Page 25 of Wrecked By My Alien Mentor

“Oh, it’s better than half as good,” I shoot back, leaning into his side. “Just wait. You’re about to have your scales blown off.”

The elevator doors slide open, and Orion’s limo is waiting, sleek and black, with a driver who nods respectfully as we approach. Orion opens the door for me, his hand lingering on the small of my back as I slide in. The interior smells like leather and something faintly spicy—him, I realize. It’s intoxicating.

The drive to Eleven Eleven is short, but it feels like an eternity as I try to guess what Orion saw in my diary. He’s quiet, his gaze fixed on the passing city lights, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes me think he’s enjoying my impatience.

When we arrive, the hostess greets us with a smile and leads us to our table—a secluded corner with a view of the restaurant’s garden. The candles on the table flicker, casting a warm glow over the polished wood and white tablecloth. It’s perfect.

I waste no time ordering my favorites: the burrata with heirloom tomatoes, the truffle fettuccine, and a bottle of dry red. Orion watches me with amusement, his purple eyes gleaming in the dim light. “You’re not holding back, are you?”

“Life’s too short for bad food,” I say, grinning. “And trust me, you’re about to thank me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “We’ll see.”

The meal is, as always, incredible. Orion’s reactions are priceless—his eyes widen slightly at the first bite of the burrata, and he’s halfway through his second plate of fettuccine before I’ve finished my first. “Okay,” he admits, leaning back in his chair. “You were right. This is… impressive.”

“Told you,” I say, smug. “But the best is yet to come.” I signal the waiter for dessert—a decadent chocolate torte—and then pull my old diary from my bag. “So, about that surprise…”

He sets his fork down, his full attention on me now. I open the diary to the page I’d marked earlier and slide it across the table. “I wrote this when I was twelve. It’s… well, you’ll see.”

Orion takes the diary, his massive hands careful as he flips through the pages. His expression softens as he reads the description of my “perfect man,” his eyes flicking up to meet mine. “Tall enough to lean on. Takes care of you. Challenges you. Loves you the way you need to be loved.” His voice is low, almost reverent. “You think I fit that?”

“Are you kidding?” I say, my cheeks warm. “Youarethat. Every single word.”

He smiles—a real, full smile this time—and flips to the end of the diary. His eyes scan the page, and then he freezes, his expression shifting to something I can’t quite read. He closes the diary carefully and hands it back to me, that grin returning. “I’ll tell you in the limo.”

“What? No, tell me now!” I protest, but he’s already standing, his hand extended to help me up.

“Patience, Cora,” he says, his tone teasing. “Some things are worth waiting for.”

Orion calls for the check with a nod to the waiter, his eyes never leaving mine. There’s a glint in his gaze, something playful yet predatory, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I’ve seen that look before—it usually ends with me in some deliciously compromising position. But tonight, it feels different. Softer. Warmer.

We step into the waiting limo, the cool night air giving way to the plush interior. Orion slides in beside me, his massive frame taking up more than his fair share of the seat. He holds out his hand, palm up. “The diary.”

I hesitate for a moment, my cheeks already heating at what he’s about to see. But I hand it over anyway, because when Orion asks for something, I have a hard time saying no. He flips through the pages with deliberate care, his sharp eyes scanning the words and sketches. Then he stops, his finger tracing one of the drawings.

“Here,” he says, amused. “It appears that your mother is not the only artist in the family.”

I peek over his arm, and my stomach drops. There it is—a drawing of myself as an adult version of Little Red Riding Hood. The hood is all I’m wearing, and the wolf… well, the wolf is massive, muscular, and very clearly interested in more than just the contents of my basket. I groan, covering my face with my hands.

“Oh god, I forgot I drew those pictures. You must think I’m really pathetic.”

“On the contrary,” Orion says, his tone light but sincere. “I really like your art. It’s… creative. And surprisingly accurate.” He flips to another page, and I catch a glimpse of the wolf chasing me through the woods, his claws outstretched. I let out a strangled laugh, wishing I could disappear into the limo seat.

“Accurate?” I squeak, peeking at him through my fingers. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirks, leaning back against the seat. “Well, Idolike to hunt. And Iamthe big bad wolf, aren’t I?”

My face burns hotter, but I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible to resist, maybe,” he teases, his hand finding mine. He laces our fingers together, his grip warm and reassuring. “I’m willing to play the role of the wolf anytime, Cora. Just say the word.”

I shake my head, but I’m smiling. “You’re not going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he says, his smile softening. “But I want you to know something. All of this—your art, your kinks, your quirks—it’s part of who you are. And I love every part of you.”

My heart swells at his words, and I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder. “You mean that?”

“Always,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Now, what do you say we get out of here? I think it’s time for the wolf to take his Red Riding Hood home.”

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