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He had been hired as the official human disguise stylist for the Darvrokian race, and while he was revered by the Darvrokians as the most stylish and fashion savvy of all humans, not even he had been able to convince their intergalactic guests to don traditional wedding attire.

When it came to deciding on their new human bodies, the aliens tended to take inspiration from magazine covers or television programs, mixing together conventionally attractive features to create unique disguises, which worked well enough, although it did mean that they were almost all shaped like models.

But when it came to their outfits, they tended to act like children who had been distracted by something bright and shiny, and it was nearly impossible to talk them out of a wardrobe choice once it had been made.

Corbin had been much more successful with wrangling the few human guests, who he had successfully convinced to dress in wedding-appropriate attire.

The argument had been made that as Earthlings, it was their responsibility to uphold tradition and model proper human behavior for their guests…

but Corbin had also made it a point to remind them that he was a master at falsifying documents, and had a shiny new luxury home built on several hundred acres of rugged desert where, he had assured them, human fashion victims who really should have known better might never be found.

Which was why Ezra was in uncomfortable clothing, and also why he was surprised when, during his sweep of the room, he spotted a Darvrokian guest dressed in passably human attire speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Leon.

It was hard to get Ezra’s heartbeat up. He was a naturally calm and reasonable man, and unless something drastic happened—say, his best friend suddenly laying eggs—it was difficult to get a rise out of him.

But.

When Ezra laid eyes on this man, his heart sped up, surprising him enough that he took an involuntary step backward and placed a hand on his chest, because what the actual hell? Was he having some sort of cardiac episode?

“Human Ezra?” Kyle asked, alarmed. “Your skin has changed color, but only in your cheeks. Do you find the flavors to be too extreme?”

“Yeah.” Ezra took a breath and grounded himself.

His heart hadn’t exploded, so he assumed everything was probably all right…

but that didn’t change the fact that he was now looking at a man who was so ruggedly beautiful, just the sight of him had given him heart palpitations.

“The flavors. Right. That’s totally what’s up.

They, uh, snuck up on me. Got me real good. Gotta watch out for that Camembert.”

“I will inform the tuxedoed men.” Kyle popped up onto the toes of his hiking boots to peer over the crowd. “If your human palate cannot tolerate these things, then it stands to reason other human palates will not, either, and therefore they must be made aware.”

Before Ezra could explain that, no, it really wasn’t necessary to alert the wait staff that the Camembert was too spicy, Kyle spotted one of the servers and took off, the reflective stripe of his swimming trunks flashing as he charged his way through the crowd.

It was a sweet gesture, but it also unfortunately meant that there was no longer anyone around to distract Ezra from the attractive stranger who had nearly given him heart failure.

And boy, was he distracting.

Whoever he was—all tall, dark-haired, and handsome—he radiated confidence that drew the eye.

His body was superbly sculpted, broad in the shoulders and just tapered enough at the waist to give him that V shape that made Ezra weak in the knees, and while his emerald tux was unusual, the color suited him.

It complemented his eyes, which were the color of English roses.

Eyes which darkened as they found Ezra’s.

Eyes which, upon meeting his gaze, would not look away.

Ezra’s throat tightened. His jaw went slack, and had it not been for his staunch refusal to look like a fool at his best friend’s rehearsal dinner, he was sure his mouth would have fallen open.

His heart, only having recently recovered from its brief flirtation with tachycardia, kicked back into overdrive.

It was impossible for the Darvrokian to know what he was feeling—they were touch telepaths, and needed skin-on-skin contact to read someone else’s emotions—but the corner of the stranger’s lips lifted in a knowing smirk, like he’d somehow figured out that Ezra was hot for him despite being halfway across the room.

He arched an eyebrow, eyes glimmering as if to say, “Like what you see? Then come do something about it.”

Which…

Ezra bit the inside of his lip to keep himself from saying—and potentially doing—something stupid.

He was not going to fuck an alien.

He was just going to… stare at one a little.

Yeah.

Nothing wrong with a little staring.

It wasn’t really fucking if you were just fucking someone with your eyes.

No doubt feeling the intensity of Ezra’s gaze, Mr. Leon turned and beamed brightly at him, beckoning him over enthusiastically. “Ambassador Ezra!” he called out, sounding just as cheerful as he appeared. “Come! Come and be acquainted with my son!”

