Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
How can I resist such a sweet comment? I beam at him and slip my arm through the crook of his. “As long as you save me any scrap metal you might not need, of course.”
I’m moving on. Moving forward.
We step out into the street, and the muggy, wet weather washes over us, misting my hair and face. The main street of Port normally has a few people walking through, but today it’s deserted except for a lone stranger at the far end of the town. I duck my head as rain drops splatter and Aithar sweetly tries to shield me with his arm over my head. It’s useless, but the gesture makes me laugh.
“I suppose if we didn’t want to get wet, we could have stayed back at your place,” I tell him as we hurry across the street toward the other cantina.
“There’s no food there yet! But if you want to go back, I can get food and bring it to you. I’m happy to do whatever you like.”
We jog down the street. “I’m just teasing. I don’t mind the weather—”
I stop short, because the alien across the street is a familiar one. It’s a big mesakkah with two broken horns, a heavy jaw, and a tight expression on his face as he watches me walk with Aithar. Oh. Brux. Funny how I haven’t run into him for weeks and the day I decide to take Aithar up on his obvious flirting, he shows up. He stands outside the cantina, a heavy cloak wrapped around his shoulders and a dark hood covering his head. That’s why I didn’t notice him at first. Now he’s staring at me with an unreadable expression and for some reason, I feel guilt.
The guilt increases when Aithar puts a hand on my back, even as he opens the door to the cantina to let me in.
It feels like my heart is being torn out of my chest. I should be angry at Brux. I should want to flaunt Aithar in front of him. Instead, I just feel sad and more alone than ever before. We head into the cantina and I don’t look out the window to see if Brux is watching us. I keep my gaze locked ahead, and I somehow manage to order food and listen to Aithar as he chats about their plans for the upcoming cantina.
I eat. I respond. But I’m highly aware that Brux hasn’t come inside after us. He saw me with Aithar. Saw me come in with another man, his hand on my back. He had his chance.
Brux could have just said yes that night instead of making me feel like a fool. Like he wasn’t interested in some trashy human who kept throwing herself at him.
We finish our lunch and it’s nice. Aithar’s good with conversation, even as he shyly shoots me attentive glances. I can tell he doesn’t date a lot. I can tell he’s really interested in me. Still is, despite me letting him down months ago.
When we head back out into the street, I keep my head down, as if the rain is bothering me. Truth is, I don’t want to see Brux still standing in the rain, staring at me like I’m doing something wrong. I’m not the one in the wrong here. I told him how I felt. It’s not my fault he didn’t feel the same. I shouldn’t feel guilty for moving on.
We get back to the cantina under construction and I shake my wet hair out, giving Aithar a bright smile to hide the churning feelings inside me. “It was a nice lunch.”
“Was it? You seem very unhappy.” The look he gives me is gentle. “Perhaps it was not me you wished to be with.”
A protest rises to my lips, and then I stop. There’s no point in lying about it. “I wish I felt more strongly about you. I love being your friend, but I’m afraid my heart is tied up with someone else.”
“The big guy without the horns?” he asks. “The one that followed us?”
“He followed us?” I hadn’t noticed. I’d been so torn up inside that I hadn’t looked up from my shoes.
A hint of a smile touches Aithar’s mouth. “Yeah. He looked as if he wanted to tear my face off for touching you.”
I’m a terrible person, because hearing that thrills me. “Oh.”
His smile becomes a little more forced. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, Aithar.”
The a’ani gives a small shake of his head. “Don’t be. My kind always lose out to mesakkah. We’re used to it.”
“It still makes me an asshole.”
The smile he gives me is sad. “You’re just trying to figure yourself out. We all are.”
“I hope you find the woman—or man—that deserves you,” I tell him, and lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Until then, I’d really like to be your friend.”