My Alien Roommate

by Tracy Lauren

  “What’s that?” I ask, coming to my senses.

  “Sorry.” She tucks a strand of hair behind one ear. “I think you have the wrong apartment.”

  Apartment. Ah yes, I am looking for lodging—and here of all places, with this lovely female. The bulletin! I attempt to reach for the advertisement I secured from the coffee vendor, but with the two cups in my hands, I struggle. That is, until I finally remember to offer one to the female. “This is for you,” I tell her, giving her my most charming smile—hoping against hope that she feels this attraction the same as I do.

  “Oh, uh…thanks?”

  I straighten the page advertising the spare room before presenting it to her, but she’s looking at the coffee cup.

  “You came from Vices? Are you looking for Sarah?”

  “Is that the purveyor of this lodging establishment?”

  The female cocks her head at me and I find that I want to reach over and touch her face, but I restrain myself.

  “I have this.” I hold up the ad and recognition finally washes over her.

  “Oh, the apartment ad. Are you looking for a room?” She assesses me from head to toe and I can’t help but notice that her expression is undeniably wary. I give her my most charming smile in an effort to win her over, but those pretty brows of hers remain furrowed.

  “I am, is it still available?”

  “Are you for real?” she asks, looking so skeptical. “Are you sure this isn’t a stripper-gram or something?” She leans forward to peer out the door, as if someone else might be waiting around the corner.

  I am not sure how to respond.

  “Why are you dressed like a cowboy?” she asks.

  I tip my hat, grinning wide and holding my arms out so she can take in my attire. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s…specific.” Her expression is filled with questions. “Sorry, where are you from?”

  “Oh, far, far from here. I am traveling.”

  Her posture relaxes after that—though not completely. “Okay…that makes sense. I think you have the wrong idea though. You’re probably looking for a hotel. If you need help finding one in your price range I can point you to a few.”

  “I require something a little longer term than a hotel,” I tell her, tugging at my ear. Somehow I feel like this is not going so well. I came here expecting to find lodging with a like-minded individual and I’ve been thrown for a loop by this lovely creature…this lovely creature who seems utterly disinterested in my presence. She certainly doesn’t seem impressed with my quest for accommodations.

  “The ad says I’m looking for a female—”

  “Which is exactly why I am here!” I hurry to explain. “It is perfect! You are a professional at seeking females!”

  Her expression is utterly confused for a moment before something seems to dawn on her. “Ahhhh, because it said professional female seeking female? I knew that sounded weird. It just means I want a girl to rent the room, not a…” She trails off, looking at me from head to toe and seemingly forgetting to finish her sentence.

  “But you do have a room that is available?”

  “I do…” She falls prematurely silent. It does not sound like she is offering it to me.

  “I can afford whatever your rate is, just name your price.” I dig in my pocket and retrieve a stack of the local currency to show her.

  “Whoa! Don’t just wave that around!” she reaches forward to urge my hand down, but when her fingers touch mine I jolt, fumbling my coffee and in turn she fumbles her own. Both cups fall to the ground. They bounce and the lids pop free, sending the warm liquid splashing up onto our legs.

  “Apologies!” I have no towel, so quickly, I tear off the button-up shirt I am wearing and use it to blot at her now damp legs. The female goes stiff under my touch and I freeze, wondering if I have done something taboo. Eager to not offend her any further, I straighten to look her in the eyes…and perhaps to offer more apologies. But I find that she’s staring at my bare chest.

  This is a good sign! Immediately, I flex my muscles, giving her a subtle display of my strength, just in case she is interested. That snaps her eyes back to mine and she gives me her first soft smile.

  “You’ve got to be a stripper…” she mutters.

  “I am a human,” I assure.

  She gasps. “Oh, I didn’t mean that in a derogatory way. I’m not judging!” Her eyes go to my wadded-up shirt that’s now wet with coffee. “Oh jeeze. Here, let’s at least rinse that out in the sink.”