His invitation was a bucket of cold water to the face.

Ezra had heard Al talk about his brother before, and it had never been with much fondness…

but maybe his alleged dickishness was an exaggeration.

Sibling rivalry, and all that. Ezra was an only child, so he wasn’t exactly sure how the whole br other thing worked, but he hoped that was the case, because he really did not want to have to reconcile his off-the-charts attraction to this guy with the understanding that he was a total douche.

Not wanting to leave Mr. Leon waiting, Ezra sucked in a breath and crossed the room to meet the knockout who was apparently Al’s shitty brother.

“Human Ezra, this person is our son, ?.Λ.yz’Ο,” Mrs. Leon explained, beaming at him every bit as brightly as Mr. Leon. “?.Λ.yz’Ο and AA.??’p’Zx come from the same clutch. They are very close.”

“Hello,” ?.Λ.yz’Ο said in a purr, voice smooth as butter.

He extended his hand confidently—something not all Darvrokians did, as it was somewhat of a taboo for their species—and bit down on his bottom lip in classic fuckboy fashion.

It was so hot, it was actually painful. “You may call me by my human name, Titan. It is a pleasure for you to meet me.”

Ezra, who was in the process of taking Titan’s hand, raised an eyebrow at that.

Presumptuous much?

But then again, maybe he was being insensitive—every Darvrokian here had been speaking English for less than a week.

It could have been a linguistic screw-up.

Even Al, who had been living on Earth for quite some time, struggled with syntax.

What sounded like presumptuousness was probably just the language barrier.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he said as Titan took his hand.

Their palms met, and Titan squeezed.

It wasn’t that his grip was painful. A good handshake was firm and confident—a little squeezing was to be expected. Ezra wouldn’t have thought twice about a handshake like that.

But this one had his breath catching in his throat.

Titan’s handshake was purposeful.

Commanding. Possessive .

It was the kind of handshake that claimed what it gripped with a silent, “Mine.”

“I hear many things that are good about you, Ambassador Ezra,” Titan said, still holding his hand—and was it Ezra’s imagination or were his eyes turning an even darker shade of pink? “You, of course, must have heard many good things about me.”

That snapped Ezra out of it.

His faith that the language barrier was the sticking point in their conversation wavered. “Actually, I haven’t heard much about you at all.”

He omitted the part where all the things he had heard had been negative.

A frown flickered onto Titan’s face, as though he couldn’t believe that Ezra really hadn’t heard about him. Ezra wasn’t sure why it was all that surprising, given that Al had about a million siblings and twice as many cousins, but Titan seemed genuinely rattled.

“Then I will teach you the good things about me,” Titan assured him, and fucking hell, he still hadn’t dropped his hand. It was starting to feel indecent. “I give you assurance that there are many.”

Ezra plastered on a fake smile, feigning interest, and nodded. “Well, I’m a big fan of Al’s, so any family of his is sure to be just as, you know, cool.”

“You are impressed by my brother?” Titan’s eyes narrowed incredulously. “You shall think very highly of me, then, as this means it takes very little to earn your favor.”

Yeah, no. That clinched it. Language barrier this was not. As horned up as Ezra was for this guy, his attraction shriveled up and died.

Titan was an asshole, and no amount of fuck-me eyes would make up for it.

He immediately—finally—took back his hand and folded his arms o ver his chest. If Titan noticed his change in demeanor, he didn’t show it. His sexy little smirk didn’t fade even a little.

Why did hot guys always have to be such dicks?

“We will allow the two of you to become knowledgeable about one another while we do the human custom of ‘mingling,’” Mrs. Leon announced. She gestured at Ezra with her own Pop Rock-rimmed champagne glass, which had a green olive plopped inside of it like a martini.

Before Ezra could protest, Mr. and Mrs. Leon turned and walked away to mingle with a man dressed in a faux-fur overcoat and orange Crocs, leaving Ezra alone with Titan.

Titan seemed pleased by this development.

He braced his elbows against the mahogany dining table behind them and leaned back, dragging his eyes up Ezra’s entire body like he was a predator sizing up his prey.

Ezra’s heart did that funny little double-time thing again, but he ignored it.

He had a strict “no dicks” policy when it came to hookups.

Or, well, yes to dicks, but not to dicks .