The Quarry Master: A Grumpy Alien Boss Romantic Comedy

by Amanda Milo

  Of course it helps that Bash’s (remaining) workforce has mostly returned to level-headed, industrious males with no humans to distract them and turn their heads now that the feast and festival plans have been taking up all the Homo sapiens’s attention.

  They are killing it at finishing up the stone houses for us.

  Meanwhile, I work on sets. Cut, hammer, sand, paint. (And Bash makes his spit-sourced ointment for my shoulder because he’s sweet.)

  Gracie works on costumes for the play. She has a whole flock of hobs as her sewing circle—that’s what she likes to do when she’s not overseeing the collection of materials for the future human’s village that she largely designed on her own, she sews—and she and her hob friends offer to outfit the dancers. Jonoh is one of her seamstresses… um, seamster? Needleworker? Costumier? Modiste?—whatever the proper title for him is, he’s not sewing at the moment. He’s actually been taking some time off to pursue his new hobby. Dance practice is happening behind us, with Jonohkada outshining most everyone. He only has to have the girls tape his wings down when they’re doing a routine together. It’s hard for him to jump without instinctively opening his wings on the way down. His wing action is pretty to see and it has been added to some of the choreography, but only when he’s dancing solo because his wing powder is something nobody wants to claim so far.

  “Time for Pilates,” Callie calls to her dancers. Everybody begins milling to the center of the floor.

  “Mandi?” Jonoh calls. “May I sip out of your water container?”

  “Sure,” she calls back.

  “Thank—”

  Mandi’s cat puffs up and snarls.

  I turn and watch Jonoh’s broad smile contort. With a patient sigh, he takes a measured step back from Mandi’s water container, murmuring to her cat, “Et tu, Brute?”

  “His name isn't Bruutay,” Mandi says confused.

  Clapping a supportive hand on Jonoh’s arm, Gracie makes a disgusted noise. “He's quoting classic Caesar, you uncultured peasant.”

  “Has she never movied?” Bash mutters to himself. He tsks in Mandi’s direction, making Gracie smirk.

  Mandi sends him a look of disbelief. Probably because of all the aliens here, Bash is like the only one who doesn’t enjoy movie nights.

  But he didn’t learn about Caesar from a movie. I told him about the scenes from a play I worked on.

  Glancing over at him now, my jaw drops. He’s hauling the project he’s been working on, the one he’s sort of been keeping secret from me, as a surprise, which I’ve found endlessly cute. It’s huge—it’s one of several standees that will sit in the background of the stage. It’s supposed to be a swan silhouette, but it’s immediately apparent that Bash got creative. It’s also apparent that Bash can really build. “This is amazing,” I say, bringing my leather glove over the smooth-sanded edge.

  “It is one of this planet’s native birds,” he says.

  He kept the same elegant neck and interesting knob on its bill, but the feathers are showier.

  “Those are flank plumes,” he tells me as I run a fingertip over the delicately cut wood. “And that would be their half-curled streamertail.”

  Some of the feathers are long and thin until the very end, where they have feathered flares. The silhouette doesn’t look like a swan, but who cares? It looks like an elegant, beautiful bird and that’s all that matters.

  Plus, Bash is having fun. Oh, he’d never say so, but he hasn’t bellowed, burnt or bitten anyone. And there have been times I’ve caught him working with us and smiling.

  When humans aren’t slowing his team up and murmuring and getting hurt and whatnot in the rough and tumble rock quarry, he’s a lot less tense.

  “Bash,” I squeak, emotion tightening my throat. “This is incredible! You are incredible.”

  “Thank you,” Bash says modestly, accepting my praise. “I am relieved that you approve of the alteration in design.”

  “I love it,” I tell him honestly. “You are so gifted at woodcrafting.” I look him up and down, licking my lip. “I’m finding this really sexy.”

  Bash’s eyes widen. His brows pinch as he looks from the wood cutout to my face as if he’s not sure how I could possibly become aroused.

  “I mean you,” I tell him, laughing. “It’s sexy that you’re having fun, and you’re so talented!”

