Page 6 of The Pregnancy Pact

Maybe you are Boring-McBoring, and that’s why you couldn’t hold onto your husband.

The dreary thought came just as the bartender swiveled around, one tentacle holding the Asterion’s glass and one holding mine.

“Thank you,” I said, and reached for my handbag to pay him.

“Permit me,” spoke up the Overlord, startling me. I watched with big eyes as he withdrew a few shiny tokens—universal money in the Interstellar Coalition—and dropped them on the scarlet bar top. With a swipe of the yet another tentacle, Craftsa brushed them off and deposited them into his own vest pocket.

“I can afford to pay for my own drinks,” I snapped.

The Asterion’s silvery-grey eyebrows rose. They were as finely molded as the rest of his face.

“Did I imply you could not?”

That took me aback.

“Well, no, I guess you didn’t say that. I figured that’s what you assumed since…”

I trailed off, unwilling to admit it’d been forever since anybody besides my husband had bought me a drink.

“I saw a beautiful female and I bought her a drink,” the alien said, golden eyes unflinching on my face. “Was this distasteful to you?”

Aliens weren’t masters of subtlety. Even though the translating chips were an incredible invention, allowing any two species who had them to converse, the communication was sometimes awkward, since subtleties and regionalisms and forms of expressions didn’t always precisely cross boundaries.

“No,” I decided, ducking my head, feeling both embarrassed for snapping at him and a weird mixture of shock and pleasure that this almost godlike being would have called me beautiful.

“I’m sorry for being cranky,” I said, after an awkward moment. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to buy me a drink, I guess.” Especially after the humiliation of thinking he was approaching me earlier, when he most certainly was not. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Because you are dressed so differently?”

My lips quirked at the alien’s literalism. “Pretty much.”

We both lifted our drinks to our lips. Blitza for me—him? Honestly, I didn’t know. The bartender had known his favorite and prepared it. Odds were, it was probably something stronger than mine. Many aliens held their liquor far better than humans.

“Coming here was a mistake,” my companion said, finally settling himself onto the stool next to mine. Like me, he half-swiveled to face the craziness of the open room—gaming tables, dancers, drinkers, smokers, partiers, and all. “I assumed it would help me forget. Instead, it seems to have highlighted my troubles.”

“What troubles could you—?” A hiccup interrupted me. My hand flew to my throat. I felt myself flushing beet red. “I’m so sorry,” I gasped.

I don’t think the alien next to me even noticed. He lifted the rim of his cup to his mouth—a mouth I suddenly couldn’t stop staring at. It was so nicely shaped. I would have loved to have sketched him. One pastime I’d enjoyed, which helped to while away the hours once the kids started school and I was home alone, was drawing. I wasn’t much of an artist, but it was something to keep me occupied. The days had been so long when they were gone and Charlie was at work.

Or in other women’s beds.

And there I’d been, the dutiful housewife, bored and lonely.

It’s a wonder I didn’t cheat, I thought dryly, unable to keep my issues at bay.

Then again, there hadn’t been a surplus of men at my disposal back home. Now, however, we were in the Quarter Galaxy, far from Earth and its dearth of grown men, and that suddenly wasn’t a problem. Was it? I slid a curious glance towards the Overlord next to me.

No way. You’re fricking crazy. He’d never sleep with you. He’s way too good for you.

Honestly, judging by his outward appearance, sex seemed to be the last thing on his mind.

“Plenty,” he growled, ignoring my slip-up, scowling fiercely into his drink as if it were to blame for his issues. “My wife is dead. My son, my only heir, is dead. My other son refuses to surrender his human female and come to Asterion with me to accept the role as my heir. I’m an Elder, I’ve been named a Lead Advisor on the Interstellar Coalition, and I have neither a wife nor heir.” He practically snarled at the amber liquid in his glass before tipping his head back, shooting it down his throat.

I gaped, bug-eyed.

“I feel the stars are against me,” he said, quieter now, his manner almost glum. “I judged coming here would help. Female flesh, gaming, the best foods…”

“But nothing’s taking your mind off your troubles,” I surmised, reaching out to offer a gentle pat to the back of his hand. “I get it,” I added. “I really do.”