Special Attraction (The Coursodon Dimension Book 3)

by M. L. Ryan

  You’d think if they planned to drive all the way from the Midwest to Disneyland, they’d be able to give more than a few hours’ notice of their impending arrival. My mother probably figured if she gave me more of a head’s up, I’d come up with an excuse for not being here. She’d be right. The second I heard her say, “We’ll be there at three,” I was already crafting scenarios to beg off. You’d also think they’d budget more than an hour for the stopover. Not that I wanted to spend more time with them but really, only sixty minutes?

  I showered quickly and went to find Alex. He was glued to his computer screen with nothing to worry about except a megalomaniacal serial killer, completely unaware of the misfortune about to befall him. I’d clung to the fantasy that he would never have to meet my parents at all, and now that pipe dream was over. I seriously considered sending him out on an errand to avoid the entire encounter, but decided to suck it up and tell him what was about to happen. Let him decide if he wanted to flee.

  “Caryxa,” I cooed, planting a feathery kiss on his neck as I stood behind where he was seated. Given the abject terror coursing through me, I was doing a pretty good job of acting normal. At least I hoped so.

  Without taking his eyes off the monitor, Alex reached behind the chair to caress my thigh. “Lovely greeting, carisa. What’s up?”

  I took a deep breath. “You know how every relationship has its moments when one’s devotion is really put to the test?”

  He lifted his head. “Test?” He turned the chair around to face me. “I don’t think I like the sound of that,” he said, frowning.

  “Right, well, it’s just that in two hours my parents are coming for a visit, and I won’t be offended at all if you would rather not be here when they arrive.”

  “Why would I not want to be here? I would love to meet your family.”

  “Sure, you say that now.”

  “Hailey,” he assured, wrapping his arms around my hips, “I am well aware of your mother’s…”

  “Flaws, shortcomings, pain-in-the-assiness?” I offered before he could finish.

  Chuckling, he swung me onto his lap. “I was going to say, ‘idiosyncrasies’ but regardless of the terminology, I still want to meet her. Besides, it’s not like my mother is going to win a parent-of-the-year award.”

  This was true. His mother once had a lackey deliver a message to Alex with what amounted to a rock chucked through my window. And she did have a tendency to order people around. She was a queen, though, so that was probably in her job description. But, other than that, she was quite nice and didn’t seem to mind that I was neither royalty nor Courso. My mother once forbade me from dating a guy in high school solely based on his chubby ankles. She claimed men with cankles are usually sex addicts. How she came up with that bizarre association was a mystery I didn’t care to investigate further.

  “I like your mother,” I confessed. “She’s not nearly as annoying as you made her seem.”

  “And I’m sure I’ll feel the same way about yours,” he stated with confidence.

  Unconvinced, I replied, “Let’s see if you feel the same way in a couple of hours.”

  Karttyx, either by design or coincidence, escaped the house just before my parents drove up the driveway. Maybe she thought it would be difficult to explain who she was and why she needed burly, non-English-speaking bodyguards. Maybe she’d heard enough about my mother to know she should get out while the getting was good.

  When the doorbell rang, I briefly contemplated bolting out the back. Or, at least bolting myself in my room. Alex prevented me from doing either when he took my hand and guided me to the front entrance. Well, more like directed with some force. Okay, he dragged me. Once there, I steeled myself for the battle ahead and opened the door.

  The minute she laid eyes on me, my mother blurted out, “What took you so long to answer the bell?”

  “Hello to you to,” I replied, as she and my father moved into the foyer. I didn’t bother masking the sarcasm in my voice, and Alex gave my hand a squeeze in what I supposed was a silent effort to get me to behave.

  My mom looked the same as she had for as long as I could remember: Short, curly locks teased and sprayed into a mass resembling a blonde Brillo pad. Today, she wore bright turquoise stretch pants and a matching vest paired with a lime green blouse with a small floral print. The color of her ensembles—and her hair, for that matter—might change, but the basic package remained consistent. It was as if she found a look she liked sometime in the seventies and never wavered since. How new outfits were purchased was a mystery… maybe through some web-business dedicated to the preservation of polyester.

