Page 6 of My New and Improved Alien Lovers

“You don't wish to be mated?”

Honestly, the guy with the lights in his skin and his hair is too beautiful to look at. It actually kind of hurts my eyes, but I have this indescribable urge to touch him. I crawl out of bed, approaching him carefully so I don't scare him off. Who knows if he's skittish at all, I just feel like I put myself in their life, so I’ve got to find a way to fix this. “Can I touch you?”

He blinks down at me, assessing, and then nods. I wrap my arms carefully around his waist, trying not to feel self-conscious that he's so much thinner than I am. “You smell like grape popsicles.”

“Grape pop… what is grape popsicles?”

“My favorite thing to eat when it's hot out. I hope you're not offended that I'm smelling you.” Then I go right back to it. He does smell like grape popsicles and it's weird, but I don't think it's a cologne. It seems to be coming from his skin itself.

It takes a moment, but soon his hands drift to my hair, playing with the loose curls there and combing through them. “You're even more beautiful in person,” he says softly.

I smile up at him, feeling at ease. “Thank you. I didn't mean to offend you guys. It's just—”

“We get it,” he says succinctly. “We're aliens. Very different to you, and not very desirable.”

“No,” I say vehemently. “That's not it at all. It's more like, I'm really good at getting myself in situations inexplicably. It’s just taking me a moment here to come to grips with what's happening. I feel as if I... was disrespectful contacting you the way I did. And I mean, come on, are there no safeguards on those machines? How many people have approached them drunk and woken up on a spaceship instead of their ex's bed?”

He gives me a little bit of a smile, but it's still sad. “Not too many, but it has happened.”

“Well,” I say as I give him his personal space back, “I was quite sick of attempting to find a serious partner on Earth.”

“Is that what you're looking for?” the alien on the bed asks.

I find myself nodding, realizing that's exactly what I've been wanting. “I've been looking for years now. Maybe I wasn't taking it seriously enough, because dating is just something you're supposed to do on Earth. You're supposed to go out with people and try to make a connection. I like hanging out with friends, but it's just not the same as having somebody there to come hometo at the end of the day. I've had a couple good relationships, nothing traumatic or anything, but nothing lasting either.”

“Human dating mystifies us,” the glowy man says. “We are given references when we sign up to be part of this exchange, and we have to study your mating habits. We watch footage and observe the sites that you use to find partners, and it's all so casual that it makes no sense to us. Every once in a while, something will surprise us and the match is made and two people connect instantly, but more often than not, it just seems that one or the other of the partners are only there for free meal, or to relieve physical needs.”

“How do you do it then? If you don't casually date?”

“Well,” the guy from the bed says, “for starters, we do everything with our triads.”

“That's the three of you?”

The guy on the bed nods. “Yes. We’re matched to triads based on compatibility tests as juveniles. Then we undergo trial periods to see if it's something we want to make permanent. If no changes need to be made, we continue forward with formalizing the triad. Once we get to that stage, we settle in and start to decide if we want to put our names in for a mate or not.”

“What if we hate each other?” I ask. “There weren’t any compatibility tests given that I remember on that machine. I could have been matched to anybody, and I'd be in the same spot I am now. So how do I know this is even going to work? What if I drive you crazy, and you're ready to kick me out the first chance you can?”

“This is going to be complicated, or maybe hard to explain to you, because our cultures are so different,” the glowy man says. “I'm Kass, by the way. That is my name.”

“Adeema,” the guy on the bed says. “And the grump that stormed out is Owiin. He's likely down the hall listening in, you may call out a greeting if you'd like.”

“You can come back in, Owiin,” I call out, feeling a bit silly. But he does, and for some reason, I feel like I need to touch him, too.

Sidling up to him, I look way up and hold out a hand. “I'm Margaret, it's nice to meet you. I'm sorry for the way everything just came out.”

“We should have known it wouldn't have worked out when you appeared on camera as inebriated as you were. It is our fault for hoping and for willingly collecting you knowing you likely didn't mean it.”

My hand is just hanging out there between us, awkwardly. “Can I touch you?”

He raises one of his eyebrows. Well, where eyebrows would be if he had them, and then shrugs. He's harder to wrap my arms around because he's more barrel chested, but touch feels important.

His hands rest on my shoulders tentatively and then snake their way across them, enveloping me in a hug. “You smell like a cherry slushy,” I inform him. “My favorite drink when I need something sugary.”

“Touch is very important to us,” he informs me. “My skin works differently than yours, we're able to pick up lots of information that your human skin can't. Is that why you wished to hug me?”

“I didn't know that, actually. Just felt like something that needed to be done.” I shrug and go back on to the bed to sit next to Adeema. I sit right next to him and hold up my hand, suppressing a shiver when he interlaces his with it.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

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