Let me tell you. That’s a rotator cuff injury just waiting to happen.
You could also get a hand pump to simplify this process, but I never friggin’ remember to pick one up. Therefore, my shoulder hates me whenever I do this job.
Tonight, I catch Inara by the end of her tail, mindful of the bladed, sharp silvery parts that I find sprouting from the end of it—some kind of alien defense system, clearly—and I wrap her limb around the first quart. “Hold this riiight here,” I instruct, positioning her tail as high up in the frame as she can tug the end of the bottle.
She gives me a funny look, but keeps a grip on the quart, and soon, she’s baring her teeth in a grin of comprehension. “Ugh, my tail will have quite the workout by the time we finish.”
“Yes, it will,” I agree. “But your sacrifice is appreciated.”
She snorts, and the sound makes me smirk.
I glance at her hands, regretting that she’s covered in the gear oil as badly as I am. Usually, you wear gloves for a job this dirty, and not just because it’s dirty, but because of the funk-awful smell. Unfortunately, gloves are not an option for Inara with her clawtips wickedly capping each finger, and you never leave a man behind, so I didn’t put them on either. It’ll be GOJO hand baths for both of us. Pumice bits and citrus, mmm.
“Thank you for including me,” Inara says, prompting me to glance over at her.
She’s tied her dreads back into a knot behind her head, which must be super uncomfortable for her to rest her head on, but she hasn’t complained once. She’s got a little grease smeared on her cheek, so I reach out and rub it away. “I’ve gotta thank you. I haven’t worked side by side with anyone since my grandad passed away. This—” My voice cracks a little, my throat having gone tight with a little more emotion than I was prepared for. I have to stop to clear my throat. “This was kind of like old times.”
It was neat to have someone genuinely interested in the process. Not being alone to do the job was nice. I always miss my dad and grandad when I work on this car. I didn’t know that having someone at my side, showing interest, would matter so much.
I shift on my creeper, and somehow, I catch a whiff of Inara. My nostrils should be burned out for at least a day after this job, but being under a car with Inara is apparently enough to override my olfactory system’s natural defenses, because I can still smell her pretty perfume, somehow.
Beside her working under the Boss like this, I’m altogether more aware of her than before. There’s probably something off about me that I find this alien even more attractive when she’s hanging out below four thousand pounds of vintage chrome and steel and smelling like rotten gear oil, but good God I do.
But for real… her attractiveness level’s climb aside, it was really nice to do this with someone.
“Matt?” she says softly, prompting me to realize that I’m staring at her.
“Hmm?”
She doesn’t look away. “I’m ready for fresh fluid.”
I swallow, thinking there are some things that sound super dirty under the right—or wrong—circumstances, and a pretty woman lying on her back announcing that she’s ready for fresh fluid just got added to my list.
I force myself to focus on the process and try to stop watching her. “Another quart coming right up.”
When she gives me a little smile that shows two dainty fang-tipped teeth, I realize I’m not doing such a hot job at not watching her. In fact, I’m staring at her.
“Sorry,” I mutter, shaking myself.
Dusky indigo lids lowering, smile widening, flashing more of her alien fangs, Inara murmurs, “You have nothing to apologize for, Matt.”
If she could see inside my head right now, I wonder if she’d change her mind.
I can see inside my head only too well, so I punish myself by putting the last half quart of oil into the pumpkin by hand. Tedious, and my shoulder is going to hurt like hell later, but maybe then I won’t jerk off to thoughts of her under the car with me.
Either that, or I’ll just switch hands.
CHAPTER 9
When we get back to my apartment, we scrub liberally with GOJO until her scales gleam and my skin is raw and smells like chemicals and clementines.
But at least the smell of a clowder of cat asses is masked.
(THERE! I FINALLY GOT TO USE CLOWDER IN A SENTENCE.)
I ask Inara if she’s hungry, and when she says she is, I call for Chinese food to be delivered. “What do you normally eat?” I ask her.
“A variety of things,” she responds.
“Like…?” When she tilts her head at me, her ears slowly coming forward, I motion for her to expound on her statement. “Leaves? Animals? Water? Substances I can’t fathom?”
“Meat and vegetables, just like you,” she assures, flashing sharp, sharp teeth.
“Right.” Uh-huh. “I got us a variety, and check out my fridge. If anything looks or smells good to you, we’ll make it. Okay?”
Inara loves Chinese. She tries everything. She eats half of a wooden kabob stick before I realize she’s crunching the whole thing down.
“Wait, wait! That stick part isn’t food!”
She looks embarrassed, and politely looks around for a way to evacuate her mouthful of ground kabob stick.
“Here,” I hold up my hand. “I should have thought to grab us napkins. Spit it out, don’t be shy. I’ve touched way worse than food disgorged by a pretty alien.”
Looking somehow more mortified, she does. I toss it, wash up and bring her a proper napkin. I drop down beside her on the couch and drag a styrofoam tray over to me on the little table in front of us. “Okay, these are the parts that are food, see?” I brush her arm to get her attention when I see she’s got her lips pressed together, keeping her eyes downcast. “Hey, it’s no big deal. If I went to your planet, I’d be a fish out of water. You’re doing amazing, Inara, really. All day, I thought you were a human.”
This makes her eyes brighten. “You did?”
“Yeah. I thought you were a batshit crazy one, but I never for one second pegged you for a real live alien.”
She smiles at me. “That is amazing!”
Her tail coils up by our feet. Her long, covered in scales, flexible, strong-looking, so not robotic tail.
“Yeah. It is kind of amazing.” I close my teeth over the beef skewered on the kabob and drag it off its stick. Chewing, I hold the rest of the skewer out to her.
She stares at the offering, shocked.
I try not to frown. “Here. Take it.” I glance at the other offerings, cataloguing contents. I jerk my head at them. “You should be good now. I think everything else in these containers is a hundred percent food.”
Her eyes search me strangely, intensely. “You are offering me food of your own portion.”
I wiggle the kabob. “That’s right.” I try to think if there’s anything with seeds or pits that aren’t normally consumed and come up empty. “Time to master kabobs. Come on. Take the stick. Show it how it’s done. They call this getting back on the horse.”
With a hesitant smile, she meets my eyes and accepts the kabob. She gamely bites into a skewered baby corn, and I watch her teeth thinking DAMN.