  The color along his cheekbones deepens. Is he blushing?

  He grumbles and hefts the standee up again, walking it to sit with the couple of others I’ve managed to make so far. It’s slow going for me because I’m doing everything else, too. Not that I mind. It’s the best job satisfaction I’ve experienced since landing here. And technically, this isn’t a job. Everyone is working their butts off for free.

  Including my mate, who has a full-time day job. “Thank you,” I tell him, sincerely meaning it.

  Meeting my eyes, he gives me a chin jerk.

  I saunter over to him.

  He watches me hungrily. When I reach him, he murmurs, “Are you tired of these aliens yet?”

  I grin. “You mean my people?”

  “If you insist on claiming them.”

  “I kinda do.” When he sighs, I laugh. “I’m just about finished up here. Although Callie offered to stay back and teach me some of the dance routine just for fun since I’ve been building set pieces more than I’ve been paying attention. I thought I might do that.”

  Bash inclines his horns. “Do it if it would please you.”

  I smile up at him. “Wellll, now I’m a bit torn. See, I have this super hot husband waiting on me.”

  His eyes go a bit more molten green. “Is that so?”

  His tail catches my wrist and tugs me close to him. I bite my lip as I glance between it and his face. “It is so, and I have to tell you he wouldn’t like me talking to some stranger.”

  Now Bash’s eyes are pure emerald fire. “He’s protective of you, is he?”

  “Oh, you have no idea.” I tug on his tail like I want him to follow me to hear a secret. I whisper, “You should see my special panties.”

  Bash growls and his arms circle me to haul me in for a steamy kiss.

  “Psst. Pssst.”

  Bash’s arms turn to stone around me. I pull away from our liplock to glance over my shoulder. I find a nervous-looking Laura.

  “What’s up?” I ask her past Bash’s tail, which is acting as an undulating barrier, instantly twitching (snapping) between us and her like it’s irritated.

  Laura grimaces. “I wouldn’t have interrupted, but Crispin and I were wondering if you two have talked about living arrangements yet?”

  “Living arrangements?” Bash asks dangerously. “Isla and I live together.”

  “I’ll take that as a no,” Laura says faintly, beginning to back away.

  Bash’s tail makes a cracking noise like a whip. “Stay.” He catches me by the chin and gently turns my head until my eyes are on his narrowed ones. “Explain her statement.”

  I catch him by his wrist and pet up and down his arm. “Chill, it’s nothing to get worked up about. Laura and I have hit it off, as I’ve told you—”

  “Yes,” Bash agrees, because when we make dinner at night, he asks me about my day, and I’ve told him that I like Laura and her mate, Crispin. Plus, he likes Laura and Crispin because they rarely irritate him… now notwithstanding. “You speak of them often.”

  “Well with the way the human village construction has suddenly sped up, of course everyone’s been talking about who will get the first houses. And also being discussed is who will pair up as neighbors. Since I like Laura and Crispin and you like Laura and Crispin—”

  Bash’s ears flatten.

  “—they wondered if we would be moving out of your cave.”

  “Our cave.”

  “If we did, they asked if we thought we’d be compatible neighbors.” I bite my lip. “Ours could be the corner house we toured. The one with the mortaring that’s almost done. Remember how you liked that one
? The one on the far end, because it’s all small pebbles that I picked? It’s special.” I give him a great big smile. “I told them I’d talk to you.”

  He releases my chin. Freed from his grip, I twist to Laura and mouth, “Run!”

  Wide-eyed, she backs away and Bash watches her go like a predator, but he doesn’t release me from his arms. When she’s too far away for him to easily attack, he turns his gaze on me. His voice comes out very low and much softer than I expected. “You want to live among the humans?” He murmurs this with the sort of horror-level in his tone that you’d expect from someone being asked if they mind moving next door to a tribe of alien Pygmies who’ve turned cannibal.

  “These are perfectly nice people.”

  “They’re humans.”

  “Like me. Remember?” I pat him on his tense shoulder. “Do you want time to process this and we talk about this at home?”

