Page 16 of My Big Fat Fake Alien

“I’m working,” I say, though my voice sounds weaker than I’d like.

“Five minutes,” he counters, leaning in just enough to make my stomach twist. “You owe me, remember?”

He’s got me there. I nod, and he guides me toward the bar with a hand on the small of my back. His touch is firm, possessive, and I hate how much I like it.

We sit at the bar and I force myself to meet his gaze. Those sunset orange eyes draw me in like a magnet, making my stomach flutter. No. Focus.

"Look," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "You're just not my type, okay? I'm grateful you saved me, and I do owe you for that. But I'm not going to date you."

His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. My eyes catch on a cut on his lip, partially healed but still visible. The same place where I sprayed paint at the lizard creature on the construction site. My pulse quickens as pieces click into place.

The eyes. The commanding presence. The impossible strength. Could Kirk Stevens and that scaled monster be the same person?

The cut can't be coincidence. Either he's working with the creature, or...

His fingers drum on the bar top, drawing my attention to hands that could easily pin me down. Hands that had gripped steel beams like they were nothing. A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the club's air conditioning.

"I see," he says, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "And what exactly is your type, little bird?"

The pet name hits me like ice water. Only one other person has called me that recently - the lizard man on the girders. My suspicions crystallize into certainty.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I stare at the polished wood of the bar. Those sunset-orange eyes feel like they're burning into my skin. Does he know? The pet name can't be coincidence, but admitting I recognize it would expose everything.

"I like..." My voice catches. What can I say that won't give me away? "Simple guys. Normal guys."

"Liar." His fingers brush my chin, tilting my face up. "Your pulse is racing. You're attracted to power. To danger."

The worst part is he's right. Even now, knowing what he might be, my body betrays me with a shiver of want. His touch sends electricity dancing across my skin.

"I'm not lying." But the words come out breathy, unconvincing.

"Then look me in the eyes and say it again."

I can't. Those eyes will undo me. They're the same ones that watched me dangle from the construction site, that gleamed with predatory interest as I ran. The same ones that haunt my dreams.

"I should get back to work." I start to stand but his hand closes around my wrist. Not tight enough to hurt, but firm. Commanding.

"Tell me what you want, little bird. The truth this time."

The pet name again. My heart skips. He has to know. Has to be playing with me. But I can't admit I know his secret without revealing my own.

"I just want a man to love me." I say,, my eyes fixed on the polished bar top. "Like, really, really love me absolutely. I want to be his number one favorite person in the world. I want to know what that feels like..."

Oh god. I did it again. Opened up to him like some lovesick teenager. My cheeks burn hot enough to melt steel. What is wrong with me? Here I am, trying to expose whatever secrets he's hiding, and instead I'm practically begging him to love me.

And who says stuff like that anyway? 'His number one favorite person.' Like I'm five years old asking Santa for a pony. My stomach twists into knots as the silence stretches between us.

"Does that make me conceited?" My voice comes out barely above a whisper. I still can't look at him, can't bear to see whatever expression those sunset-orange eyes might hold.

"Not at all," Kirk says, his voice gentle. "That's a very normal thing to want. Sometimes, I think that I..."

The words fade away. His sunset-orange eyes fix on some distant point beyond the bar's polished surface. Beyond the walls, maybe beyond Earth itself. What memories play behind those alien eyes? What far-off world haunts his thoughts?

My heart thuds against my ribs. For a moment, I glimpse something ancient and lonely in his expression. Something that makes me want to reach out, to comfort him despite everything I suspect about what he really is.

Then he blinks, and the mask slides back into place. Those predator eyes lock onto mine with laser focus.

"I have a proposition for you, Raven. A business proposition."

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