  “I should clean this mess,” I tell her, motioning to the brown puddle on her floor.

  Her trepidatious expression softens even further. “Tell you what? I’ll rinse the shirt and you can grab some of the paper towels on the counter over there and mop this up.”

  “Sounds like we have a deal,” I tell her with a grin.

  I’m quick to soak up the spilt coffee, but the floor is still sticky, so she offers me a wet towel to remedy the problem. When I’m done, she’s wrung out my shirt, but it is still far too wet for me to wear. She looks from me to the dampened garment, frowning.

  “Ya know, we can take this down to the laundry room and pop it in the dryer for a bit.”

  “That sounds amenable.”

  She smiles and pulls a few metal disks from a jar on her kitchen counter, then we make our way down into an inner courtyard of her building.

  “Sorry, I don’t think I ever caught your name,” she says, breaking the silence.

  “I am John Wayne,” I tell her proudly, giving her the human pseudonym I have chosen, but for some reason it makes her break into peals of laughter. She swipes at her eyes, wiping away the evidence of her mirth. That was not my desired reaction.

  “Is that your stage name?” she asks, her tone teasing.

  “No…”

  “Come on, what’s your real name?”

  I hesitate, reluctant to give her a name that might sound too other-worldly to her ears. I do not wish for her to catch on to my true origins. But clearly, my chosen alias is not up to par.

  “I…I am Dorran,” I tell her finally. She has proven to be a generous enough soul, helping me with my clothing, I see no reason why I should not engage with her more deeply, particularly if I wish to share a domicile with her. Hells, who am I kidding? Particularly if I wish to pursue her. Though, I can’t forget she did state she has a preference for females.

  “I’m Carly,” she offers, reaching for my hand. For a moment I wonder if she plans to hold it--like the mated couples I saw in the coffee shop, but she only gives it a quick shake before releasing me.

  “Carly,” I repeat. “That is a lovely name.”

  She gives me a friendly smile—this one far more open than anything I have seen thus far. And I find myself admiring the crystal blue of her eyes…practically lost in them. Her cheeks flush under my gaze, and if humans are anything like my people, I’d say that is a promising sign. We have only just met, but already the draw I’m feeling is undeniable.

  Carly clears her throat and casts a nervous glance toward a door with the symbols 1A embossed on it, not far away. “Come on, before Mrs. Doherty sees us,” she says in a hushed tone as she leads me into a room with large, box-ish machines lining the walls. I should be wondering who this Mrs. Doherty is, but instead I am trying to catch Carly’s scent. Unfortunately, this place has the oppressing aroma of synthetic floral perfumes. I grimace as it overwhelms me.

  “So, you’re looking for a place to stay?”

  “And you have a room available, yet I notice you have yet to offer it to me.”

  Carly takes the shirt from my hands and tosses it into one of the machines, fits her metal disks in the slot, and adjusts the dials. A soft whirring starts within.

  “I was sort of hoping to find a woman to share the apartment with,” she confesses.

  Damn my four hearts and their bad judgment! What is the point of this attraction if Carly’s interest is in females? I drink in her beauty, desirous of it even though it
is not for me. Still, I have to believe that fate is guiding me and for one reason or another I have found Carly.

  “I am sympathetic to your search,” I tell her. And truly, I am. She and I are in fact looking for the very same thing. Leaning against one of the drying machines, I cross my arms over my bare chest while I try to reflect on things rationally. And Carly, for all that she is a lesbian, watches me with keen interest.

  “I am here on very important business,” I tell her finally. “I only need the room for about a month, it could even be less if I finish my task early.”

  Carly frowns. “Hm. That wouldn’t solve my problem, it’d just prolong it. I definitely need something more long term than that. I don’t want to be in the position of searching for another roommate next month, ya know?”

  “Tell me the problem and let’s see if we can’t solve it together.”

  “The problem?” she asks, giving me a wry look. “Is making rent.”

