Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
"I have had enough of the barn," I tell her, my tone conveying my demand. "I need inside."
She rolls her eyes. "The fact that you're showing up and demanding that I let you in tells me that you still suck. So...no. I'm not letting you in."
And with that, she drops the curtain again.
"MEEV." Woob woob "You cannot mean to leave me out here forever!"
The window curtain pulls back again just as I'm about to pound on the bouncing, rattling plas once more. I draw back at her expression, which looks slightly unhinged with anger. "Can. You. Stop."
I consider this. "No."
Her nostrils flare and she stares at me, long and hard. "I am not leaving you out there forever." Her voice is even and reasonable, and yet something about the way she holds herself tells me she is on the verge of snapping. Well, that makes two of us.
"If you are not leaving me out here forever, what are you waiting for?"
She spreads her hands, gesturing at me. "A motherfucking apology?"
Her words just infuriate me more. "Woman, I don't know HOW to give you what you want." I don't know human customs. I don't know what she expects. "How can I apologize when I know nothing about humans?"
"Dude, you could try saying it." She makes that mocking face again, mimicking me with the deep voice. "I'm sorry, Maeve."
That...
That's what she wants?
Easy enough. I blink. "I am sorry, Maeve...but just to be clear, what exactly am I sorry for?"
She makes an unholy sound and shuts the curtains again.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
MAEVE
As the big spoiled praxiian pounds on my window, I'm trying to keep my chill. It's not easy. In fact, it's nearly impossible, but I'm trying anyhow. I shove my arms through my robe and put on a pair of shoes as I head to the front door of the house. I'm going to be incredibly pissed if he busts my window out. It seems sturdy but his fists are also huge and he's determined.
I hop down the step and go around the side of the house and slap at his hands. "Can you not? If you break my house I don't have the money to fix it!"
"You can always stay in the barn with me," he says in a bratty voice. "It's openly terrible."
"It's not supposed to be great. It's a barn."
"And yet you exile me there?" He tries to cross his arms over his chest but the whole jumpsuit moves and shifts, because it's too tight across the shoulders and arms. "With the beasts? And the feces?"
I have to smother a laugh at “the feces” because it's not funny. It's not. And yet I'm just picturing his expression the first time a cow pooped near him. "You're kind of being a dick and you lied to me about having money. Why would I let you in my house when I don't even like you?"
He looks astonished. "You don't like me?"
"If I'm being honest? Not particularly, no."
Zhur's expression changes again and I can't tell if he's annoyed at my confession or just doesn't believe me. "You cannot dislike me. I am"—he pauses, as if he realizes what he's about to say, and then chokes out a—"very important."
We stare at each other, and as I watch, Zhur's fierce, defiant look deflates. It's like he's realizing the silliness of his words and the reality is settling in. No one is important here. We're all nobodies starting over. His shoulders slump and he gestures at me. "You said you wanted the words of an apology, so I have given you the words. Let me come inside now."
My brows go up. "Wait, you don't even know what you're apologizing for. Why does that fix everything? An apology doesn't mean jack if you don't know what you did wrong."
"Spouting words to make amends is a fool's game anyhow," Zhur tells me in a tired voice. His tail—now a tangled, hay-covered mess of snarls—flicks back and forth with agitation, but the rest of him seems defeated. "If you want true contrition, it is the actions that make the apology. I do not know what it is that I have done that has offended you so gravely, and until I know, I cannot fix it."
That makes me soften a bit. He's not wrong—words are meaningless. I keep forgetting that he's from an alien planet and their customs are probably strange and foreign, and I am, too. Maybe he really does think his attitude is above-board and I'm in the wrong.
With a sigh, I wave at him. "Come inside for breakfast and tea. We'll talk." When he practically leaps forward, I put a hand up. "Just for talk, though. It doesn't mean you get to live inside again. It just means we're going to have a civilized conversation. Understand?"
His eyes narrow, but after a brief pause, he nods. "I would like a conversation, yes. I would also like to never see the barn again."