Page 27 of Whisked Away By the Alien

“Nonsense, Gertie. She has a perfectly good bed at her place. Stenikov can escort Golda to her apartment, right Stenikov?”

“I would be honored.”

Mrs. Birnbaum resumes eating her meal, with a smile peeking out from under her fork. Golda, meanwhile, glares at her mother.

There’s so much about human communication I do not understand. Though I must admit, I look forward to walking Golda home tonight. A chance to be alone with her…

CHAPTEREIGHT

GOLDA

Despite my mom playing matchmaker, I’m jumping up and down on the inside. Stenikov will walk me home after dinner! Yay! And I don’t have to get into a fight with my parents over it either. It was their idea.

Theiridea.

My stomach turns sour, but it’s not from the under-sweetened apple sauce. I don’t like being manipulated by my mom. But let’s face it, I haven’t been myself. The apples-sauce being proof. I’ve never screwed it up before. If I hadn’t been so distracted by the gorgeous alien in the kitchen, I would have tasted it and realized I hadn’t used nearly enough sugar. Then again, that means more room for dessert, and I don’t mean the jelly donuts we fried.

Damn, my mind’s in the gutter today. Stenikov’s got muscles everywhere and a delicious set of tattoos peeking from beneath the short sleeve t-shirt he’s wearing. I want to see more of the tattoos, more of him.

Lust. Nothing more than lust, Golda. Get ahold of yourself.

“What religion do your people practice?” Mom asks.

“I do not practice a religion. Though we have gods on Zyan.”

“He believes in gods, plural. We can work with that,” Mom says. “We simply need to whittle it down to one.”

Is she serious? First, she wants to kick him out because he’s an alien, and now she’s looking at him like he’s husband material.

Being home messes with my head. I have the knee-jerk reaction to do the opposite of whatever my mom wants. But I like the idea of being with Sten.

“You don’t ask a person to change his religious beliefs, Mom.”

“I’m only saying anyone can convert.”

I push my chair back, the need to escape suddenly overwhelming. “Enough. I’m not searching for a husband. Stop pressuring me.”

“By your age, Rachel was already married. Now she has a baby. And she’s going to school to become a doctor.”

Yada, yada, yada. I consider waiting for my mom to go into full-blown lecture mode that I need to do something with my life, but I’m not willing to be embarrassed—again—in front of Sten.

“I’m only twenty-eight. You’re talking like I’m a hundred.”

“One hundred is too old to have a youngling. Except on Tekkla. They have advanced technology.”

We all stare at Sten.

“Why don’t we finish eating,” my father comes to the rescue.

Sten doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss as he pulls the platter of latkes closer to him. “Is there a protocol for serving oneself?”

“We’re informal here, Stenala,” Mom says.

“My name is Stenikov. Or Sten, if you prefer. Or as Mr. Birnbaum noted, Warrior Zelin. But not Stenala.”

I face-palm myself because right now I don’t want to look at the hunky alien who Mom has somehow turned into a five-year-old by modifying his name. “Mom, we’re adults. His name is Sten. No one wants to have ‘la’ added to his name.”

“Of course, Goldala.”

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