“Sorry,” she said to the huge Kindred warrior. “I, uh, think I’m in the middle seat. I was just about to ask this, er, gentleman to move.”
She glanced down at Oatmeal face, as she was beginning to think of the spreading alien, who looked back at her blandly, not shifting a bit.
The Kindred scowled in an irritated way. He was wearing the standard Kindred uniform—tall black boots, tight black trousers, and a long-sleeved, shirt that looked to be made of wine-red satin. He also had an air of business about him—like he was in a hurry to get somewhere and he didn’t have time for foolishness, Selena thought.
“You, Torpid,” he said, looking down at the alien male. “Make room so the lady and I can get in, will you?”
Selena wondered if “Torpid” was the alien’s name or maybe just the type of alien he was. Either way, she was interested to see if he would respond to the Kindred’s demands.
For a long moment, he didn’t. Then he made a sound like, “Hhhhhnnnnnggg.”
The noise didn’t seem to mean anything to Selena, despite the translation bacteria she’d had on board the Mother Ship, but he did begin to move. Slowly, almost sluggishly, he shifted his knees minimally to one side to allow the big Kindred and Selena to squeeze past him.
“Thanks so much for your great effort,” the Kindred warrior snapped sarcastically. He had a slightly British accent, Selena noticed—the posh kind. He would probably pronounce the word “schedule” as “shed-ule.” He pushed past the large, lumpy knees, and deposited himself in the window seat with an irritated grimace.
Selena wanted to give him time to get situated, but Oatmeal face was already beginning to shift back to his earlier, spread-out position.
“Excuse me—I need to get in, too!” she exclaimed. But since this didn’t seem to stop the oatmeal alien’s relentless shift back into position, she pushed past him as quickly as she could, trying to get to the middle seat.
Unfortunately, she tripped over one of his huge, lumpy feet in the process and wound up colliding, chest-first, with the handsome Kindred. He was still standing, facing her as he did something with the air vent above his seat, and she wound up plastered right up against him—almost as though she’d launched herself at him on purpose. She could feel his hard chest through her thin t-shirt, against her bra-less breasts, which were smashed up against him and she wished again—miserably—that she had opted for her bra instead of the float dots.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” she gasped in embarrassment, as she tried to get her balance.
“What in the Seven Hells do you think you’re doing?” the Kindred growled. Taking her by the shoulders, he set her firmly back, away from himself. “I’ve heard of human females throwing themselves at warriors in hopes of becoming a bride but I’d hoped it was a rumor,” he added, glaring at her.
“What?” Selena exclaimed, stung into feeling irritated herself. “I assure you, I was not ‘throwing myself’ at you! I don’t even know you. I tripped.”
The Kindred didn’t look like he believed her explanation. He simply nodded frostily and murmured, “My apologies,” before getting seated and buckling himself into his seat.
Still fuming with resentment and embarrassment, Selena sat down and buckled herself in. This was not a good start to her trip, she thought. She couldn’t believe the Kindred warrior thought she had “thrown” herself at him on purpose! Of all the arrogant, irritating…
“Excuse me, could you please move? I’m trying to put down the armrest.”
It was the arrogant bastard Kindred again. Selena, who had been staring straight ahead on purpose, turned her head to see that her right arm was in the way of the armrest between her seat and his.
“Excuse me,” she said as coldly as he had. She shifted to her left as much as she could—which wasn’t very far since Oatmeal face’s huge arm was not only claiming the armrest but actually encroaching into her seat space. She didn’t want to touch him any more than she wanted to touch the rude Kindred again—his pebbly, oatmeal-textured skin was disgusting.
The Kindred fought with the armrest for a moment, but it seemed to be stuck in the up position. He made an irritated-sounding growl in the back of his throat and waved for one of the flight attendants.
“Excuse me,” he said to the human woman with blonde hair who came to answer his wave. “But the arm rest between my seat and this lady’s…” He gestured at Selena, “Seems to be stuck in the upright position.”
The attendant gave him a worried frown.
“Oh dear—this happens all the time, I’m afraid. We get so many newlyweds going to the Ma’shorkan beaches for their honeymoons and they always want to be all over each other. So they put the arm rest up and it gets stuck that way!”