Page 8 of My Alien Angel
Exchanging exasperated looks with Imani, I try to get the conversation back into realistic waters. “Focus, Caleb. He’s not an alien, nor is he an angel. He’s just a very dedicated cosplayer.”
“But how do you explain the fact that he understands English but can’t speak it? Surely, that’s not possible without alien technology. Or magic. That would be cool, too.”
I’m about to concede the point, but Imani shakes her head. “What if he’s on the spectrum? Or has a cognitive disability? Not everything needs to be explained with magic, Caleb. We have a thing called science, you know?”
“Don’t be such a spoilsport, doc,” Caleb teases. Imani only recently got her PhD and is still flustered every time people refer to her as doctor. “No one has proven that aliens don’t exist.”
“When I see one, I’ll believe it. Until then, I’m inclined to believe Fin’s guest might be on the spectrum rather than from outer space. Besides, I actually study space for a living. I went through terabytes of data from various deep space scans and I haven’t seen a single sign of alien life anywhere.”
“But you also can’t prove that there are no aliens. So—”
“Guys!” I interrupt them. “Please. Can we focus on my situation, please? I have to make some calls tonight for work and I can’t—”
Stopping their bickering, they both glare at me. “What do you mean, you have to work tonight?” Caleb asks. “It’s Sunday. You never mentioned having any unfinished work. In fact, I recall you telling me you were done with everything until Monday.”
“Yeah, well…”
Imani sighs. “Fin, you need to learn how to tell your boss no.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal. Besides, he’s my boss. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to say no to your boss.”
“It’s not illegal, Infinity,” Imani glowers at me. “In fact, it’s very much recommended, especially when your boss is an asshole.”
“Why are we talking about my boss and not the man in my bathroom?” I try to change the subject, but neither of them stops scowling. In the sudden silence, I realize I can’t hear the shower anymore. “Dammit, I promised to find him some clothes.” Dropping the phone on the bed, I dart for my dresser and pull out the largest pair of leggings I own. They’ll still be way too short for Omni and will probably hug his ass in an absolutely indecent way, but it’s the best I can do.
Imani’s voice comes from the phone. “This conversation isn’t over, Infinity.”
“It is, and stop calling me Infinity. I gotta go.”
“Send pics,” Caleb pipes up.
“Caleb, I’m not sending you photos of the poor man’s cock!”
The bastard laughs. “Well, I meant the pictures of his costume, of course, but that’d work, too.”
“Oh my god,” I groan. “Why am I friends with you again? I’m hanging up now. I’ll see you on Friday.”
“You will text us with proof that you’re alive tomorrow morning or I’m sending cops to your house,” Imani threatens.
“Yeah, yeah. Bye.” Caleb is opening his mouth, probably to ask for photos again, but I end the call. God, I hope Omni didn’t hear any of that. He’ll think I’m nuts. Which I am. What am I even doing? He could kill me in ten seconds flat and those cops Imani will no doubt call if she doesn’t hear from me would find nothing but my cold, dead body.
Chasing the gruesome thoughts away, I dare to peek into the living room. No naked cosplayers, which is a relief. Setting the clothes in front of the still closed bathroom door, I make a hasty retreat to my bedroom. I absolutely do not want to see Omni naked. I mean, I’m nottotallyagainst it per se, butImani saying that he could be on the spectrum put a dampener on my curiosity. If Omni truly is on the spectrum or has some sort of cognitive disability, he might not be able to give informed consent. Not that Iwantto have sex with him! Do I? Dammit, why is every man I’m lusting after either fictional or unavailable? It’s just that, Omni is so sweet and clueless that it’s firing up all of my protective instincts. I just want to hug and protect him and maybe, just maybe, see if his lips are as soft as they look.
Bad Infinity. No kissing the neurodivergent stranger!
I hear the bathroom door open and then some rustling as Omni, hopefully, puts on the pants. “Fin?” he calls out.
Since hiding in my room isn’t a viable long-term solution, I open the door. To my relief, Omni is indeed wearing the leggings. To my mortification, however, they outline his hips and cock in a way that’s definitely illegal. The rest of his body is bare and I can’t help but let my eyes feast on the sight. Damn, my angel is built! There are a few scars marring his perfect skin, with one looking suspiciously like a healed gunshot wound. Who is this man?
As my eyes slowly trail up the length of his body, I realize he’s still wearing the wings. He’s washed them, so now they’re gleaming white, yet dripping water all over my floor. What’s a little more alarming is that despite Omni being shirtless now, there’s still no sign of a harness, wires or literallyanythingvisible holding the wings up. How the hell are they staying on?
A little frustrated, I grab the mop from the bathroom and start wiping the floor. “You’re not gonna take them off, even now?”
Sighing, Omni takes the mop from my hands. “No,” he replies, sounding somewhat apologetic.
“Of course not. Look, I need to work for a while, so why don’t you watch TV?”
Tilting his head to the side, Omni follows my eyes to the wall-mounted screen, frowning as if he has never seen a television in his entire life. That’s odd. Even if he is on the spectrum, he must have watched TV at least once in his life, right? Perhaps he grew up in one of those anti-tech communes like the one my parents live in. Or he’s been abused, kept locked up somewhere without access to the outside world.
