Chapter 3

Lorelai

I don't mean to brag, but he was gorgeous and he was coming toward me. I was seated at the bar on one of the padded, swiveling stools, my back to the bartender, observing the action, when I spotted him. He stood out in the crowd, and his golden eyes held mine for a beat, even across the crowded room. Then he moved my direction.

It had been a long time, years, since a creature this attractive had even glanced my way. Or maybe I'd been so determined to be a good wife, faithful to my husband and purposefully oblivious to any attention from any other male, no matter the species, that I'd deliberately ignored any second glances cast my way.

Look where that's gotten me.

Anyway, faithfulness and animosity aside, this alien creature was freaking beautiful in a way most human men, or alien males, weren't. He was taller than me by a head and a half, with a slender, muscular frame. He walked with purposeful grace, and must have been Asterion, judging by his silver skin and golden eyes. His wedge-shaped ears, typical of the Asterion race, were decorated with several jewels that sparkled in the hazy light. He wore a circlet, almost like a crown, that set low on his brow and appeared to be fashioned from twisted vines. Light glinted off its bronze metal as he wove his way through the throng of customers. His features were defined, almost sharp, and his golden eyes piercing. His dark, silver hair was drawn away from his face and knotted in the back, accentuating his stern expression.

Like many patrons, he was dressed in evening finery. Which, to him, was a fantastic indigo blue coat, a billowy white shirt, half laced up, and tight black pants. Very tight. I had to remind myself that I was a grown woman and didn't need to stare at…well, at how tight those pants were. His black boots were polished to a sheen, noticeable when he sidestepped an inebriated customer who tripped over her feet, giggling, only to collapse on her bottom. Clearly irritated, the Overlord flicked his embroidered blue coat so it wouldn't touch the fallen woman.

Despite the extraordinary sights I'd already witnessed this evening, my mouth simply dropped open. I had never seen an Asterion like him. Most of the Asterions on Earth wore their hair short, the jewels in their ears were far less ostentatious, and they chose clothing that was simpler and reflected Earth's harsh environment. I could only surmise that this Asterion had come directly from his home planet, and most definitely had to be one of their lords or leaders.

His attention seemed to be laser-focused in my direction, despite his weaving around other patrons, so I assumed he was walking toward me. A huge, goofy smile pulled at my lips as he approached. Our eyes locked.

He really is coming to say hi.

I gulped down a surge of nervousness. What would I say to a male like him ?

Turned out, I didn't have to worry about it. Maybe I'd had too much blitza. Just as he reached me, he sidestepped, sauntering directly past and up to shiny red bar, placing his palms flat on the gleaming wood.

"Craftsa," he summoned, loud enough for the bartender, a purple eight-tentacled creature with three ears to hear, "fetch me my favorite."

Craftsa nodded, burbling something through his funnel-shaped mouth that I didn't catch.

He hadn't been walking towards me. He'd simply needed another drink.

I wanted to sink into the floor. Embarrassed at being an idiot, I swiveled my seat back around, hiding the best way I could. All of a sudden, I felt the need for another drink too.

"Craftsa," I said, after tossing back the remaining gulp of blitza that burned, burned, burned its way down my throat and into my belly. I held up my empty glass. "Another, please."

The tentacled bartender nodded at me over his shoulder before going back to whatever drink he was preparing for the gorgeous Asterion next to me.

"You look as if you do not belong here."

The voice came at me from the side and was vaguely familiar. I blinked a few times, trying to process it.

"Human female?"

Human female? Who addresses a woman like that?

Stifling a hiccup, I turned to my left. Oh, yeah. The freaking gorgeous alien. The one I'd humiliated myself by imagining he was checking me out.

"Were you—were you talking to me?" I frowned. After he'd blown right past me and up to the bar, I genuinely thought he'd hadn't noticed me at all.

"I was addressing you, yes," he said. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't frowning, either, but he seemed almost annoyed. Or frustrated.

"I'm sorry…I…what did you say?"

Was I having a memory lapse? Why was I suddenly having a difficult time remembering words? Also, was the smokey haze in here getting thicker, bluer, or was it me?

