Page 56 of Rizzed Up By My Alien Neighbor
That night,I meet Sammy under star-pocked sky. Porch light glows. Air is sweet with summer warmth.
“Did it work?” I ask softly, tone uncharacteristically vulnerable.
She looks up at me. Eyes solemn. Mouth quirking upward.
“You’re still a weirdo,” she says. Then she smiles widely. “But you’re a weird romantic. She likes that.”
Relief blossoms in my chest—blooming slow like the flowers I picked. This surge isn’t born of combat—no explosions, no strategic kills—but from something gentler: bringing a smile to her when she didn’t expect it.
I let that feeling settle. It hums, unthreatening.
“Thank you, Commander,” I say softly.
She nudges me. “Call me Sammy.”
My armor feels lighter tonight. The wind moves through the jasmine. In the distance, Collinsville sleeps.
I close my eyes. The warmth inside hasn’t faded—it persists like an ember.
I wonder… this is how peace feels.
CHAPTER 14
VANESSA
It’s Saturday morning, sunlight bleeding through the blinds, birds warbling like they own the day. The world is serenely mundane—fresh coffee brewing, the hum of a lawnmower somewhere down the street. Which makes the explosion of panic in my chest all the more surreal.
I’m in my bathrobe, a faded pink terrycloth sentinel, trudging down the front steps to fetch the mail. The spring air tastes of cut grass and honeysuckle, comforting in its simplicity. And then: I see him. He’s performing squats in his front yard—shirtless, shorts snug enough to outline every muscle, framed by dew-damp grass and the glow of dawn. His skin reflects the morning sun, almost as if someone polished him with announcer tones and divine spotlight. The kind of perfection you expect from a sculpture, not a neighbor.
I freeze, toes curled on the top step.
He dips into another rep, motion fluid, grace carved by design. The world narrows to the sight of his back muscles shifting beneath the skin—or synthetic skin? I don’t know anymore—and the curve of his everything. Everything that shouldn’t be in public, especially not at nine in the morning.
The birds keep singing.
I swallow hard. The envelope of anxiety tightens around my throat. Every breath tastes like coffee and cloudless sky and fear. I hate feeling like this. Especially now—he’s not just some stranger. He’s… I choke down the word somewhere thick in my chest:mate.
“Mom!” Sammy’s voice slices through the air.
I turn to see her at the porch, wearing pajamas and bed-head bedazzlement. She holds her phone ready, filming cautiously. “Documenting alien behavior,” she explains, brow raised. “Breakfast theater: shirtless calisthenics. This is gold.”
I mentally smack my hand against my forehead, but at the same time—I don’t. Because I see damn well what he looks like, and heisgold, golden flesh and sunrise, someone you can’t unseen.
My robe shifts. I swallow again. “You saw nothing.”
She just smirks, as if perpetual mischief is her sworn duty.
I peer at Richard. He titrates through the final squat, exhales, and straightens—looking downright meditative. Then he glances up, spots me. The way he does it is so calm, so patient. No drip of surprise, no flash of embarrassment. Just recognition. And… maybe pride? He tilts his head in greeting. “Good morning, Vanessa,” he intones, voice gentle, eyes amber pits of morning sun.
I might drop dead on the spot—an unanticipated casualty of suburban mornings. Instead, I balance the mail in one arm and force a polite nod. “Morning,” I say, trying not to sound breathless.
He steps back behind his hedge, grabbing a towel, leaving me tumbling into the moment’s aftermath.
Sammy nudges me. “You’re red.”
“I’m… fine,” I mutter. “Let’s just go inside.” I turn back to the door but linger as though caught between fear and gravity.
I hear him speak softly as if to the grass, back turned. It’s not audible, but the air hums. As though he’s always singing, just beneath the ears.