  After a cursory hug, she stepped back and surveyed me from head to toe. For once, I was confident she’d have something positive to say. I’d kept up with the hardcore workout schedule Sebastian developed to keep my destructive power in check. I knew I looked fantastic.

  “Hailey,” she declared finally, “now that your body isn’t so pear-shaped, you have a lovely figure.”

  Wow. Only she could put me down and pat me on the back all in the same statement. Rather than be insulted, I really needed to appreciate her mastery of the backhanded compliment.

  Finished with me, her penetrating gaze shifted to Alex. “And I suppose this must be your boyfriend.”

  There was no question involved, and I knew when she said “boyfriend,” she really meant “the pervert that must be ravishing your body without the benefit of marriage.” I refused to take the bait, however, and plastered a perma-grin on my face that would make any cheerleader proud.

  “Yes, this is Alex. Alex, these are my parents, Tom and Barbara Parrish.”

  Alex flashed one of his glorious smiles, which, unlike mine, was actually genuine. “I am so please to finally meet you both,” he said smoothly. Huh. He sounds like he actually means it. Go figure.

  While my scowling mother gave Alex another thorough visual once-over—I imagined she was checking for any obvious deformities—I gave my father a peck on the cheek.

  “Hi, Dad, you look tired.”

  Truth was, he always looked like he needed a good night’s sleep. It was probably exhausting putting up with my mother all these years. But today, the dark circles under his eyes seemed bigger than usual and his usually impeccably groomed salt-and-pepper hair was oddly rumpled.

  He managed a small grin and patted my arm. “We’ve been driving straight through for the last twenty hours. I am a bit worn out.”

  Incredulous, I sputtered, “You drove twelve hundred miles without stopping? You could have fallen asleep at the wheel.” Turning to my mother, I added, “Tell me you at least shared the driving.”

  “You know your father prefers to do it all himself.”

  “Well, why did you have to do it all at one time? You could have easily stopped at a motel along the way and gotten a good night’s sleep.”

  “Your mother wanted to stop here before we went to Disneyland, but we could only get the discount hotel rate if we got there tomorrow,” he explained, stifling a yawn.

  This was weird even for them. “Why didn’t you just leave a day earlier?”

  My father started to speak, but my mother interrupted him. “Then I would have missed bingo night at the church. You know I haven’t missed since we moved,” she said, beaming with pride over her unbroken streak. “I’m trying to set a record.”

  Alex glanced at my parents, and then at me. He was clearly confused, and bent down to whisper to me, “They keep track of that kind of thing at church?”

  It didn’t seem very churchy to me either, but what did I know? “Apparently, they do at that one.” That’s my mom, putting herself and her husband at risk so she could become the Cal Ripken Jr. of the Ozark Grace Assembly of God bingo night.

  We escorted my parents into the living room. My mom ensconced herself in one of the sofas and continued chattering on about the little-known subtleties of something called “Road Kill Bingo” and my dad slid silently into one of the big, plu
sh chairs. A serene smile curved across his lips as he relaxed into the cushions. He was asleep in seconds.

  “Might he be more comfortable resting in one of the guest rooms?” Alex inquired in a hushed tone.

  My mother waved off the suggestion. “He’ll be fine. He can sleep anywhere.”

  “Won’t we disturb him with our conversation?”

  “Once Thomas is out, nothing short of artillery fire can rouse him,” she assured us with a snicker.

  One time, while looking for a purported meth lab, the local police raided our house by mistake. Six well-armed cops broke down the front door and screamed at my horrified mother until they realized their target was the neighbors across the street. My dad slept through the whole event, even though he was in a room only ten feet away.

  The explanation didn’t seem to convince Alex, who kept a cautious eye on my snoozing father while my mother blathered on about the wonders of the Magic Kingdom and what a fantastic deal they got on accommodations.

  “I used a new Christian travel site, www.meetmeatthemanger.com, and got a room with a view of the Crystal Palace for a mere pittance,” she said proudly. “Of course, we don’t approve of the church’s decision to ordain women, but I hear the building is magnificent despite the liberal leanings.”