  “No, I want you to tell me now why you want to leave our den.” His lids are open so wide he looks horrified. “To live with people.” Ah, his lids are open wide because he is horrified.

  But it isn’t for the reason I assume. At least not entirely. He tugs me closer. “Isla, now that Gracie’s dam-by-law has purchased the quarries, I thought you would no longer feel threatened to live in the cave.”

  God bless Gracie and Dohrein’s mom. It did settle something inside me not to have Bash under his Gryfala’s thumb, even if she didn’t flex her power over him. The new owner of this sector has no designs on my husband save for having him build her a settlement fit for the rescued humans she finds so fascinating. And that works for me.

  Bash searches my gaze. “Are you struggling to come to terms with another female owning your territory? Because as a Rakhii, I am not fond of the situation either, but at least the Gryfala haven’t abused the power they have. I would not have you run from them.”

  “I’m not running. And no, Gracie’s Gryfala-in-law is fine. This isn’t about a Gryfala owning the cave at all. It’s…” I roll my lips free of my teeth, making a small squeaky-sucking noise before I slowly inhale. “Okay. It’s like this: I get that you need a certain level of privacy and… seclusion from humans as much as you’re able. But I’m a little concerned because I’m an extrovert.”

  Bash’s features darken with concern. “Translate,” he orders, “this human term.”

  I snap him an aye-aye, Sir! salute. His ears flick with interest or irritation, I’m not sure, but his lids lower over his eyes a little, making him look a bit more relaxed but also a bit more dangerous. And even more sexy. “Extrovert means I get worn down if I don’t have enough interaction with people.” I lick my lip, then drop the hammer. “I need to visit and enjoy the company of many others on a frequent basis to feel settled.”

  “What if we get you a pet?”

  “It needs to be people.”

  “What if we collect many pets for you?”

  “I still need to socialize with people. You really didn’t know this about me? This is not new. Why do you think I talk so much? Notice how I talk to everybody?”

  Bash’s sexy-lids are gone because his eyes have grown wide again. So wide. You’d think I just revealed that I need to supplement my diet by eating live kittens, or drink the blood of a dozen weeping women. Actually, he probably wouldn’t mind the second option. Heck, he’d collect them for me. I better never throw that out there as a joke. He orders, “Repeat what you’ve just uttered.”

  “I need to mingle. Talk with people. Interact. With more than just you. A. Lot.”

  “No.”

  I snort. “What do you mean no? Bash, this is how I am.”

  His horns slice the air for how violently he shakes his head. “Can you be fixed?”

  Unbidden, my lips tug up into a grin. “You want to cure me of my preference for socializing?” Not because he begrudges me an enjoyment of other people, but because he hates other people so badly he can’t comprehend how this isn’t an affliction for me. “This isn’t a disease. It makes me happy.” I shrug. “I like talking to people. I like interacting with them.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I like people. To you, it probably seems weird and unfathomable—”

  “Yes.”

  I pat his cheek affectionately. “Stop freaking out. Just think about it, okay?”

  He shudders and clenches his eyes shut.

  “Aww.” I stroke along the length of his ear, making it flick when my fingers reach the tip of it. When I move to drop my hand, Bash catches it and covers it with his, making me pet his ear more.

  After a moment of this, I can’t help but give him a tiny, tiny wry smile. Which he doesn’t see, because his eyes are still squeezed closed. “Are you going to make it?” I ask.

  He sighs.

  “You’re so cute when the idea of people scares you, by the way.”

  He growls.

  “Do you still want to see my panties?”

  His eyes open.

  My smile grows. “That’s a yes.”

  Steam warms my face as he exhales. To my surprise, he sets me down until my heels are touching the floor again. “It is a yes. But there are humans here now and you have worked hard to complete your workday. You should enjoy your after-hours filling your interaction quota.”

  I tip my head one way, then the other. “That’s a good way of visualizing it.”

  His tail strokes my leg once before he takes a step away. He nods down to me. “Rejoin your people’s herd.”

  “Thanks for your permission.”