  “How much is your rent?”

  “Three thousand a month.”

  Mentally I try to recollect how humans count their currency. It seems I have far more than that in my pockets. “I could pay your rent this month and the next if you allow me to stay with you,” I offer helpfully. I expect a smile from Carly—some small sliver of happiness over the fact that I have the power to solve her problem. But all I see is dismay.

  “I can’t let you do that. Besides, where are you getting this money from anyway?”

  “It is my own. I have earned it in my work. Besides, the exchange rate for this place was highly in my favor.”

  “Where’d you say you’re from?”

  “Far.”

  She huffs an acknowledgement. “Still, it’d hardly be fair to have you pay my rent for two months.”

  “Does three sound more reasonable?”

  Carly gapes. “No! It sounds like I’d be taking advantage of you.”

  I do not see it that way, how perturbing. “Would you feel better if I enlisted your aid while I’m in town? That way it would be an even exchange. You help me navigate this city, share with me your dwelling, and once my task has been completed I’ll give you the three months’ rent as compensation.”

  Carly is still gaping at me. “You’re talking about nine grand, Dorran, that is definitely not a fair exchange!”

  “It seems more than fair to me. I’m unfamiliar with this city and I need a…a…guide, or a liaison.”

  Carly’s eyes narrow. “Are you a drug dealer?” she demands to know.

  Now it is my turn to gape. “Of course I am not! Do I look like one to you?” I gaze down at my attire and Carly’s eyes follow mine, causing that harsh expression to immediately wash away. She bites back a laugh.

  “No. You look like something out of a spaghetti western. Probably not a drug dealer…” she admits, almost to herself. Considering me from head to toe, she poses her next question. “What kind of help do you need exactly?”

  “First?”

  Carly nods.

  “I would like to know what a spaghetti western is.”

  Her grin seems to brighten the room. “It just means your clothes are a little…”

  “Stylish?” I offer.

  “Um, costume-y is what I was going to go with. Unless your business in town is cattle rustling. I mean, you’re wearing spurs, for goodness sake!”

  Costume-y…that’s not good at all. I don’t want anyone to know my true origins or to even be suspicious of them, not until I confess my story to my mate. But by that point she will already be endeared to me.

  I look to Carly with renewed focus. I need this mission to work. I need to find a mate. “Clearly I require assistance,” I implore. “And you are in need of finances for your dwelling. I can help you with that—if you help me in return.”

  “And you’re not a drug dealer or a criminal?”

  I’m aghast at the suggestion. My entire professional life revolves around lawfulness—protecting less advanced worlds, recovering pillaged cultural artifacts and returning them to the rightful hands, and yet here I am in my first few hours on Earth and the only human I know has accused me of not only being a criminal, but of being a drug dealer as well. What in the name of the Gods could be giving her that impression? “Do my clothes make me appear as such?” I look down at my boots and blue jeans. I had quite enjoyed this costume; it is a shame it makes me look criminal.

  “Actually…not at all. The fact that you’re waving around big-ass wads of cash makes you look criminal.”

  “I was not waving it! Well, perhaps just the once…” I do a mental tally. “Perhaps three times.”

  “Oh my…you do need help. Look, you can’t just wave your money around. Santa Barbara is a safe place, but you’re asking to get robbed showing off cash like that.”

  I scoff, flexing my muscles once more. “I would not allow anyone to rob me.”

  Carly’s eyes traverse my wide chest. She makes a strangled noise before she clears her throat. “Still isn’t safe.”

  “Seems like there is much you could teach me. And it sounds like you need the rent money.” I can sense Carly beginning to cave. She doesn’t look excited about it, but that is only because she does not know me yet. I have the distinct impression we will get along fine, even if she isn’t attracted to me in the way I am to her.

  She tucks her hair behind her ear again. It is an adorable habit. “How can I even trust that you’ll give me the money at the end of the month?”

