Page 8 of Guarded By an Alien Hunter

I hear a grunt.

Because I know that’s the extent of his dialogue, I get in and start getting ready.

I’m the type who has a lot of hair on my head and on my legs so there’s always a lot to do. I wash my hair, twice, and then put in conditioner. All the while I think of the big, blue alien bodyguard who lives with me now. My new roommate. My new security detail. Or could he one day become my new boyfriend?

No, Katie. Not your boyfriend. Never your boyfriend.

Then I shave my legs and thighs and even the tops of my feet and toes. I have to do this every day during the spring, summer and fall. It’s annoying, but I like wearing shorts and skirts, so this is what needs to be done.

Then I’m out and I dry off with my favorite fluffy white towel and put some fancy oil in my long hair that is supposed to make it shiny and healthy. I pause to moisturize my face and body. Soon I’m all dried off and back in the robe.

I return to my bedroom to figure out what to wear and lay out my clothes. It’s a beautiful fall day outside in San Francisco, which means the weather is mild. I glance through my clothes, trying to figure out what to wear this time. Nothing sexy, nothing that will make me stand out. I need darker colors and comfy shoes. Nothing tight. I’ve already learned that it’s chilly in that courtroom, so I need layers.

I get it all laid out. Then I go back into the bathroom to blow out my hair and put on some makeup.

Vander catches sight of me. “Hurry up,” he growls.

I chuckle because I know that I’m not really taking that long. Apparently even alien men get impatient at a woman getting ready.

In the bathroom, I give my hair a shiny blow out. Then I brush my teeth and apply a light layer of make-up. I’m back in the bedroom putting the clothes on and I check my watch. I wear my most comfortable bra and pull on some comfy, wide-legged, cream-colored pants—the kind that look tailored and professional but feel like pajamas. I slip my feet into shiny black loafers that are super comfortable and pull on a pale pink, short-sleeved, dolman, cashmere sweater that’s thin and a tad bit oversized. Then I pull over this my favorite black blazer.

I add small gold hoop earrings.

Ready.

I’m standing by the front door at exactly the time he’d indicated. I grab my pre-packed, brown leather tote bag and smile up at him. “Right on time.”

He grunts. Vander is somehow more handsome than yesterday. He’s indeed wearing that shiny chest armor he referenced, and his weapons somehow appear more deadly. I feel like a noble lady being protected by a modern knight.

“You thought I’d be late. But I’m not. I’m an on-time person, but I’m not early. I’m never late for work. I know exactly how long it takes me to get ready, but I don’t start early because why bother.” I glance at the kitchen. “But I would love a…”

He hands me a warm travel mug.

“Oh, is this…”

“Yes, it’s that dark brew with no sweetener that you like.”

“How did you even know?”

“I do my research.”

A goofy smile spreads across my face as Vander guides me out the front door and locks up behind us. He’s right at my side as we step out the front door to the car that he’s pulled upand parked on the curb. It looks big and black, like something a celebrity or politician would drive.

I do a quick glance and see no one on the street, which is surprising. “Where is everyone? Usually when I leave like this there’s people out here with signs, yelling out my name and trying to get pictures or interviews.”

“I got rid of the humans and created a perimeter of safety around your house.”

“You did? How?”

He doesn’t respond.

Heh.

He’s all around me as we get into the big, black shiny car. The back seat is large and comfortable, and I feel spoiled because I’m the only one back here. This whole car is for me. I’m used to driving my small EV that I keep parked in my tiny garage space behind my home.

Vander gets in front and expertly drives us down the streets of San Francisco, as if he were born and raised here.

I glance down at my cell phone and see a new text message and smile. “Hey, good news,” I tell him. “The gag order on the defendant is in place so he can’t dox me anymore or talk about me, nor can any of his surrogates or any of those media people.”

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