“All bots like me, actually,” he continues, leaning forward again to grab a set of tongs, which he uses to heap a pile of crustaceans onto his plate. “They can’t help but like me,” he adds, casually adding another heap of crustaceans onto my plate too.
“Oh, right,” I say, trying not to stare at him. It’s hard though. He’s very attractive. Older than me. Maybe even much older than me, which is new. The few boys I dated back in Cygnian System were all from school and all my age. But it’s hard to tell an Akeelian male’s age once they reach maturity. We don’t age like other humanoid species. And while the Cygnian and Akeelian lifespans are the same—anywhere between a hundred and fifty and a hundred and seventy-five years, give or take, depending on which system you’re in because time is weird like that—we don’t mature at the same rate. Girls will reach the age of maturity at about nineteen, while the boys take a few years longer to grow into their brains.
But after maturity we don’t age again for many decades. Middle age isn’t until about eighty.
He’s not middle age, that’s for sure. Whatever age he is—and I won’t ask because it’s super impolite where I come from—he looks about twenty-five to me.
The only thing that gives away an Akeelian man’s age is their personality. They are hot-tempered and arrogant until about ninety-five and then they finally settle into a more reasonable temperament. It’s not much help.
“This is pretty good coming from a Mighty Minion autocook,” Jimmy says, helping himself to more food.
“Yeah, apparently the penthouse comes with a specialized autochef. I’m sure you’ll see that on the itemized bill when we check out.”
“Well, I’m glad you made the most of it then. If we’re stuck here on Mighty Minions for the weekend, might as well enjoy it.”
“Are we stuck for the weekend?”
“Tomorrow, Delphi. Remember?”
I nod. And realize I’m holding my breath, so I let it out slowly so he can’t tell. Because I’m worried about what will happen tomorrow when I tell him that his ship is playing games with Queenie. And speaking of Queenie, she’s gonna be pissed off if she finds out I’ve told him everything.
“OK,” he says, leaning across the table holding a tushberry covered in melted chocolate. “I can see I need to distract you from your current, seemingly overwhelming problems. Here. Try this. They’re fucking delicious.”
I lock eyes with him and open my mouth. He places the ripe, pink berry on my tongue and I wrap my lips around it, accidentally catching a taste of his chocolate-covered fingers.
God, that was kinda sexy. No one has ever fed me erotic berries before. He leans back in his chair and pops one into his mouth too. Then he waggles his eyebrows at me and smiles. “Did you order these on purpose?”
Oh, suns. I’m so used to eating tushberries to keep my glow healthy, I forgot that they’re considered an aphrodisiac to other cultures. “Ummm…”
“It’s OK if you did,” he says. “But not really necessary.”
I blink at him. Because I think that was sexual innuendo.
“At least for me,” he adds. “How about you?”
“Ummm…” Shit. My face is instantly hot and I know I’m blushing.
“Well.” He chuckles. “There it is. I was starting to wonder if you glowed at all.”
“Oh, God,” I say, looking down at my chest. Because yup. It’s not bright, but I sure am glowing.
“You’re not taking anything, are you?”
“What?” I ask. And now I can feel the heat in my eyes and I know they are bright with excitement.
“This other princess we ran into a little while back. She had cooked herself up some kind of glow inhibitor as a disguise. Are you in disguise?”
“No,” I say. And that feeling is suddenly back. That lost feeling. That caught-up-in-a-spell feeling. I shake my head to clear it. “No, I’m just really good at controlling it, I guess. I was always kind of a private person back at home. My father kept my brother and I isolated so protecting my feelings became second nature.”
“Well, you don’t need to protect them in front of me, Delphi. Feel free to let them loose.”
I glow brighter.
“Yeah,” he says. “Like that. I like it when it flows out into your hair. You’re quite beautiful.”
That tiny feeling is back in full force now. Not so tiny, either.
The patio doors fly open and we both stand up, alert and on edge, ready for some threat to come bursting into our romantic dinner.
But it’s just Flicka. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” she says, then flits through the doors, out into the chaos of Mighty Minions.
“Don’t get into trouble!” I yell after her.
But she doesn’t respond. The doors close back up, shutting out the white noise of the crowd and amusement going on down below.