"I said you look as if you do not belong here," the Asterion repeated, gesturing a hand towards my outfit. "You appear as out of place as I feel, at the moment."

I blinked a couple of times, processing his words, unsure if I should be insulted.

"Is that because I'm not wearing an evening gown, like half the women here, or because I'm not letting my breasts fall out like the other half?"

His turn to blink at my grouchy tones.

"If you do not like the way you are dressed, why did you not dress differently?"

"Maybe I didn't have any other clothes," I snarled back. "Nobody warned me when I took this job as a records keeper that I'd be accompanying my honorable captain—" I allowed the term to drip with disdain. "Here, to Drixus. I packed for a boring, stable life as a secretary on a space ship. I didn't pack for this."

I felt my nose wrinkle in distaste as I indicated the goings-on before us. The alien picked up on my disdain. Not that I was trying to hide it. The corner of his mouth turned up in a bored smile.

"I take it this is not to your liking?"

I shook my head vehemently, admitting, "No. I don't belong here."

I didn't, and I shouldn't have been surprised that I stood out. Unlike the Asterion next to me, I wasn't wearing evening clothes or anything that passed for finery. Unlike the women who worked here, my prim blouse was buttoned to my neck, revealing no cleavage, and my loose grey slacks went to my ankles, revealing no thigh. My ash-blonde, shoulder-length hair was drawn back from my face and held in place by a barrette—sensible, professional. And my nails were short and painted a soft pink—not long and bright or decorated with jewels, as many of the girls here seemed to favor. Also, I was probably one of the oldest females here, by a good five years or more, but who was counting?

I definitely stood out, and not in a good way.

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."

He frowned at my hand on his, then up at me.

"What possible problems could you have that equate to the seriousness of mine?"

"Oh, uh…" Chagrined, I pulled my fingers away. What had I been thinking, touching him? Offering him sympathy?

This drink must be affecting me more than I thought, I realized, and swallowed hard, praying he hadn't taken too much offense.

"None of that magnitude," I admitted, swirling my glass, stirring up the liquid. It was something to do besides stare at him. "I mean, I've had my moments, for sure. I figured getting away from Earth, from home, from my lying, cheating ex-husband and getting on a space ship would help. Instead, I wound up here, probably drinking too much, and still can't forget what that SOB did to me."

A frown deepened the soft lines of the alien's barely marked brow.

"Your husband was unfaithful?"

"Many times over," I giggled.

Why is that funny? That's not funny. Why are you laughing? You better stop drinking. Better stop talking.

"He had all the girls a man could want," I continued, the words spilling out of my mouth despite my best attempts to stop them. "Then there was me. Waiting at home. Raising his kids. Contributing nothing to society, I guess." I hiccupped again, then giggled about that.

"Sorry," I finished. "I guess it's no wonder he ran around on me." Hiccup. Snicker. "After all that. Right?"

The alien was frowning at me. Was my story that terrible? Was I so pathetic? Or…

Reaching out, he plucked the drink from my fingers, setting it firmly on the shiny bar.

"Drinking will not erase your problems," he said. "I should know."

"Heh, you're probably right," I agreed. The world tilted. Or maybe the leg had popped off my barstool. I felt myself sliding to the right, and barely caught myself by grabbing the ends of the cushion. "But it does make you feel…better. Sorta."

Was I slurring my words?

Damn it, Lorelai, get ahold of yourself! What's wrong with you?

"Perhaps you should rest," the alien advised, his frown deepening.

"Perhaps you should stop giving unwarranted advice," I snapped back. "I've been pushed into corners all my life by men and told what to do. I put up with it from my husband and then the Overlords. I don't—I don't need it from you."

The alien cocked his head to the side. "I am an Overlord," he reminded me quietly. "And if you had not consumed too much blitza, I would be offended by your insolence."

An internal voice warned me that I was going too far, treading on thin ice. The wild part of me that hadn't been to a party or drank too much since my teen years—which had honestly been pretty tame, since I'd met and married Charlie at nineteen—hadn't had enough. Or maybe the liquor was freeing up my wild side. All I know is I leaned towards him—swayed, more like it—putting my face very near his.

"Maybe you should punish me, then, Overlord," I whispered, my gaze dropping to his lips.