  “Uh, Mom, the Crystal Palace is a famous saloon in Tombstone. I think you mean the Crystal Cathedral.” I could see how she might confuse the two—one was a place where people gathered with others of similar sensibilities and goals in life to make the world a better place and the other was a church.

  With a disdainful flip of her hand, she chided, “Palace, cathedral, you knew what I meant. Incidentally, I noticed quite a few javelina on the side of the house. If you are leaving seed out for the birds, you should stop; it attracts all kinds of destructive wildlife. Before you know it, those wretched wild pigs will devour all the lovely landscaping.”

  I just smiled, and then tuned her out. With the addition of an occasional nod, it appeared as if I was paying attention. Actually, I was focused on a small imperfection in the wall behind her that looked a little like a clam giving a guy a blow job.

  As I contemplated how a shelled, lipless sea creature could achieve such a feat, or why any man would allow something that could slam shut to get anywhere near his privates, my musings were interrupted. Sebastian had decided to join us.

  “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Parrish. Sebastian Kess,” he declared, stopping as he swept into the room to give a small bow. He peered at my father, still snoozing away in the chair, before turning his attention to the non-comatose visitor. “Welcome to my home.”

  My mother’s expression changed from her usual annoyed distrust to happy enchantment the second she laid eyes on the Xyzok. I’d seen that look before when Sebastian turned on the charm. Women, young and old, were always drawn to him. Like he was a drink of cool water after a long, hot trek through the desert. Even Rachel was smitten the first time she met him. Sebastian claimed, and Alex corroborated his assertions, that he did nothing magical to achieve such a response. There was just something about him that women found irresistible. Everyone except me. And Karttyx. And Alex’s mother. But definitely everyone else with two X chromosomes. Obviously, only discerning women of exceptional intelligence were immune to his charms, I concluded.

  Sebastian continued to regale my mother with various compliments ranging from her choice of blouse, “The color brings out the lovely flecks of gold in your eyes,” to her prowess as a parent, “Your daughter’s fine character is a testament to her upbringing.” Between his remorseless brown nosing and my mother’s unrelenting fawning, I could barely contain my gag reflex.

  Eventually, she managed to utter something more than a breathy giggle. “You know, Mr. Kess, I’m so relieved you are here. I was concerned that Hailey and Alex were, you know, unchaperoned.” Her eyes darted from Sebastian to the floor as if us being alone was the most despicable act of depravity.

  A look of great concern came over his face. “I completely understand your concern, Barbara. May I call you that?”

  “Oh yes,” she gushed, “of course… Sebastian.” When her cheeks reddened, I really thought I might lose it.

  Sebastian beamed. “Rest assured that I am ever vigilant when it comes to your daughter’s honor. I do not allow them to engage in any conduct that I, myself, would find inappropriate.”

  Being fairly certain there was nothing short of child exploitation that Sebastian would find inappropriate, I had to feign a coughing fit to disguise my laughter. I knew my mother would choose to believe his ludicrous assertions, not because she had no clue what kind of things Sebastian was into, but because she needed to believe I couldn’t possibly be having sex with a man to whom I wasn’t married. Sometimes denial was the easiest way to get through life.

  Although my mother may have been charmed by Sebastian, and took his words to mean I wasn’t engaging in—Gasp!—illicit sexual activity, that didn’t prevent her from grilling Alex. She didn’t even try to make it seem like she was engaging in polite small talk, either.

  “How old are you? Where are you from? What do you do for a living? Who are your parents?”

  Alex replied with the standard back-story he told any human. He was thirty-two, born in Portland, co-owner of a private investigation agency with Sebastian, and his parents were retired and living in Florida. Try as she might to find something untoward, there wasn’t much for her to object to. Of course, if she had known the truth, there would have been plenty to upset her. I had to stifle a smile when I imagined Alex telling her, “Well, Mrs. Parrish, I’m over a hundred years old, I was born in another dimension, and Sebastian and I use our magical talents to hunt down criminals from that parallel universe. Oh, and my parents are royalty.”

