Page 2 of Accidentally Abducted

"With you. Who is naked. And was expecting to spend three days doing genetic compatibility tests with my Instagram-famous ex-boyfriend."

"Also accurate."

I look at him, really look at him. He's still naked, still impossibly tall and broad and alien, but there's something almost vulnerable about the way he's standing now. Like he's waiting for me to start screaming or demand to speak to his manager or something.

Instead, I start laughing.

"Oh, this is perfect," I say, wiping tears from my eyes. "This is absolutely perfect. Derek's going to be so pissed that he missed out on being abducted by aliens. He's probably upstairs right now doing his evening workout routine, completely oblivious to the fact that his genetic material was deemed worthy of intergalactic attention."

Zeph stares at me like I've lost my mind, which is probably fair. "You are... not distressed by this situation?"

"Oh, I'm definitely distressed," I tell him. "But I'm also kind of impressed by the sheer cosmic irony of it all. I mean, what are the odds?" I grin at him. "Besides, it's not like my Tuesday night was going anywhere exciting. At least this is interesting."

For the first time since he walked in, Zeph smiles. It's a small smile, barely there, but it transforms his entire face. Makes him look less like an intimidating alien researcher and more like... well, still an intimidating alien, but one who might actually have a sense of humor buried under all that confused professionalism.

"So," I say, clapping my hands together. "What exactly does a genetic compatibility assessment involve? Because I'm thinking we might need to make some adjustments to your research protocols."

Chapter Two

Zeph

Jake Morrison is staring at me with an expression that I am beginning to recognize as his default state of amused skepticism, and I realize that everything I thought I knew about this moment is wrong.

"So," he says, clapping his hands together in a gesture that our research materials failed to mention, "what exactly does a genetic compatibility assessment involve? Because I'm thinking we might need to make some adjustments to your research protocols."

The casual way he says "adjustments" makes something twist uncomfortably in my stomach. Our research protocols represent three cycles of intensive preparation. Teams of scientists analyzed thousands of hours of human behavioral data. And this human, this wrong human who was never supposed to be here, has identified their fundamental flaws within the first few minutes of our interaction.

"The assessment," I begin carefully, "involves a structured series of activities designed to determine optimal pair bonding potential."

Jake raises one eyebrow. "Structured series of activities. That sounds... romantic."

I am beginning to understand that when Jake uses that particular tone, he is employing what humans call sarcasm. Our research materials mentioned sarcasm but failed to adequately convey how it would feel to be on the receiving end of it, like being gently mocked and challenged simultaneously.

"Perhaps," I say, "it would be more efficient to show you to your quarters first. The assessment can be... explained in more detail once you are settled."

"My quarters," Jake repeats. "Singular or plural?"

The question confuses me. "I do not understand."

"Am I getting my own room, or are we bunking together? Because I feel like that's kind of important information to have upfront."

The heat rises in my face again. "The quarters are... shared. Adjacent sleeping areas with common living space. The program is designed to encourage natural bonding through proximity."

"Natural bonding through proximity," Jake says slowly. "Did you guys get that from a nature documentary?"

"Our research sources were quite varied," I say, which is not technically a lie, though I am beginning to suspect that the variety of our sources may have been part of the problem.

Jake is quiet for a moment, studying my face with an intensity that makes my skin feel warm. There's something calculating about the way he looks at me, but not unkind, more like he's trying to solve a puzzle. "Okay," he finally says. "Lead the way. I'm curious to see what alien interior decorating looks like when it's been influenced by... varied research sources."

The walk to the quarters is both too long and too short. Jake moves beside me with an easy confidence that I find oddly fascinating, occasionally making observations about the ship's design that are both insightful and completely devastating to our architectural assumptions.

"Very sterile," he says, running a hand along the corridor wall. "Very... medical facility meets luxury hotel. Did your research indicate that humans prefer environments that remind them of hospitals?"

"Clean, uncluttered spaces were identified as optimal for reducing stress and promoting calm mental states," I recite from our briefing materials.

"Huh." Jake nods thoughtfully. "And the color scheme? All white, all the time?"

"White was indicated to be universally calming across human cultures."

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