My Crazy Hot Interstellar Affair

19. Woman Makes Bad Impression on Boyfriend's Bloodthirsty Parents

Oliver moaned, which made her feel sexy and powerful. Suddenly, he shifted beneath her, and before she knew it, his mouth plastered on to her, um, aching lady parts.

"Prude."

Andie barely took notice of Bad Andie's reproach, busy as she was.

A moment before Andie was sure they were both going to have, um ... blast-offs ... for the record books, the room filled with gray smoke. A flash of silver light sliced through the room, followed by two explosions. Andie's heart pounded into her throat.

In a flash, the lovers parted and Oliver pulled the blanket off the bed and covered the two of them. "Mom, Dad, I thought I asked you not to smoke in my house."

Mom? Dad? What the hell? His parents just materialized in the middle of their son's bedroom. More than anything, Andie wished she could Wormhole the heck out of this room right this second. OH! MY! GOD! Her hot alien lover's parents were in the room and she was naked and so was he and ... OH! MY! GOD! HIS PARENTS!

Both Cyra and her husband wore silver bodysuits, which left little to the imagination. A platinum sapphire-encrusted circlet perched on Cyra's regal head. