Page 13 of Wrecked By My Alien Mentor

She stares at me, her wings forgotten. “That’s... insane. I mean, I knew you weren’t from around here, but... hundreds of thousands? That’s mind-blowing.”

“It is,” I agree. “And humanity is just one thread in a much larger tapestry.”

She wipes her hands on a napkin, her expression thoughtful. “Do you have any family? Like, back home?”

“My mother is alive,” I say, turning my coffee cup in my hands. “My father died in the Centuries War, shortly after I was born. I never knew him.”

Her hand reaches across the table, her fingers brushing mine. “That must be hard.”

I squeeze her hand, the warmth of her touch grounding me. “He died honorably. That counts for something.”

She nods, her green eyes soft with understanding. But then she tilts her head, her curiosity piqued again. “So, just your parents? No other family?”

“No,” I say, my voice steady. “Just them.”

She pokes at the remaining wings in the basket, not looking at me. “Nobody at all in your life? Nobody... special?”

I feel the weight of her question settle between us, heavy and unspoken. My heart aches, a deep pang I haven’t felt in centuries. I stare at her. “There might be.”

Her head snaps up, her eyes sharp and searching. “Who?”

I hold her gaze, my chest tight. “Can’t you guess?”

The diner fades around us, the noise of the world muffled. Her lips part, but no words come out. The air between us crackles, electric and unspoken. She doesn’t look away, and neither do I.

I leave a stack of hundreds on the table without fanfare, the bills crisp and unceremonious. Cora’s eyes flick to the money, then to me, one brow arched. “You know that’s excessive, right?”

“I don’t do things by halves,” I say, standing and extending my hand to her. She takes it without hesitation, her palm warm against mine. We walk out of the diner, the night air cool and alive with the hum of the city. Her hair’s a little disheveled, and I can’t resist smoothing it back, my fingers brushing against her temple. She looks up at me, her green eyes sharp, expectant.

“What?” she asks, her voice soft but edged with curiosity.

I don’t answer with words. Instead, I lean down, my lips meeting hers in a kiss that starts tender, almost hesitant. But the moment her hands grip the front of my shirt, pulling me closer, something in me snaps. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, her mouth hot and insistent against mine. My hands slide to her waist, pulling her flush against me. She’s smaller than me, so much smaller, but she meets me with a fierceness that makes my head spin.

We break apart briefly, both of us gasping for air, but then her lips are on mine again, her fingers threading through my hair. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but kiss her like she’s the only thing anchoring me to this world. My hands roam her back, her hips, pulling her impossibly closer. She’s all heat and softness, and I’m drowning in her.

“Excuse me!” A sharp voice cuts through the haze, and we both jerk apart. The diner’s manager stands a few feet away, arms crossed, her expression a mix of disapproval and amusement. “This is a family establishment. Take the, uh, enthusiasm somewhere else.”

Cora bursts out laughing, her cheeks flushed, and I chuckle too. “Sorry,” I say, though I don’t mean it, not really. Cora’s still giggling as I guide her to the car, my hand resting on the small of her back.

The drive to her house is quiet, the air between us charged. I can still taste her on my lips, feel the weight of her hands on my shoulders. She glances at me, her smile soft and knowing.

“So,” she says, breaking the silence, “when can I see you again?”

“You’re going to see me tomorrow at work,” I reply, keeping my eyes on the road.

She rolls her eyes, her grin widening. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

I glance at her, my lips twitching. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

Her laugh fills the car, light and unburdened, and it’s the best sound I’ve heard in centuries. We pull up to her house, and she unbuckles her seatbelt, turning to face me. “Goodnight, Mr. Weller. Sir.”

“Goodnight, Cora,” I say, my voice low.

She leans in, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to my cheek before slipping out of the car. I watch her walk up to the house, her hips swaying slightly, and I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. The memory of her lips on mine lingers all the way home, a spark I can’t—and don’t want to—extinguish.

CHAPTER 7

CORA

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