  Her words make my heart sink. Is her impression of me truly so low? “I must say, Carly, I’m bothered you don’t view me as a trustworthy male. But in any case, I’d be more than happy to give it to you now and declare the deal made.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a thick stack of bills. “How many of these makes nine grand, as you call it?”

  “Ninety!” she sounds shocked, but doesn’t stop me as I count out the bills. I’m grinning up at her, even though her wide eyes are locked on the money. I think we do have a deal.

  There’s hardly a second for me to revel in my success, however, before the door to the laundry room swings open and an elderly female steps inside. I’m about to greet her when she stops in her tracks, gazing at us as if we were indeed caught in some criminal act. Her gray eyes study us and it dawns on me that Carly suggested I do not show my money to others. So, I slowly bring the bills behind my back, hiding them from the old female.

  The woman’s gaze narrows as she balances a basket of clothing on her hip. “What’s going on in here?” she demands to know. “Carly Petersen, is this a drug deal? Why isn’t this man wearing a shirt?”

  “Oh no, Mrs. Doherty! This isn’t a drug deal at all! This is…this is my new roommate. I was just showing him the laundry facility—his shirt got wet. We were discussing the rent!” Carly hurries to explain.

  The old woman scowls at me. “He’s not a criminal, is he?”

  “No, Mrs. Doherty, I promise he isn’t.”

  “Is he a stripper?” she presses, her eyes growing all the narrower. They’re not like Carly’s when she was wary of me. This female’s gaze is like twin daggers. Still, I can’t help but notice I’ve been accused of drug dealing and criminality twice now. And of being a stripper! Whatever that is.

  “No, ma’am. Not a stripper either. He’s just foreign and in town on business for a few weeks. I’m going to be showing him around the city.”

  Mrs. Doherty scrunches her prim nose at me. “Show him where he can find his shirt while you’re at it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Carly agrees, ripping the dryer open and pulling out my now warm, dry shirt. She shoves it into my hands and drags me by the arm out of the laundry room and back up to her private dwelling. All the while, I’m reeling.

  “You will let me live with you?!” I want to let out a cheer of excitement, but Carly bites her lip, grimacing. She is still trepidatious when it comes to me, but that is okay—soon we will know one another better and any concerns she has will be resolved. This is wonderful. I am on
track to finding my mate, and even though it is an absolute shame that Carly is a lesbian, she is still stunning. Between the two of us, we’ll have no problem attracting the most beautiful human females in the city.

  Chapter 6

  Carly

  I shut the door, effectively locking myself in my apartment with a six-foot-five cowboy stripper. Ya know? The one that I met not thirty minutes ago… I’m wondering if I should be regretting this decision, but Dorran immediately goes to the kitchen table and counts out nine thousand dollars. Trepidation goes out the window when he hands over the cash. This is the answer to my problems. Even if Dorran turns out to be a horrible roommate, he’s only going to be here a month. If he’s a criminal, I’ll just call the cops. If not? I’m set until the freshmen roll into town.

  “The room’s furnished,” I tell him.

  “Yes, I saw that in the advertisement. Fortunate.” He grins at me, looking harmless for all that he’s a giant. This guy must a football player or a bodybuilder or something.

  “When did you want to move in?”

  “Now, if it’s possible,” he answers with a shrug.

  “Yeah, of course. Did you have bags in your car, or anything you needed help carrying up?”

  “I have neither,” Dorran informs me.

  “No bags?”

  “And no car.”

  I frown. “How’d you get into town?”

  He considers my question for a moment and it dawns on me that he might have trouble understanding English. I mean, his accent is so very slight, it’s barely noticeable, but I guess that doesn’t mean he’s as comfortable with English as he is with his native tongue.

  “I flew in,” he offers finally.

  Makes sense. Wait…but no bags? “Did your luggage get lost at the airport?”

  “I…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I did not pack heavily. I assumed this attire would do well for my visit, but I can see that was a bit of ignorance on my part.”