Page 74 of Moist!
epilogue
WET IN THE LAND OF THE RODENT
One Month Later
We make it to Florida, and better yet, I drag his alien ass to Disney World. My big alien boyfriend (cue internal screaming) is dubious when we first arrive.
“So you’re telling me that people flock to an ‘amusement park’ owned by a giant rodent?
” Ulthrui asks, deeply suspicious of Disney’s cultural significance.
“And they wear his taxidermied ears?” He twists the price tag on the headband like it personally offends him.
His eyes bulge when he sees the number. “And they pay actual credits to do it?”
I nod solemnly. “And then they wear matching T-shirts and pretend that waiting in line is fun.”
He gasps. “This place is a psychological warfare site.”
His initial disdain is only broken by the flash of a camera.
We’ve somehow become minor celebrities since our show aired.
Not in an A-list, Oscar-bait, red carpet kind of way, but more like Snooki meets Honey Boo Boo meets that one Real Housewife who became a meme by yelling at dinner. It’s chaotic, slightly unhinged fame.
There’s a lot of curiosity around the first human contestant on Star-Crossed Match and her really hot alien counterpart.
I’d like to think it’s because of our sparkling personalities and emotional vulnerability.
Realistically, it’s probably because we jumped each other’s bones within ten minutes of meeting.
On intergalactic television. In 4K, or whatever the alien equivalent of that is.
We evade a small squad of interstellar paparazzi by darting toward Tiana’s Bayou Adventure.
Ulthrui reads the sign aloud in his deep, formal tone.
“‘You may get wet’? One can only hope that’s a promise,” he murmurs, misting himself with the spray bottle fan he insisted on buying within twelve seconds of arrival.
Somehow, it’s still not swampy enough for him here.
“The may is more of a promise,” I explain as he climbs gracefully into the log ride, his large frame folding into the seat like origami. I, on the other hand, slide in behind him, gripping his slick shoulder for balance. The seat is already wet—not from the ride, but from him.
“Y’all might want ponchos,” the cast member mutters, hitting the button with the enthusiasm of a goth teen in the summer sun. We launch forward.
The gentle splashes begin, animatronic frogs start singing, and Ulthrui lights up like a kid on Christmas morning—if that kid had muscles, dripping secretions, and a deep fondness for hyper-specific Earth humidity levels.
“They’re splashing us on purpose ?” He whips around with awe, like he’s just discovered religion.
“Yeah, it’s a water ride,” I laugh, still buzzing with joy that I get to witness him experiencing so many Earth firsts.
“I love it,” he announces, gazing at me with glee—just before we hit the big drop.
We plummet. He screams. I scream. Water explodes into the log. When we hit bottom, the log sinks more than usual, which I absolutely blame on his hulking alien gym-rat physique. We’re practically swimming by the time we level out.
Ulthrui is glistening . Positively dripping with that mysterious blue-dyed ride water that’s 20% chemicals and 80% Florida.
His orange spirit jersey clings to his body like it’s being paid to seduce me.
It’s nearly translucent. He looks like a wet T-shirt contest designed by aliens with impeccable abs and zero shame.
“You tricked me!” he cries, affronted but delighted.
“I said you were gonna get wet,” I smirk, wiping my soaked eyelashes.
“Yes, but you never said we’d be testing the laws of gravity! ”
“You never asked,” I reply, smug.
“I’m wet,” he states, in case the ocean pouring off him wasn’t clear.
“You’re always wet!”
“I want you to be wet, too,” Ulthrui says, with emphasis that makes my entire nervous system malfunction. He says it like a threat, like a promise, like a line from a late-night HBO special that got banned in five systems.
I nearly choke. “Okay, big boy, calm down.”
“I am calm. But you… you’re flushed.”
I glance away, praying the soaked family in the log ahead of us hasn’t heard any of this alien thirst trap talk. They’re laughing and shaking water off like it’s part of the fun and not a semi-erotic fever dream.
“I’m sure your vitals would be pulsing pink right now,” he teases, his voice a low rumble that settles in my gut like gravity.
Then, smoothly, Ulthrui pivots in the log, knees on his seat. His eyes find mine—burning, mischievous, totally locked in—and without a word, he leans in and kisses me.
And damn , does he kiss me.
It starts like a surprise, quick and hot, but then deepens.
One of his hands slides to the back of my neck, steadying me as his mouth moves against mine, tasting like bromine and cinnamon sugar from the churro he insisted on trying earlier.
The log gently rocks beneath us like a floating bed of bad decisions.
The world tilts. Or maybe that’s just me.
He kisses like he’s trying to memorize me.
Like he doesn’t care that we’re in a glorified bathtub with speakers, or that someone’s definitely going to post this to SpaceTikTok in thirty seconds.
For a moment, I forget that we’re wet, that we’re in public, that we're technically on a ride for children.
And then?—
“Will the large green alien please remain seated until the ride comes to a full stop,” blares the intercom, loud and absolutely sick of our romantic subplot.
I jolt back, laughing, and push at his solid, unbothered chest until he complies and sits back down with a sheepish grin.
When we float back into the loading dock, the teenage cast member doesn’t even look up from their control panel. They just sigh. Deeply. Existentially.
As we step out of the log, Ulthrui’s shirt now clinging to him like a very lucky piece of Saran Wrap, I reach behind him and give his firm, drenched butt a squeeze.
“For balance,” I say.
“I hope it was stabilizing,” he deadpans, entirely unrepentant.
***
Before long, and with a dirty mouth like that, it doesn’t take us long to ride the monorail back to our hotel room.
Ulthrui beelines to the mini fridge and grabs a plastic bottle of water, takes a long sip, and plops onto the edge of the plush bed with a sigh so human it makes the corner of my lip tug up.
I sit next to him, letting my thigh press against his, still warm from the swamp air. The air in here smells like clean cotton, hotel soaps and something sweet underneath it all that has to be his skin.
He turns to me slowly with the same look he had on the ride earlier in the day.
“I’ve thought about that moment the entire way here,” he says.
“What moment?” I ask, playing dumb.
He touches my chin, featherlight. “The kiss, that human thing you’ve got me addicted to. ”
“Do you want another?”
I’m a pusher of kisses, a kiss dealer.
“Very, very much,” he murmurs.
I lean in, and the world narrows as our lips touch. His mouth is warm and sure, like he’s practiced this enough to where he’s exactly sure how this works. Like the meeting of our mouths is officially part of his routine—somewhere between his four showers a day, and teasing me into oblivion.
“You’re getting good at this whole kissing thing,” I whisper, my heart full to bursting.
“I’ve had an excellent teacher.”
There’s a pause, a long quiet, then his hand finds mine on top of the comforter. Our fingers tangle easily.
“We don’t have to sleep yet,” I murmur, knowing our planned time together is ending soon. We’re checking out tomorrow, and we’ve not discussed extending our tryst further than that. “I don’t want to waste a bit of our time left together.”
My voice is small and sad, like I’m waiting for him to rescue me from my impending despair once he leaves the planet.
He kisses me again. His hand slips to the nape of my neck, fingertips curling gently, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me. I sink into it, into him, into the moment. When I pull back, there’s barely an inch between us, and he keeps his forehead pressed against mine.
“I want this,” he says. “The messy parts. The kissing. The human food and your chaotic Earthling rides—but mostly, I want you . Every piece of you. For as long as you'll have me.”
“How does forever sound?” I ask, my voice soft, though my heart pounds like it already knows the weight of the answer.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Perfect,” he breathes, pulling me into his arms. “Forever sounds absolutely perfect .”