That she’d been interested in him for months.
Gabriela sighed, turned, and walked toward her house.
The blaring of a high-pitched ringtone broke the peaceful mountain quiet.
Stopping, she dug her phone out of the black hole that was her purse. The incoming call was from Paige, one of her long-time clients. Gabriela accepted the call and lifted the phone to her ear.
“Hi, Paige. How are you today?”
“Gabriela! Yes! So glad you picked up. I know this is last minute, but I have an emergency and I was wondering if you were free tomorrow. Turns out I’m going to be hosting a big Christmas dinner party this weekend, and my house is a mess. A total wreck! Please, please, please tell me you’re free. I will totally pay double for the inconvenience.”
Gabriela’s heart quickened. “I-I… Yes! I’m free.”
Paige’s breath whooshed out in a sigh. “Oh, thank you. Thank you! I swear, Gabriela, without you, my house would be a pigsty. You’d think I raised these kids in a barn.”
Gabby chuckled. “Kids will be kids. I can be there at eight, right after I drop my daughter off at school if that works?”
“That’d be perfect. You’re a life saver! Our kids will be at school, and my husband and I will be at work, so just come on in like normal. You’ll have the place to yourself.”
“Thank you, Paige. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
“No, thank you. I hope you have a great night!”
“You, too.”
Once the call was disconnected, Gabriela let out a little squeal. This was exactly what she’d needed—a break. Paige’s house was big, and it’d take Gabby most of the day to clean, but the pay would push her beyond what she needed for rent with a bit left over to pick up some food and a couple more Christmas gifts for Ana.
Clutching her phone to her chest, she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, releasing it in a small, relieved, “Thank you.”
Two
Broxen kor’Stygos had spent countless hours of his life waiting. Waiting for opportunities, waiting for threats, waiting for word to act. If nothing else, he’d shown a talent for waiting. Some would’ve called it patience, though that wasn’t quite right—it was more a matter of quieting his conscious mind and shifting fully to sensory input and instinct.
He’d once waited beside a beaten-up blast door in a dark alley for three cycles—almost two full Earth days—while his boss at the time, Astius’s father, had conducted business in the back room of a club. Though that experience hadn’t been pleasant thanks to hunger and the alley’s lingering stench, Broxen hadn’t once been bored or restless. He’d simply done what he was good at. He’d watched and waited.
Astius would’ve called that being reactive instead of proactive or some kruk like that, but the ability to simply wait while remaining fully alert for such long periods had served Broxen well. When he was a kit, it had often been the difference between going hungry and getting some food in his belly.
So why was this wait so unbearable?
It was routine; he’d done this almost every weekday in the spring, fall, and winter over the last year. And because it was routine, he knew it was short. Just over thirty minutes most days, closer to forty every now and again. Compared to the cycles he’d spent in that alley, this was nothing.
Another fifteen or twenty minutes, and the wait would be over. He was halfway through already.
And yet he could barely keep himself still. He’d changed positions several times, as though the angle from which he was looking out the window made any difference. He’d adjusted the blind slats twice, as though their tilt would somehow change the fact that the driveway across the street was still empty. He’d lifted his hand several times to tuck rogue strands of hair behind his pointed ear, and each time, he’d scraped the tips of his claws over the bases of his horns.
It was fortunate that he was alone—any human would’ve wondered why there was a bone-scratching sound whenever he combed his fingers through his hair. The holographic projection created by his holoshroud could mask his inhuman features, like his red skin and fangs, but it couldn’t hide all evidence of their existence. He still had to duck going through doorways to avoid striking not only his head but his horns. He still had to take care how he touched things so as not to produce damage with his claws.
He released a huff through his nostrils, plunged his spoon into the ice cream carton, and shoved a chunk of chocolate and peanut butter ice cream into his mouth. The end of his tail curled against his calf, as stiff and restless as always having spent another day hidden away in his pants.
What was he doing?
Gabriela would be back soon, and he’d hear her car on the road like he had every other time. He didn’t need to stand here like a hormonal human adolescent or a beast desperate for the return of its master. And he certainly didn’t need to be eating this ice cream.
He shoveled another bite into his mouth before even finishing the last. Maybe he didn’t need to be eating it, but he wanted to. If there was anything in the universe as delicious as chocolate and peanut butter ice cream, he’d never tasted it.
Hot chocolate, with Gabriela. That would taste better.
And he’d made a mess of that, hadn’t he?
He’d known as he walked to mailbox that Gabriela had been due to go pick up Ana. He’d known that she was running late as he’d looked upon her face and seen the tears brimming in her big, entrancing eyes, as he’d seen the defeat and sadness take hold of her expression.
He’d known she had to leave, until he’d asked if she wanted to go get some hot chocolate right then—apparently, the knowledge had fled him in that moment. As though he’d not been awkward enough before then. All he’d wanted to do was ease her sadness, was make her smile so he could see her eyes shine, so he could see those endearing dimples on her cheeks.
Broxen knew what Astius would’ve said—something about making opportunities instead of awaiting them. But Astius had never had to deal with humans. These people were confusing by nature, and every aspect of them was somehow contradictory. Broxen had yet to figure them out. He wasn’t even sure if they could be figured out.
But…he wanted to figure out Gabriela. Even if he never understood a single other human on this planet, he wanted to understand her.
She hadn’t refused him. He needed to keep that in mind. She’d simply said they could go out another time. That was good, right?
And he wasn’t eating this ice cream because he felt rejected. He was eating it because it was good. He was only having a few bites.
He glanced down at the carton—which had been full when he’d opened it fifteen minutes ago—and frowned. About half of the one point five quarts of ice cream was gone. Unbidden, his tail coiled around his leg and squeezed.
Clenching his jaw, he turned away from the window, crossed the living room, and entered the kitchen, battling his urge to look back with every step. It was too soon for her to be home. Her car wasn’t going to suddenly appear in her driveway; he wasn’t going to miss out on a chance to see her again.
Besides, this ice cream thing was more concerning, wasn’t it? He’d seen this phenomenon in human movies and television shows. The only people who seemed to eat ice cream like this were humans—often female—who had just been broken up with. Humans who had been spurned by their mates. It seemed to be a treatment for what humans sometimes called a broken heart.