barb spun around and sprinted up the stairs. Her office door slammed.
Clap.
Clap. Clap.
One person applauded then another then more people joined in to bang their hands together and even whistle. I stood there, feeling very much on display, my face stinging, wondering what had happened.
* * * * *
“And then she hit me,” I confid
ed to Braxx.
“I wondered what had happened to your face. It’s still red.”
I’d met my brother at the Stellar Dust Bin, a tavern frequented by extraterrestrials. Although we’d joined the IDA at the same time and had come to Earth together, we’d been assigned to different barracks, so we met up once a week to talk and compare experiences.
“What can I get you boys?” Out of a cloud of vapor, a cocktail waitress materialized and slapped down a couple of paper coasters. Her T-shirt read, Try a Starflight—it’s out of this world.
“Two Dakonian ales. My brother is having trouble with his female,” Braxx said.
She clucked a forked blue tongue. “You’ve come to the right place to forget your troubles. Two ales coming up, stat.”
She vaporized. The mist hadn’t finished dissipating when she returned with two foaming tankards and a basket of consumables called peanuts. “Give a shout if you boys need anything else.”
Earth beer was generally crafted from barley. Dakonian ale came from macha, a grain on our planet. I took a big gulp. The ale burned on the way down, but the familiar heat it lit in my belly helped to chase away the homesickness. It was nice to experience a little bit of my home planet when my life on Earth roiled in turmoil.
I stared into the foam topping my ale. “I always believed when I met my female, everything would just be…right. Matters would fall into place. I could ask her the question, she’d accept, and we’d live in joy and harmony for the rest of our lives.”
“Are you certain she’s your Fated mate? Not everyone has one. In fact, most don’t.”
“That’s the only thing I’m sure of. That’s why it’s so frustrating!” I clenched a fist. “Even when she’s mad at me—which seems to be all the time—I want nothing more than to be with her. When we’re apart, it’s like I’m half alive, but when I’m with her, I become whole.” I glanced around and then lowered my voice. “She makes my horns throb.”
“The last part might be too much information,” Braxx said.
“How can I recognize she and I are meant to be together, but she doesn’t? I’m afraid she’ll choose somebody else. Holly—the assistant manager at the restaurant—said Barb has met a man. What if she agrees to be his mate before she realizes she’s mine? I thought when we meshed mouths everything was okay, but then she hit me.”
“Maybe she didn’t like the way you meshed her mouth. Maybe you did it wrong.”
“That’s a possibility,” I admitted. Until Barb, I’d never meshed mouths with anyone. Dakonians didn’t do that. Kissing was something we’d learned Earthers liked. “Although she kissed me back.”
“They did warn us in the assimilation classes that Earth females could be contrary.”
“I didn’t know they meant this contrary.” I sighed. “Mating on Dakon was much simpler.”
“It’s simple if you don’t get a chance to mate,” he said drily. Because there weren’t enough Dakonian females to go around, few men had the opportunity to gain a life partner. They remained unattached until they died.
“I guess not mating is as simple as it gets.”
“Do you regret coming here?” Braxx asked.
“No. If I’d stayed, Barb and I wouldn’t have met. It’s just not as easy as I thought it would be.”
“At least you’ve met your Fated mate—all you have to do is woo her. I’m afraid I may be one of the men who doesn’t have one. I wish I had your problem.”
Braxx had no idea how frustrating it was, or he wouldn’t say that. Having met Barb, no other female would suffice. It had to be her—or nobody. I couldn’t be happy with anyone else. On the other hand, I wouldn’t trade places with Braxx for a second, despite my troubles. “Your dates are not going well, either?”
“No.” He washed down a couple of peanuts with his ale. “Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the problem. Perhaps I expect too much, but the females the IDA sent me have not been suitable.”
“What’s wrong with them?” I asked, recalling my own mismatches.
“Nothing I can put my finger on…they’re just…off.” His shoulders slumped.
I realized my brother felt dejected, too. Dating and mating were more complicated than either of us had realized. Thank goodness organizations like the Intergalactic Dating Agency could help—although their matches hadn’t worked out for me. Or Braxx, either.
“There is one thing—no, it’s ridiculous.” He shook his head.
“What is it? Tell me.”
“It’s probably my imagination, but sometimes I’ve gotten the impression the females I’ve been matched with are seeking material possessions rather than a mate.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me!”
“It told you it was crazy.”
