Page 1 of Chosen By the Alien
Chapter 1
I should’ve stayed home.
The moment I walk through the door, I regret everything. The air inside is thick with cheap cologne, body heat, and desperation. Somebody’s already spilled beer on the sticky floor. Music’s blasting from a Bluetooth speaker that looks like it’s surviving its final hours. The bass is all rattle and no rhythm.
“C’mon, loosen up,” Jake says, nudging me with his elbow. “You need this.”
“No,youneed this,” I say, sidestepping a girl with glitter on her cheeks and red plastic cups in both hands.
I follow him into the living room, if you can call it that. It’s more like a forgotten chunk of drywall and sagging furniture. People are making out on a couch that’s seen better decades, someone’s sitting on the armrest scrolling their phone, and there’s a group of guys fake-laughing way too loudly in the corner. I grab a cup of lukewarm beer from the kitchen counter and take a sip, immediately regretting that too.
Jake’s already disappeared, probably into a bedroom or a bathroom with someone who was drunk enough to think his band t-shirt counted as foreplay.
I lean against a wall that feels suspiciously sticky, staring down into my cup like it might offer me escape.
And that’s when I seehim.
At first, I think it’s just the lighting, pink LED strips throwing strange shadows, a haze of smoke from a vape or incense or something worse. But no, it’s not the lights.
It’shim.
He’s tall. Like, head-above-everyone-else tall. Shoulders that look like they were carved by someone horny and resentful. His skin appears to glow faintly gold, but not in the fake tan kind of way. More like light is coming frominsidehim. He shifts slightly, and I swear I see a hint of shimmer, a subtle light that slides across his collarbone like oil on water.
His eyes catch the light next, large, reflective, and intense. Focused. Like he’s not just lookingatpeople, he’s scanning them. Reading them. Not in the judgmental way guys at parties usually do, not thewho’s fuckable, who’s competitionkind of look, but something deeper.
My brain stutters for a second, then supplies:costume. Right. Must be some kind of cosplay. Maybe he’s into alien LARPing or something. Or one of those gay guys who goes all-out for theme parties.
His shirt—or maybe it’s just paint?—clings to his body like it was grown on him. Every muscle outlined, every line smooth and symmetrical. His chest expands slightly when he laughs, low, like a purr, and the sound slides over my skin in a way I don’t fucking like.
I look away.
But my eyes drift back. Like they’ve got a mind of their own.
He’s not talking much. Just standing there with a drink in his hand, nodding politely while two women try to flirt with him. They’re both gorgeous (high-waisted jeans, glowy skin, perfect smiles) but they might as well be invisible. His gaze is elsewhere. Focused inward. Or maybe outward, but not on them.
Not on me, either.
Not that I care.
I take another sip of my beer, which is now warmandflat. My mouth feels dry. I force myself to look at anything else, the sagging couch, the broken blinds, the glitter trail across the floor.
But my dick twitches.
Just once. Barely there.
Still. I fucking notice.
“No,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head. “Nope.”
I finish the cup just to have something to do and toss it into the overflowing trash can. When I look back toward the guy. The alien or model or glowing sex god or whatever the fuck he is, he’s gone.
I scan the room. Nothing.
No gold skin. No shimmer. No eyes like heat vision.
I swallow and rub the back of my neck. There’s a tension there I hadn’t noticed before. The room’s too hot, too loud, too full of people pretending they’re having a better time than they are. I’m done.
I step outside through the sliding glass door, hoping the fresh air will slap some sense into me.
