Page 129 of Stardusted

He’d changed back into jeans and yesterday’s button-up, the one he’d discarded during the alien-exposition-followed-by-striptease routine last night.

I’d done my best to forget the bloodstained handprint on his white shirt, as well as this morning’s brain-melting nosebleed. So far, I was doing a decent enough job. Judging by Sky’s annoyed expression, though, my coping mechanism—nonstop inquiries—wasn’t winning me any points.

I couldn’t help it. The emotional whiplash of waking up to an alien in my hallway, nearly breaking my brain, and thennotimmediately dying had left me craving something solid. Something grounding and logical. Like figuring out the puzzle that was Sky Acosta.

“No,” he said, lips flattening. “I already told you I can’t read minds. And I’m not sure how many times I need to say it, but I’m really not supposed to talk about the details?—”

“Okay, fine,” I cut in. “Can you at least tell me what your spaceship looks like?”Or even better… I sucked in a breath, twisting toward him. “Can Iseeit?”

“Raven.”

It was said quietly, but his grip flexed on the steering wheel. So that was a firm no. Of course it was.

I sat back on a sigh, sipping my third cup of coffee. Because if I was going to die of a psychic nosebleed, I might as well be fully alert and caffeinated.

The memory made my stomach lurch, and I gripped my thermos tighter. The normalcy of packing my books, changing into my uniform, and dodging Bob, who’d peeked out at the unfamiliar SUV in my driveway, had helped me feel better.

I’d told Sky I wanted to maintain my routine, and I meant it. I was taking one thing at a time: lunch shift at Oasis then midterms.

Totally normal day. Just with an alien chauffeur. And alien stalkers.

No big deal.

I glanced across the center console. Sky was the picture of focus, one hand on the wheel, the other resting along the window. His mouth was tight, eyebrows slightly drawn, probably from resisting the urge to shove me out of the moving vehicle.

This Creed of his must be ironclad. Pladians took their secrecyveryseriously. It seemed silly they couldn’t make an exception, considering how deeply I was involved. I mean, I’d seen Sky’s real form. Couldn’t get much more…involvedthan that.

I was even sporting a Pladian tattoo. I fisted my marked hand. Surely being up to my eyeballs in this mess meant I’d earned the full picture.

At least Sky didn’t seem quite so inflexible. He’d bent enough to fill me in.

To kiss me in the stairwell like his life depended on it.

A blush tried to crawl up my neck, and I quickly looked away. I really needed to stop thinking about that.

Maybe I could get him to answer just a few more questions instead. We’d reached downtown One Willow and would be at Oasis soon.

I cleared my throat, sliding my eyes his way again. “You said your biology was a lot like mine. Exactly how similar? Do you need, say…sleep?”

Sky didn’t look at me, but his mouth compressed further. Enough to form white lines. “Do I needsleep?” His turn signal clicked as he veered onto Second Street. “What kind of question is that? Of course I need sleep.”

“I meant, like, the same amount of sleep.” My flush was back. I tucked my lip between my teeth. “I know your suit makes you mostly human, but…”

There were definite differences, considering he’d just used it to do a little early-morning brain stimulating.

My attention flicked to his forearm, the tanned skin exposed beneath a rolled-up sleeve. That was a synthetic skin. I should’ve been grossed out by the idea. Instead, I found myself fascinated by the subtle shift of muscle and veins as he tightened his grip on the wheel.

“Synth-skin,” he corrected sharply. I snapped my gaze up and met his narrow-eyed glance. In the gloom, his eyes were the color of ink. “It’s called a synth-skin. A synthetic dermal implant. And yes, I need sleep. I also require sustenance. Specifically, dihydrogen monoxide and nourishment in the formof proteins, carbohydrates, and fats. Just like you.” In the pause, his cheek bunched like he was grinding his molars. He returned his attention to the road. “And in case you're wondering, yes, I produce waste. I don’t like pickles, green beans, or tuna fish. I eat normal human food. No Soylent Green. I breathe fine in your nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere. I drink Earth water without dying.You’rethe one with the glowing fingers. I don’t lay eggs. I don’t reproduce by face-hugging. Does that cover the bases?”

He’d taken me by surprise. I bit the inside of my cheek against a shocked laugh.Green beans?

I fought it down, though, when guilt surged immediately after. Especially because his nostrils flared with his forced breath. He didn’t look happy. Apparently, I’d struck a nerve.

I turned my head toward the window and sipped mycoffee. I wasn’t being fair, pushing him. He was doingmea favor by sticking close like this. Driving me. Staying over. The least I could do was respect his boundaries.

All of them. Even if I couldn’t stop thinking about that damn kiss.

The SUV sloshed through a deep puddle when Sky slowed at a red light and came to a stop. He balanced an elbow on the steering wheel and twisted toward me, and I lowered my cup, glancing over.