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I growled low in my throat. “I will abide your wishes. No defending.”
Another beep sounded, and she took a silicone tool out of a jug filled with tools and used it to scrape the cooked meat discs off the metal plate. “There! Let me get some buns and condiments.”
“You wish to put the meat discs onto your buttocks?”
“What?!”She glared at me with wide eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I frowned. “You said you were getting buns. That means buttocks, yes?”
Amber pinched the bridge of her slender nose. “No! I mean, sometimes it does, but no. I mean bread. We put our meat discs—our burgers—on bread. Then we add stuff for flavor.”
“The meat does not have flavor?”
“Well, it does, but … Look, it’s complicated. Just try it.” She handed me a meat disc that she had placed between two pieces of bread, with some strange, brightly colored sauces and some pickled vegetable discs underneath one of the bread pieces. An orange square of something was there as well, and I took the offering with care.
“What is on it?”
“Ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, pickles, and cheese. It’s pretty basic, sorry. I have to go to the store here soon.”
The meanings of all the words took so long to process that she was halfway through her own burger before I understood it all. Nothing that would harm me, so I followed her lead and took a bite.
By the great gods of Xalan!
A moan of pleasure rumbled in my throat as I chewed the heavenly bite. An explosion of flavor erupted in my mouth, and before I knew it, I had eaten the entire burger. “More.”
Her dark eyes widened. “Jesus! You can sure put them away.” She prepared two more burgers, which I ate with gusto. When I was done, I released a mighty belch and sat on one of the tall, backless chairs around the counter in the middle of the kitchen.
“You are a good … chef.”
Laughter bubbled out of her. I liked the sound. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a chef. A decent cook maybe, but not a chef.”
I let the nanites translate the difference in my head. Both words meant one who cooks food, but one had a connotation of profession versus action. “I know both words now. I stand by what I said. You are a good chef. You prepare a good meal. Good food. You could serve this food in a dining establishment. Restaurant.”
One corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile. A grin. “Well, thanks. I appreciate it.”
A small spec of mustard clung to the corner of Amber’s mouth. I reached out and wiped it away with my thumb. “I like this look on you.”
“The mustard?” Her cheeks flushed again, and she grabbed a paper cloth to wipe her mouth with.
“No. The smile. I shall have to do more things that give you this look.”
Chapter 4
Amber
Iexcused myself to wash up after our impromptu dinner, leaving Q’on in the living room with the TV remote to entertain him.
Between the sweaty day of cleaning and the sudden lake shower he gave me, I needed arealshower, with shampoo, soap, and filtered water. I stood in the stream for what felt like forever, letting the hot water wash over me and warm my chilled bones. I’d been so distracted by Q’on’s presence in my house that I hadn’t realized how cold I was after getting drenched.
Of course, with a half-naked man hanging out in the living room, maybe a hot shower wasn’t what I needed. The longer I hung out with Q’on, the less preoccupied I was with his purple scales and the more I became aware of the bulge in his skintight pants.
What the hell was wrong with me? Not even twenty-four hours without BOB, and my hormones were in overdrive.
Remembering Q’on’s comment about my “teats,” I grabbed the bulkiest hoodie I owned and pulled it over my head before going back to the living room. There. Now I wouldn’t be tempting him with the twins. I added a simple pair of black leggings—nothing too revealing, I hoped. They were comfortable, anyway, and I didn’t own any sweatpants. A quick twist of my hair into a wet messy bun completed the look, and a glance in the mirror assured me that Q’on couldn’t possibly get the wrong idea with this getup.
I wandered back into the living room to find Q’on guffawing on the couch, watching what appeared to be some war documentary. I raised a brow and sat on the other end of the plush sofa, not wanting to give the wrong impression by sitting too close. “What are you watching?”
He wiped a tear from his eye as the laughing fit ended. “Your human comedies are great. This one is about a tiny man who could not sell his art, so he started a conflict that killed hundreds of thousands.”
