Page 33 of Fever

“I am giving them to you.”

“You’re still holding on to them.”

“Grrr.” I look around us and open my fist to drop the panties on the table. I ran out of liners this afternoon and changed panties a little earlier. It’s a thong, and bunched up like that, it doesn’t look like much of anything, I hope, because Sotay isn’t pocketing them.

“Take the panties,” I hiss.

“Quiet, Omega.”

“You’re not gonna keep them on the table, are you?”

“Maybe.”

A giggle escapes me, and I cover my mouth. “That’s dirty, you know.”

“You should meet my Dad. You’ll know dirty then.” Sotay smiles and looks away. “When the gate is fixed, he’ll come to meet you.”

Oh, I doubt I’ll be around. Maybe he can visit my grave and put fresh flowers on it. “Your mom was a cop?”

Sotay nods. “San Diego PD. That’s how she ended up on Regha. Got a noise complaint for the frat house, came to investigate, fell into the gate, and landed on Regha.”

“When?”

“Many years ago. Before the invasion.”

“So you were abducting us before you invaded?” All those abduction stories are true. Wow. Those poor people. Nobody believed them.

“We weren’t abducting. People kept falling into the gate. Which is why the gate is now secluded and in our control.”

My wine arrives, and I lift the glass. “Cheers,” I say and sip. It’s good. Sweet and dry at the same time. I take another sip.

“Would you like a bottle?” Sotay asks.

“Ha-ha. No, thank you. Though I’d prefer to order for myself next time.”

“Next time? How do you know there will be a next time?”

I sip more wine. Maybe I do need a bottle. Unsure what to say, I shrug.

“Maybe the hotel won’t exist tomorrow, maybe the abominations,” he gestures with his hand, “will level everything. They have nuclear power. We didn’t get to lock it all up. Some things slipped through the cracks.” Sotay’s gaze is intense. Fear makes my palms sweat. I rub them together and glance at the waiter, who stands there blinking as if mesmerized. Sotay wanted him to hear this, though for what purpose, I can’t tell.

The appetizer arrives with another server, a short woman this time. She doesn’t linger or say anything, but drops a giant plate of steaming seafood before us. Sotay stares at it.

“Is there something wrong, sir?” the man server asks.

Sotay snarls.

“It’s great!” I say a little too loudly. Even I’m surprised at my tone. “Thank you. Goodbye.” I wave him off, and he’s happy to backtrack. I lean across the table. “If you’re unpleasant and impolite, I will leave so fast, your head will spin.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Which part of uncooked is unclear?” He swats at the steam coming from the seafood.

“Oh, stop that. You said your mom was human. Surely she cooked something.”

“Doesn’t mean I ate it. Mom is a terrible cook.”

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