He dreaded going home. Not that he enjoyed working his dead-end job at the local High-Mart, but at least he could distract himself there.
The truck was lighter than normal, so Milo combed through the aisles section by section. He even had extra time to face each shelf for the morning crew. He hoped that would make them happy enough.
As he worked on the cereal aisle, one of his coworkers, a bald, older man named Frank, waddled up to him from the front end. "Hey, gonna take my break. Mind watching the front?"
Milo set down the box of Shaker Oats he'd been working on and gave Frank a polite smile. "Sure."
Watching the front was Milo's least favorite job, but during the night-shift, few customers showed up, and the ones who did were quick to get out. Milo appreciated these customers, especially as he struggled to figure out how to break up with his girlfriend.
Frank elbowed him. "Keep a lookout for UFOs! There've been sightings here recently!"
Milo took a breath through his mouth-Frank's mix of cologne and chewing tobacco breath were enough to make him gag, but Frank was nice enough. "Oh? Aren't those just drones or something?"
"Nah man! I've seen enough to know they're real! One guy said he saw a big ol' spider-looking one the other day!"
"Huh."
Frank swatted the air, grunting. "Your girlfriend must love your party pooper attitude." Frank brushed past Milo. "See you in thirty minutes." And he waddled off.
Milo sighed.
(The problem is, I don't think she does. She'd be the fifth girlfriend this year.)
***
As Milo filled the bags on the check stands, the front doors whirred open. He rolled his eyes. (Just my luck. This always happens when Frank goes to break. I swear he does it on purpose.)
Wiping his hands, Milo straightened up and turned to face the incoming customer. "Hey there, welcome to High-"
In the entrance stood a tall woman with medium, messy blue hair, her arms crossed over a low-cut top and a valley of cleavage. Her purple eyes glimmered as they scanned the empty storefront. When their gazes met, he froze, his pulse racing in his ears. (I've never seen her before...)
(So why do I feel like we've already met?)
The woman's lips parted in a sly grin as she sauntered toward Milo. The skin along the back of his shoulders tingled. (Who is she?)
He hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his pants, trying to act calm and collected. "H-how may I help you tonight?"
Her eyes scaled Milo's body like an adventurer. Milo shifted, wishing he could hide himself behind a shelf or something. (What should I do?)
As the woman drew within mere feet of him, Milo's right arm tensed, the muscles in his forearm and bicep cramping so hard he hissed. (The hell?)
The blue-haired woman closed the distance between them. She towered over him by at least a foot. A wave of heat washed over him as his chest hitched.
Her head cocked, a mischievous smile spread across her lips. A fragrant mix of cinnamon and apples exuded from her as she pushed up against him, her heavy breasts pressing into Milo.
A surge of pain jolted through his arm. He bit on his lip.
"This is kind of drab, isn't it?" Her eyes rolled lazily as she surveyed the store again. She bent forward without looking at him, her lips next to his ear. "Especially for Waylon~" She breathed that name-Waylon-into his ear, and he broke out into a sweat, his face turning red. Her smile turned into a sneer. "Did you miss them?" She rubbed her breasts side-to-side against Milo. "W-a-y-l-o-n~! You missed them, didn't you?"
YOU ARE READING
Right Hand of the Pirate Queen
Science FictionMilo works a dead-end night job and gets used by his girlfriend. He's a walking doormat with no future, and every day, he wonders if he should just end it. Then, one night, a powerful space pirate mistakes him for his father and punches him in the f...
