Page 17 of Uprooted
“I’m really sorry. I would have made it worse though. I’m terrible at that game.”
I look up to give Bri an apologetic smile and something catches my eye behind her. I accidentally make eye contact with a Tilak overher shoulder. I avert my gaze so it doesn’t get awkward, but my eyes wander over again and he is watching me with a smile spread across his flawless face. It takes a second for me to recognize him. He’s the Tilak that helped Bri with her puke bag when we first got here. I smile back and give a halfhearted wave in his direction.
“I think kicking your ass at Cubes is exactly what I need to cheer me up,” Bri says. “I don’t think I was made for this life. Being stuck in a muradome is way worse than I thought it would be. They keep denying my requests to leave! They say I don’t have sufficient reason to leave the dome, and‘muradome security must be prioritized over individual requests.’" She mimics the deep Tilak accent speaking the universal language.
“Bri, I…” My eyes drift from Bri’s face to the Tilak again, and my train of thought evaporates. He is still staring at me and smiling. “I, uh—”
She notices I’m looking past her and turns to see what—who—I’m looking at. She bites the corner of her mouth trying to suppress a smile and looks back at me with one eyebrow raised.
Before I can remember what I was about to say, he stands up and approaches our table. I try not to stare as he walks toward us. Definitely not looking at the low-slung pants on his waist. Or the white T-shirt stretched across his broad chest. I look everywhere except his half-cocked smile and refuse to acknowledge when he pushes his dark hair away from his face. His hair waves casually back, looking effortlessly handsome. His dark eyes narrow on me as he approaches.
I feel like I’m in one of those vintage vids, the ones where the camera zooms in and pulls back at the same time. The movement messes with my head. The focal point looks like it’s getting closer and farther all at the same time. I’m almost dizzy by the time he gets to us.
Panicking, I look around the room searching for an escape route. I have been working around the clock and can’t remember the last time I showered or ran a brush through my hair. Bri’s comment about needing a shower was accurate—I’m disgusting right now. This is not my idea of a good first impression. And to top it off, Bri is loving every second of my torture.
He stops at the edge of our table. “Good morning, ladies,” he says without looking away from me.
I clear my throat and swallow my food. “Good morning.” I try to make my voice sound casual. I’m not fooling anyone. Bri sits there lapping up my awkwardness. Her eyes darting between me and the alien.
“Good morning,” Bri says in an overly chipper voice. “Elowen and I were just talking about how our applications to leave the dome keep getting denied. You don’t happen to know how to get those approved?” she asks sweetly.
“You’re Elowen? I’m Aro.” He doesn’t look toward Bri once.
“And I’m Bri. You can call me ‘Elowen’s friend,’ since that’s all you’re going to remember from this riveting conversation.” There’s an edge to her voice. She’s only partially joking.
“Enjoying your noodles this morning?” he asks with playful interest, completely ignoring Bri’s snarky comment.
“Come to think of it, these are better than yesterday’s,” I quip back.
“Aro! You’re going to be in deep shit if you’re late again.” Aro looks over his shoulder to see his friends leaving.
“You go ahead. I’ll catch up,” Aro tells them. He sits down on the bench and slides up next to me.
“Make yourself at home,” Bri says.
“‘I’ve seen you before, at the reception after the signing ceremony,” Aro says to me.
“You were there?” I ask. A bite of cold noodles lodges in my throat. I set my chopsticks down so I don’t choke to death in front of this gorgeous being.
“I was. I haven’t seen you since you landed. I wondered if you were hiding.”
“I’ve been around. Maybe you just haven’t been paying attention,” I reply. This guy’s arrogance is making me feel feisty.
“Not possible, I would remember,” he says confidently.
“Elowen’s what we call a workaholic,” Bri interjects.
“Workaholic?” he asks, testing the word out.
“Someone who only cares about work,” she explains.
“I don’tjustcare about work. I like other things too,” I say.
“Like what?” he asks.
“I don’t know! You can’t put someone on the spot like that. It’s like asking a comedian to say something funny,” I say.
“I’ve heard your jokes. I’m not sure that’s the analogy you want to go with,” Bri says with a grin.
