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Again, her mouth twitches. “I’m not an idiot.”
“So you have praxiians at home?”
“We have house cats. They live in our houses and shit in boxes and claw up our furniture. And they eat mice.”
I’m repulsed. “Like…rodents?”
That earns me a smile. A real, genuine smile blooms across Tabitha’s face, and it might be the best thing I’ve ever seen. “Don’t tell me Mr. Big Bad Praxiian is afraid of rodents?”
I’m not, but I like the smile and the tease in her voice far too much to not continue along with this. “I would never tell you such a thing.” My nostrils flare as if I’m disgusted at the thought, though I’m secretly elated at her beautiful smile and the way she keeps looking at me not as if I’m an enemy, but a friend. “They’re just very…small and vermin-y. And they squeak. And they hide in corners.”
“As vermin do, yes. So you don’t eat them?”
“I eat meat. Noodles. And veg, if there’s nothing else. I’m civilized, thank you.” I lean in slightly and I consider it a win when she doesn’t flinch away from me. “And I have never shat in a box.”
She snorts with amusement, and I feel as if I’ve won a prize. Making Tabitha smile feels like a grand achievement and I’m so pleased, it’s taking everything I have not to just purr like an absolute fool. “So…I’d like to keep that secret between us.”
“That you’ve never shat in a box,” she reiterates, her expression solemn.
“That I do not like vermin,” I correct. Even though I’m coming across as a fool, I’m enjoying this conversation far too much to stop. I love that she’s needling me. I love that she wants to prick me with her words. “And in exchange for you keeping my deepest, darkest secret, I will happily run errands for you into Port. I can pick you up food or necessities, but I’m afraid weapons are out. Being praxiian amongst humans is enough to get me watched by the authorities already. I don’t need to make them alarmed by buying up every stun-stick from here to Haal Ui.”
She snorts with amusement again and then gives me a thoughtful look, considering. “Why are you doing this?”
“I just told you—in exchange for my secrets being kept.”
But Tabitha shakes her head, and some of the wariness returns. “No, really. Why are you doing this? Why are you coming over here and offering to do things for me?”
“Honestly?” I stroke my whiskers with my free hand, still waiting for the right moment to gift her with the smelly candle I’m now regretting purchasing. Some females are not smelly candle females, I don’t think. Chelsea might be a candle female. Tabitha is more of a “knives and garrotes” female. “It’s so I have an excuse to come by and see you. I like talking to you. We have real conversations and those seem to be in rare supply lately.”
“You live with two others,” she points out.
“Yes, and they’re madly in love and I feel like an intruder into their conversations at all times. And no human at Port wants to talk to me because I’m praxiian and an outsider. I don’t really blame them, but it still makes it difficult. You’re my only friend.”
“What, you like it when women yell at you?” Her tone is dry, but I think she secretly likes my words. There’s a warmth in her eyes that wasn’t there before.
I suspect she needs someone to talk to as much as I do. “Is it wrong that I appreciate your prickliness? It’s honest. It makes me think and stay on my toes. I know where I stand with you and I have to work to impress you. I don’t mind that. Figuring out how to make you smile feels like a puzzle.”
Her brows go up. “So I’m a game? What happens when you figure out the game? I’m no longer interesting?”
“Somehow I doubt that.” I smile at her.
But I’ve lost control of the conversation. Her expression has become closed off again and I can practically see her retreating. “I’m not sucking your dick.”
I…what?
Humans do that?
Suddenly I understand why Hrrrusek is so obsessed with Chelsea. I try to wrap my mind around that sort of thing and how it fits in with hygiene laws and teeth and, well…now I’ve got a new obsession. “I wasn’t asking for anything of the sort.”
Imagining, yes. Asking, no. At least, I’m imagining it now.
Her expression remains stony. “I’m not inviting you in for dinner, either.”
“Didn’t ask for that, either.”
“I’ll think about it.” She closes the door before I can say anything else.
I straighten, listening as she slides all the deadbolts and locks herself in again. All is quiet, and I remain standing on her porch, feeling a bit foolish as I hold a gift-wrapped candle. Did I think she would welcome me with open arms and a smile because I’d deigned to pay attention to her? My pride is a little hurt because on some level, I suppose I did. I’m used to being the flirty, personable one. The male that makes friends wherever he goes. The fact that no one on this planet seems to like me is a blow to my ego.
