Page 29 of Matched to the Alien King
This contestant was directly involved in the start of the Faid War.
The Ts had cross-strokes from right to left, which is common for left-handed people. It’s not some kind of miracle that I know this. It’s becauseIam left-handed, and I do it too.
Maxx was right-handed, not that I suspected him, but it was hard not to notice his gorgeous, slightly broody look of concentration at each brushstroke. I couldn’t help the grin that broke over my face because I had a hunch he was painting me. Unless of course he wasn’t because he was mad at me for being mad at him.
Ah, relationships. I was so unpracticed at them that it was laughable.
Anyway, as far as I could tell, I was the only left-handed contestant, not surprising since only about fifteen percent of the universe were lefties. Pete was also a righty, as were Smitha and Oreo. The crew was a little harder to study since they weren’t doing art, but I did spot one spiky-haired female human carrying wires in her left hand.
So, obviously that made her guilty, right? Yeah, probably not.
“Only one minute left!” Pete shouted.
Ignoring him, I looked out to the beacon on the cliffside, the one Maxx and I never made it to, the one that pulsed light from the top. The more I stared at it, the more I realized it wasn’t pulsing regularly but in a rhythm all its own.
Weird.
What was it for? What else was up there with it? Klio-3 natives?
“Thirty seconds!” Pete called.
Quickly, I drew my masterpiece.
When Pete came to collect it, he rolled his eyes. “Really, Captain?”
“Really, Pete?” I fired back. “I’ve made great progress on two puzzles instead of spending my time doing arts and crafts. Both puzzles have shown me a lot more about the people here and the island itself than some stupid picture. How is this”—I waved the holographic paper at him—“supposed to help us get to know each other and find love on this show?”
“Hey, I didn’t come up with this,” he said, lifting his hands. “What do you want me to do?”
“You’re the host. You haveallthe power. Will the producer stop you if you turn this show intoThe Hunger Gamesif it means more ratings?”
He stared at me blankly. “What’sThe Hunger Games?”
I forgave his reading sin as soon as he said it. Not everyone had read the great YA classic from over six hundred years ago. I’d read and reported on that one for my Military Strategies 101 class since it was the only book I could find that didn’t put me to sleep. After that, I was hooked.
I’d never readTwilightthough. Probably shouldn’t let that slip to Maxx.
“The Hunger Gamesis a book about a fight to the death until there’s one person left standing,” I explained to Pete.
His eyes widened so much that white ringed all the way around them. “Did you fall and hit your head, Captain? You do know this is adatingshow, right?”
“All I’m saying is the viewers are going to stop watching if we continue to draw stupid pictures of each other. They want drama. They want action. I want to figure out who’s capable of poisoning me. You put certain stressors on people, and they’ll show youexactlywhat they’re capable of,andif they’re worthy of love.”
Pete rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I see your point… How about more stress but no fight to the death?”
“Mmm, that depends on if I find out who tried to poison me because there definitely will be a fight to the death. But don’t worry. I’ll bury the body under endangered plants so it’s illegal to dig it up.” I hiked up an eyebrow. “All it means is more ratings.”
Pete grinned and stuck out his hand for me to shake. “More rateys mean more ladies. I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’re gross, Pete. I think I like you.” I shook his hand and sealed the deal.
“I like you too”—he gasped and whipped his head around—“but not like that.”
A nervous laugh tripped out of him, and he slowly backed away with his hands up. Behind him, on the other side of the stage, sat Maxx. He leaned forward with his elbows on the knees of his pants, chin tucked down, and spearing two holes through Pete with his lethal, electric stare.
I waved to catch his eye and to prove I was still his, no matter who I talked to. To put it mildly, this royal man was overprotective when it came to little ol’ me. Not that I minded all that much.
His gaze softened the longer he lingered on me, spilling warmth through my veins and stuttering my pulse. It was a little unnerving how just one look from him could make me feel so alive. Needed. Worshipped.
