Page 22 of Her Alien Librarian

“Oh, nothing,” I say with a shrug. “I’m just crampy and not feeling sexy right now. It’ll pass. But maybe tonight I can give you head, or–”

“No, Samantha,” he interrupts. “If you are not feeling well, I don’t want you sucking my cock.”

I’m about to assure him it’s not a big deal, and that I love giving him head, when he pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts typing. “Mylo, really, it’s fine.”

He ignores me as his gaze drifts over the screen of his phone, and a minute later, he goes to his closet and pulls out a pair of black sweats and a red t-shirt. “Put these on,” he says, shoving them into my hands. “I shall be right back.”

I’m so confused. “Wait, what?”

Mylo presses his ear against his bedroom door, listening for anyone in the hallway. Then he whispers, “Change your clothes, lie down, and I shall return shortly.”

He closes the door behind him before I can say another word.

What the hell just happened? And where did he go? I’m tempted to sneak out and head back home, but the sweats in my hands are as soft as butter, and his giant bed looks so comfortable. I’ll just put these on and lie down for a few minutes. Then I’ll text him to see what the fuck is going on.

His t-shirt is plain, not a logo in sight, but the fabric feels soft and stretchy and incredibly well-made. I want to live in this shirt. It’s so big, the bottom hem hits my knees, and I have to roll the bottom cuffs of the sweatpants four times just to keep them from dragging on the ground.

The moment I snuggle beneath his thick, downy comforter, Mylo bursts into the room with a plastic bag in his hand.

“Where’d you go?” I ask, hauling myself up into a seated position.

He empties the contents of the bag on the bed and says, “I looked up how to care for a woman on her period, and this is what the internet told me to get.”

In the pile of items in front of me, there are pads, tampons, a heating pad, a bottle of Ibuprofen, a red velvet cupcake, four Milky Way bars, and a pint of chocolate chip ice cream with a plastic spoon taped to the side.

Mylo’s gaze bores into mine as he waits for my reaction. “Did I miss something?” he asks nervously.

“No,” I say with a surprised chuckle. It took him all of thirty seconds to register my pain, Google a solution, and go out and buy everything I could possibly want to get me through my period. “I…I can’t believe you did this.” I’m amused and perplexed and in awe of this man. I’ve never known anyone like him, and I’m starting to think I never will.

His teeth gleam as he shoots me a proud grin. “It is my pleasure, Samantha.” Then he steps into his walk-in closet and changes into sweats before grabbing the heating pad from the pile. “Let me get this ready for you,” before heading downstairs.

When he returns, he’s holding my heating pad in one hand, and a bowl of popcorn in the other. “This is for you,” he says, handing me the purple rubber bottle, “and this,” he pops a piece into his mouth, “is for me.”

We settle in next to each other on the bed as we dig into our snacks, and I can’t stop smiling with each bite. After the shitty day I had, this is exactly what I needed, and Mylo gave it to me without hesitation. Nate never did anything like this for me. No one I’ve dated has. He might be the most thoughtful sex friend I’ve ever had.

“Would you like to watch something?” he asks. “A movie?”

I take another bite of ice cream, noticing the pint is almost half empty, and put it on the nightstand. “Actually, would you mind reading to me?” I ask, unwrapping a Milky Way and adjusting the heating pad on my stomach as I lean against his side.

His strong jaw drops open, and his eyes sparkle with delight at my request. “You want me to read to you? That will make you feel better?”

I give his hard chest a playful push. “Don’t look so surprised. I love when you read to me.”

He pulls his tablet off the nightstand and starts listing titles. When he mentions a book of Italian poetry, I become very intrigued. “You can speak Italian?”

“I can speak many languages,” he says. “We didn’t know where on Earth we would settle, so I wanted to be prepared.” Then I notice him shaking his head. “I assigned certain languages to my brothers, but none of them followed my orders.”

“They’re not as smart or driven as you,” I note, offering him a bite of my candy bar. He takes it, and his eyes widen as he chews, making him look much younger than a three-hundred-year-old dragon.

When I finish the candy, I turn on my side and rest my cheek on Mylo’s chest. He starts with a poem calledLa Vita Nuovaby Dante Alighieri, and even though I can only understand a handful of words, the way he enunciates with a perfect Italian accent makes my stomach flutter. I wish I could watch the roll of his magnificent tongue when he says certain words, and that thought creates all kinds of tongue-related fantasies as he starts reading the next poem, a sonnet by Petrarch.

My mind wanders as he rubs my back and I envision us years into the future, just like this––not having sex, but caring for each other in the most intimate ways, and I’m surprised by how much joy that image brings me. His touch feels…right. As if my body has been waiting for it. Craving it.

A shudder rips through me when I consider these are not thoughts a person has about a casual sex friend. These thoughts are more. These feelings…

“Are you cold?” he whispers, breaking through my thoughts.

“No,” I tell him, settling into the crook of his arm for another poem.

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