17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

M isty

It's been a week since Zylus and I exchanged a word. We point, mime, and use our wrist-comms. We do not speak, share meals, or have direct eye contact.

We wordlessly fight over Vortex's affections, vying to be the most generous with his little smelka snaps. Although he was underweight when we found him, he's already getting a bit plump. He's smarter than I originally realized. The little blue beggar plays us against each other. Our open competition for his affection is going to make him unhealthy.

It quickly became apparent that due to my total lack of construction experience, it would take a year to complete this project. Zylus brought in his crew, who agreed to work at reduced salaries to help us out. We promised bonuses once the inn was bringing in money.

Even with help, this remodel is going to take at least three months. I'm not sure this will remain a bloodless endeavor.

There have been no more spectral visitations, nor have we spent any sexy nights in front of the fire .

I don't know if Zylus has always worked without a shirt, or if it's something he's adopted to tempt me into speaking to him. All I know is, no matter the temperature, every ripple and bulge of his gorgeous green torso is on display. I'm not sure if he does it to turn me on or to irritate me.

Whatever the reason, his presence has me in an almost constant state of desire. His promise to ram, pound, and provide deep, deep penetration rings in my ears as loudly as if he were still saying it.

For a culture that administers contraceptive shots at the grocery store, this planet has a scarcity of vibrators. I had to order one from the Intergalactic Database and am still waiting for the machine's arrival. I made certain to order one that was described as quiet. Zylus, damn him, has superior hearing.

I'm already developing callouses on my palms from wielding a hammer and have lost all but two fingernails. Not that Zylus seems to notice.

Well, that's not true. I catch him sneaking glances at me all the time. It's not anything to brag about. If I catch him staring at me, it means I'm also staring at him.

I'm horny, grumpy, and butt-hurt about the whole situation. I'm still trying to figure out if he's in on the scheme with his brother, or if he's telling the truth about being innocent.

Sometimes I'm convinced he knew about it all along. In fact, I wonder if he's the mastermind. At other times, I tell myself the warm affection in his gaze couldn't have been faked. I think he was developing feelings for me. Which is crushing, because I know I was developing feelings for him.

It doesn't help me keep my emotional distance when he's so freaking adorable with Vortex, who follows him around like a puppy. Or that he's friendly and fair with his crew, who talk about what a great boss he is.

All the worry and confusion have sent me into a spiral .

If that wasn't bad enough, even after all this work, I might not even wind up living here after the remodel is complete. I never would have signed the contract if I'd known how badly Zylus wanted to buy me out and own this place. I'd figured this was just a money-making endeavor for him, not a passion project.

Now, with every nail I hammer and every fixture I install, I wonder if all this work will be for naught. Will I fly home in a few months with a fat check in my wallet and an empty space in my heart?

The days drag on in a blur of sawdust, paint fumes, and tense silence. Zylus and I have become experts at avoiding each other, communicating only through pointed looks and the occasional grunt. It's like living with a six-foot-tall, green-skinned ghost.

Except ghosts don't leave half-eaten sandwiches on the counter or use up all the hot water in the shower.

I'm in the middle of rewiring a particularly stubborn light fixture when I hear a loud crash from the room next door, followed by a string of colorful curses in a language my translator can't quite catch.

I debate ignoring it, but my traitorous feet are already carrying me toward the sound. I poke my head in to find Zylus buried up to his waist in a pile of rubble from the caved-in ceiling, a sheepish grin on his dust-covered face.

"Uh, a little help?" He holds out a hand, looking so ridiculous I can't help but snort.

"Smooth move," I say, picking my way through the debris to haul him up. "What were you trying to do, demolish the place from the inside out?"

He brushes off his pants, not quite meeting my eyes. "I was just trying to get that old vent cover off. Guess I don't know my own strength."

There's an awkward beat of silence as we both remember we're not supposed to be talking. I clear my throat, stepping back. "Right. Well. Try not to bring the whole roof down next time, yeah? "

"I'll do my best." He hesitates, as though he wants to say something more, but I'm already backing out of the room.

As I turn to leave, Zylus calls out, "Wait, Misty. Since you're here… I could use your help with something."