  He nods again, either missing my sarcasm or ignoring it. With Bash, it’s a little hard to tell which.

  He folds his arms and slowly eases back until his shoulders look like they’re leaning against an invisible wall. He’s too far away from the real wall for him to be supported by that, I think to myself, until I hear the twin thunks of his horns coming to a stop.

  They’re what’s propping him against the wall, the tips keeping him from having his shoulders against it like a normal person would or could. Having lived with a huge set of horns for a large part of his life though, he’s neither surprised nor concerned. When there’s no space behind his horns, this is what a Rakhii deals with when he wants to lean back and wait for his woman.

  When he notices that I’m watching him instead of frolicking with my people, he raises his brows in inquiry.

  I tip my head towards everyone on the mats. “You know, if you wanted, you could dance with us. I’d get my extrovert card filled, and you’d have fun with me.”

  Bash scoffs. “Dance? With humans?”

  He says this like Dance? With vegetables?

  I get an image of Bash doing a jig between rows of carrot tops and cabbage heads. That’s pretty much how he views most people, I think.

  “All right,” I tell him. “Give me five minutes.”

  “I still don’t know what minutes are,” he grumbles. “It seems like such an inconsistent term. Your people use the word ‘minute’ to describe everything from a moment to half of a day.”

  I move forward to give him a hug—which makes him stop bitching and hug me back. When he lets me go, I head for the group on the mats and spend fifteen minutes doing some dance moves with Callie and Jonoh and Mandi and Laura after some light stretching.

  And because they all make noises about how awesome it is, I ask Callie to show me some Pilates. Every time I’ve tried it at the compound, I arrived late, which always ended up with me seeing the more complicated half of the sessions. ...Which resulted in me trying one pose, failing, and hightailing it out of the room. I did the classes a disservice: Callie is a good teacher, and Pilates is surprisingly fun when I finally give it a real chance.

  My hand is planted on the mat near my face, my neck is relaxed, my legs are straight out, my navel is sucked to my spine and my derrière is in the air. My muscles are pleasantly warm. Pleasantly stretched. I’ve heard girls whimpering about how painful some of the moves are and that was previously my experience—b
ut Callie started me off with easy stretches. Told me to take my time. This one feels nice. It does feel relaxing.

  “Um, Isla?” Callie says.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m gonna go. We’re all—going.”

  I raise my head. “What? Why?”

  Before I can fold my knees to straighten, my hips are caught from behind.

  I curl my neck to look under my arm and my gaze collides with my hot mate. Bash’s eyes have darkened to pure black.

  Everyone is filing out of the building in a mad rush.

  “Well, hello,” I tell him. And I wiggle my hips until my chastity lock clanks against my belt.

  Bash grabs his own belt—just a regular leather one to secure his pants—and he rips it free of its two-pronged teeth and tears his fly down.

  “I like the stretches Callie taught me,” I share.

  Jerking my dress up, Bash agrees. “So do I.”

  CHAPTER 45

  ISLA

  ONE MONTH LATER…

  Our houses are done. A couple of them, anyway. We’re in one now, the one owned by Crispin and Laura. Laura has wrangled everyone who knows how to cook—and everyone who wants to play taste-testing guinea pig. She and Crispin are in charge of the actual feast itself, and they’re blending local dishes with human cuisine… using primarily alien ingredients. It’s gonna be interesting.

  We’re expecting thousands of planet citizens to attend our feast’s location—and not only hobs and Rakhii. We’re also expecting some Gryfala, and this has caused no end of stress for the hobs, who worry about the selective taste buds of the females of their species and also because they’re gearing up to break up violent clashes. Apparently, hobs have to be hyperalert to make sure the aggressive gender doesn’t get close enough to each other to fight.

  Crispin and Laura make a capable team, and not only where cooking is concerned. They played a significant part in planting crops in this region as well as spearheading this sector’s harvest itself, including where all the gathered goods get allocated. A lot of it goes to storage, some goes to market, and the rest is what we’re going to party with in grand fashion.

  And it. Is. Grand.