“No. You don’t understand. Before I met Barb, I had experienced the same thing! Perhaps this is a sign you do have a Fated mate—you just haven’t met her yet. Not finding a suitable female is a good thing. If you settled, and then met the one you’re supposed to be with, you’d regret it.”
He straightened. “I hadn’t thought of that. You could be right! I might have a Fated mate!” Then he frowned. “I still don’t understand why none of my IDA-chosen dates have worked out. I’m the only man in my barracks who hasn’t met his mate yet. All the others found theirs on the first date.”
“The same occurred with me. The men in my barracks connected with their dates right away, too.” We looked at each other.
How was it everyone had met with success except us? Such a coincidence seemed unlikely. “What about the information you provided the IDA? Could you have made a mistake?”
He shook his head. “I was very careful and thorough,” he said. “I took my time filling out our profile questionnaires. Since I knew there are cultural and language differences between Dakonians and humans, I tried to write our profiles in terms Earth females would understand.”
“Like how?”
“Well, for instance, since Father’s cave is the largest in the tribe, I equated that to a mansion. We all have unlimited access to illuvian ore, which Earthers value, so I said you and I had the largest illuvian ore mine on Dakon, and we wished to share our bounty with our mates.”
I nodded. “That’s certainly true.”
“I wanted us to make a good first impression,” he said.
“That’s important,” I agreed.
“I’d heard there’s a carbon rock on Earth called a diamond that females receive when they bond, so I assured them we’d provide them with all the diamonds they desired. I don’t understand the Earthers’ obsession with rocks, but if human females want stones, we can accommodate them.”
Braxx had thought of everything. “I don’t think you made any mistakes in completing our profiles,” I said. “You did a great job.”
“Then maybe our situation is as you said—the Fates have smiled on us and selected females for us. The Fates work on their own schedule. I must be patient and not settle.” He finished off his ale and signaled the cocktail waitress for another. “Let’s figure out what we can do to get Barb to come around.”
Chapter Six
Barb
How could I have slapped him? What got into me? I wasn’t the kind of person who went around hitting people. I’d never hit anybody in my entire life—I’d vowed I never would after seeing my parents beat up on each other my entire childhood.
All it had taken was a devastating, soul-filling kiss to smash my shields to smithereens. Kord had kissed me and scared me to death. Because it felt so good, so perfect, so right. His mouth touched mine, and all my uncertainties, my fears, my worries ceased to matter. A blissful heat and feeling of belonging had filled me. I didn’t need anything but him. He was a man I could love.
And then reality had roared back. Love was an illusion. “Love” blinded. “Love” destroyed. My parents’ marriage had been a roller coaster of I-love-yous, punched walls, shattered promises, tears, and calls to 911.
The idea I could succumb so easily, so totally, had freaked me out.
That still gave me no right to slap him.
I had geared up to apologize several times, but every time I’d tried to approach him, a crisis erupted in the kitchen or we had an audience—or he seemed to be dodging me. I couldn’t blame him. I’d dodge me, too.
I stirred my gin and tonic with a swizzle stick and wondered what the hell had happened, how I’d ended up at the Stellar Dust Bin waiting to meet another IDA date when I’d called Jessie, the match coordinator, to cancel my membership. Instead of canceling, I’d let her talk me into “just one more.”
“You haven’t been satisfied with your matches,” Jessie had said, “so I’m going to personally handle your case. The IDA guarantees client satisfaction. ‘Love match or your money back’ is our motto.”
“I want my money back,” I said.
“Don’t be hasty. Give me a chance to make it right,” she coaxed. “The IDA relies on scientific compatibility data, but there is a margin of error. Since it’s quite unusual none of your computer matches have proven to be right, it’s time for the human touch. I’ve personally selected a date I hope will please you.”
“I don’t know—”
“Please give it one more try. If this doesn’t work, then I promise we’ll refund your money in full.” She sounded a little pleading, like maybe her job was in jeopardy if she couldn’t come through for me. I would hate for her to get a black mark on her permanent record because of me. The agency boasted a 99 percent success rate. It wasn’t Jessie’s fault I was a one-percenter.
“Just one?”
“Just one.”
“Okay, but make it quick. Just a meet and greet.” A shake and run. Meet him, shake hands, and skedaddle.
“Like maybe for cocktails?”
“Perfect,” I said.
Not so perfect. Now that I’d arrived at the Stellar Dust Bin, I realized I didn’t have it in me to engage in small talk with another unsuitable, inappropriate blind date I wasn’t interested in or attracted to. At least with the bucket of slime, conversation hadn’t been required.