I pause in the doorway, eyeing him suspiciously. "What kind of help?"

He gestures to a pile of wood and tools in the corner. "I need to build a custom shelving unit for this room. Two sets of hands would make it go faster."

I cross my arms, torn between the desire to help and the urge to maintain our cold war. "And you can't ask one of your crew because…?"

"Because they're all working on the plumbing issue downstairs," he says with a shrug. "Besides, I thought it might be good for you to learn some basic carpentry skills. You know, in case you decide to keep the inn after all."

The jab doesn't go unnoticed. I narrow my eyes at him. "Fine. But don't expect me to chat while we work."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips.

For the next hour, we work in tense silence, broken only by Zylus's occasional instructions. Despite my determination to remain aloof, I find myself fascinated by the process. There's something oddly satisfying about watching rough pieces of wood transform into a functional piece of furniture.

As I'm sanding one of the shelves, Zylus leans over to inspect my work. His bare chest brushes against my arm, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

"You missed a spot," he murmurs, his breath warm on my neck.

I jerk away, scowling. "I did not."

"Did too." He points to a barely noticeable rough patch. "Right there. "

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize we were aiming for perfection in a house that was falling apart a month ago," I snap.

Zylus raises an eyebrow. "Touchy, aren't we? I thought Earthers prided themselves on attention to detail."

"And I thought Astralites prided themselves on honesty ," I retort before I can stop myself.

The barb lands, and I see a flicker of hurt in his eyes before he masks it with a cocky grin. "We do. Which is why I'm honestly telling you that your sanding skills need work."

I grab another piece of sandpaper and attack the shelf with renewed vigor. "There. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," he deadpans. "Now, if you're done mangling that poor, defenseless wood, want to learn how to use the nail gun?"

Despite my irritation, curiosity gets the better of me. "…Maybe."

"Alright then, come here." He beckons me over to where he's positioning two pieces of the shelving unit. "Now, the trick is to keep a firm grip and maintain steady pressure."

As he demonstrates, I can't help but notice the way his muscles flex under his green skin. It's infuriating how attractive he is, even when I'm mad at him.

"Your turn," he says, holding out the nail gun.

I take it, trying to mimic his stance. "Like this?"

"Close, but your grip is all wrong. Here." Before I can protest, he's standing behind me, his arms encircling mine as he adjusts my hold on the tool. "Like this. Feel the difference?"

I do, but I'm more focused on the heat of his body pressed against my back. "Y-yeah, I got it."

"Good. Now, just aim and—"

The nail gun goes off with a loud pop, narrowly missing my foot and embedding itself in the floorboard.

"Yikes!" I yelp, flinching and almost dropping the tool like it's on fire.

Zylus quickly moves to steady me, his hand on my elbow. "Whoa, easy there. Are you okay?"

I nod, heart racing. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… startled."

He gently takes the nail gun from my hands, his expression a mix of concern and chagrin. "That was my fault. I should have given you clearer instructions before letting you fire it."

"No kidding," I mutter, trying to calm my nerves. I'll never admit that I was so distracted by his handsome face and warm, hot body curved around mine that I wasn't exactly paying attention to his directions.

Zylus runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry, Misty. That could have been bad. Let's take a break and I'll go over the safety procedures properly before we try again."

I eye the nail gun warily. "Maybe I should stick to sanding for now."

"If that's what you're comfortable with," he agrees. Then, with a hint of his usual smirk, he adds, "Though you're missing out on all the fun."

"Yeah, because nothing says ‘fun' like nearly maiming yourself while trapped in a house with an infuriating alien," I grumble, but there's less heat in my words than before.

As I turn to grab my sandpaper, I mutter under my breath, "I should have pointed that thing in his direction instead."

"I heard that," Zylus calls over his shoulder as he returns to work on the shelving unit. "Superior hearing, remember?"

I roll my eyes, but can't quite suppress a small smile. Despite everything, his concern for my safety hasn't gone unnoticed. It's a reminder that underneath all our bickering, there might still be something worth salvaging .

We fall back into silence, but it feels different now. Less oppressive, more… charged. Like the air before a lightning storm.