  Phase-one of the inquisition complete, she forged ahead with her version of the lightning round. These rapid-fire questions were not as amusing, and weren’t covered in the Xyzok manual for how to craft a believable fake identity. When she asked straight out what his intentions were toward me, I had to speak up.

  “Mom, we’re both adults. You really don’t need to put him on the spot like that.”

  I glared at her, my lips pursed, hoping the look alone would convince her she’d gone too far, a ridiculous assumption on my part. To her, going too far would have been hiring someone to hold him down while she injected him with sodium pentothal. And not because she might draw the line at using truth serum on Alex against his will, but because she’d never want to pay to do it.

  Apparently, either shocked that I was no longer a child, or that I had the audacity to cross her, she opened her mouth but no words came out. When she finally spoke, she sputtered, “I think it’s a perfectly reasonable thing for a mother to want to know.”

  “Yes, I agree, my dear,” Sebastian added. “I would also like to know how Alexander views your relationship.”

  I shot the same withering look at Sebastard that I had tried on my mother. He grinned and lifted one eyebrow. I need to work on my dirty looks, I though glumly. No one takes them seriously.

  Alex lowered his head slightly, focusing on my mother. “If you believe nothing else I’ve said today, believe this—your daughter has stolen my heart. I adore her. She is beautiful, caring, intelligent, and fearless. I am forever thankful for whatever forces in the universe brought us together. I hope to be with her as long as she will have me.”

  He glanced at me and smiled another of his glorious smiles. A person could wait a lifetime and never hear such wonderful words, and here this miraculous man said them about me. In public. I wasn’t particularly romantic; in fact, mushy, emotional displays usually made me want to pound my skull into a mushy pulp. I may have stolen his heart, but mine melted into a glistening puddle of hokey, sentimental goo. All I could muster in response was a breathless, “Oh, caryxa.”

  My mother’s derisive snort broke the moment. “The ‘forces of the universe,’ eh? I could tell he was an atheist.”

  I sho
uldn’t have been surprised that my mother viewed the single-most perfect moment of my life as a black mark against Alex. Did she focus on his devotion to me? Or that he thought I was amazing? Of course not. All she heard was he didn’t attribute his luck to the intervention of an all-powerful God.

  Sebastian diffused the awkward silence that followed by describing how it was he who brought Alex and me together. Which was true; although, the details he provided were a complete fabrication. I briefly considered telling my mother that despite Sebastian’s earlier assertions, not only was I shacking up with Alex, there were times when Sebastian had been inside me as well. The only thing that stopped me was the realization that it would be childish and petty. Well, that and the thirty years of maternal intimidation.

  Instead, I decided to change the subject. “Anyone want something to eat or drink? I made some iced tea right before you got here.”

  My mother nodded enthusiastically. “I was wondering when you would ask; I’m a bit parched.” She leaned toward Sebastian and added in a stage whisper, “You would think she would have offered as soon as we arrived.”

  “Actually, Barbara, Hailey is a nothing if not a gracious host,” he replied, while sneaking a wink in my direction. “I should have offered libations to my guests. I sincerely apologize for not doing so sooner.” Then, he leaned closer to my mother and said, “I must have been distracted.”

  My mother giggled. I rolled my eyes and excused myself to go assemble the beverages. Alex followed me into the kitchen and as soon as we were out of ear shot, all my pent-up anger and frustration came rushing out.

  “Could she be more of a pain in the ass?” I snarled. I flung open a cabinet and snatched out some large tumblers. Good thing they were the fancy, insulated plastic kind. The way I smacked them on the counter, if they’d been made of anything breakable, it would have been a disaster. I turned to the refrigerator, yanked it open, and grabbed the pitcher of iced tea and some lemons.

  “She never misses an opportunity to zing me,” I protested while slamming the door. “Never!” The ice machine was the next to feel my wrath. When I started to savagely dig out the cubes using the poor, defenseless beverage vessels, Alex came to their rescue.