Page 17 of Alien Jeopardy
“Clippy?” he repeats, sounding for all the world like he’s chewing the name. He points at me. “Clippy?” he repeats, a small, guileless smile replacing his frown.
I blow out a breath, annoyed, because he iscutecute, and whether that’s the maybe-rabies venom straight-up frying my braincells or a real observation, I don’t know.
“No.” I shake my head. “No.”
“No,” he agrees, nodding. He points at me, tilting his head the other way. “No?” he asks, pointing at me again.
I grumble in annoyance. We aresonot doing the name game right now.
His grin deepens, though, and I squeeze my thighs together, like that’s going to solve my problems. News flash: it does not solve anything.
He taps his chest again. “Ka-Rexsh.”
Shit. I guess we are doing the name game. I close my eyes, doing my best to repeat my new mantra and get oxygen to my also new wanna-bang-an-alien brain.
“Kaw-wrekch,” I try, pointing at him.
He repeats his name, and I do my best to mimic him. Rinse and repeat.
“Kah-rexsh?” I attempt for the tenth time, exasperated.
Finally, he lets out a little laugh, shaking his own head and then nodding and pointing at me. Okay, close enough, then.
“Ellison.”
He frowns. “Elleyyzzon.”
“My friends call me Ell,” I tell him, then scrunch my nose because while we might be paired up, we aren’t friends. I might have gotten off against his washboard alien abs, but that doesn’t mean we’re friends.
Confusion twists his mouth. Not his brow, though, because that forehead is all horn and it ain’t moving.
“Ell,” I repeat, trying not to get any more frustrated than I already am.
I just have to get through this, and then I’ll have scratched off my bucket list item of being on a reality TV show. I need to take it one minute at a time. I blow out a long breath.
“Ell,” he repeats. His face lights up as I give him a tentative nod, and I find myself grinning back before I can think better of it.
I wipe the expression off my face as fast as I can, though, because the big green dude takes another step towards me. I do not need to encourage him to get closer, so I do another karate chop, causing him to stop in his tracks.
I want to ask him about the scratches on my legs, about the stuff that’s dripping from the tips of his wings, but I rationally can admit that sort of communication is going to be impossible at this point.
My chest heaves as I sigh.
Alright. Now that we’ve established what we’re going to call each other during this cursed season ofIntergalactic Least Amazing Race, I take a look around, absorbing our surroundings.
There’s a chill in the air, a sort of outdoor icy crisp to it that reminds me of the end of fall. Pine trees stretch as far as I can see, the weak light from whatever sun is in this solar system filtering through various shades of green. A shiver goes through me, and I fervently wish I’d worn something warmer to sleep in. I’m no Girl Scout, seeing as how things like that pretty much dried up after the Roth invasion, but I know one thing for certain in my bones.
It’s going to be frigid once the sun goes down tonight.
And all I have on are these thin Hawaiian floral print pajamas to keep warm.
That, and the near-blinding heat scorching me from the inside out, turning my lady parts achy all over again the minute I think about it.
Holding my hands up, in an attempt to keep him from touching me, I take a few steps towards him, and then reach up on my tip toes to point at the tip of the webbed wing closest to me.
His eyes narrow as he tracks my movement.
I jab my finger at the talon again, then swivel so he can see the backs of my legs and point at the scratches there.
