Page 96 of I Fell for an Alien Popstar

“Yes. I’m asking you to get a place with me.” Her smile grew. “Both our names on it.”

“Yes!”

I said it loud enough that two people at the next table turned around.

“Yes,” I said again, quieter this time, laughing as I gripped both her hands. “Yes, obviously. I cannot wait to get off Earth.”

She smiled and leaned across the table, pressing my hands gently against her lips.

“There’s paperwork,” she warned.

“There’s always paperwork.”

“Intergalactic paperwork. Residency filing, sponsorship declaration, species registration. Four to six weeks, even when it’s expedited.”

“Fine. Hand me a stylus.”

“Which won’t be a problem,” she said, “because you work for Zhari Enterprises now, and we have an entire department that moves people across borders. Tev will handle it. He’ll be unbearable about it.”

“He’ll want to film the signing, I’m sure. Anything for content.” I sighed.

She lifted our joined hands and pressed another kiss to my knuckles.

“Home,” she said. “With you.”

“Home,” I agreed.

She let go long enough to reach for her drink, and I pulled the sketchbook toward me.

I flipped past the mascot, past the arena crowd, past a hundred half-finished versions of her face until I found a clean page.

I started with the floor.

Then the light beneath it.

Then her hands around the glass.

Then her.

“What are you drawing?” she asked.

“Us,” I said. “Obviously.”

As I started drawing, a burst of squealing carried across the Jelly Lounge, sharp enough to turn my head. I followed the sound, spotting them a few tables over.

“Oh my gosh,” a cute, green-colored woman squealed to her friend, her voice bubbling over. “Is that Zhari? The popstar Zhari?”

The one who’d spoken practically vibrated with excitement, her long, leaf-like hair spilling over her shoulders, shifting softly with every movement. Beside her, a taller, curvier woman leaned in, already grinning.

“That is her,” the friend said, grabbing her arm. “Azolla, go say something before I do it for you.”

They stood at the same time, clutching a crinkled takeaway bag between them.

I kept watching as her friend waved down a passing waitress. “Hey, could we borrow a pen? Please? It’s important.”

The waitress smiled and handed one over without question.

By the time they reached us, Azolla looked like she might burst.