Page 8 of Chosen By the Alien

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The cursor blinks.

Hey. Just thinking about you.

Delete.

You’d laugh if you saw me tonight.

Delete.

I miss you.

I stare at it.

What do I even want?

To hear her voice? To feel normal again? Or just to drown out the ghost of Tahl’s smirk in my brain?

I hit back. Leave the message unsent. Toss the phone on the counter.

Then I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face like that’ll wash the heat away. It doesn’t. I dry off with a paper towel, avoiding the mirror, and zip myself up.

I feel... raw. Unsettled.

Not just from the orgasm. From thewhyof it.

I step out of the bathroom into a hallway buzzing with bodies and beer breath and cheap perfume. The party’s only gotten louder. Someone’s making out against the wall. A vampire chick rides a pirate's thigh like she forgot what pants are for.

I push through the crowd, looking for Jake.

He’s easy to spot: drunk and red-faced, grinding up on a "nurse" with more cleavage than fabric.

I try to get his attention. “Hey, dude, Jake!”

He waves me off with a dopey grin. Tongue halfway down the nurse’s throat.

Useless.

I head for the porch, fingers itching for another smoke. The door sticks, and for a second I wrestle with it, and then I stop.

Becausehe’s there.

Tahl.

By the stairs. Alone.

Waiting.

His arms are folded across his chest, and that same weird smile plays at the edge of his mouth. Like heknowsI’d show up. Like he’s beenexpectingme.

“Hey,” he says. His voice has a gravity to it. Like it drags everything toward it.

My chest tightens.

“I was wondering,” he continues. “Would you show me the guest room now?”

I blink.

He could’ve asked anyone. There’s dozens of people inside. But he waited forme.

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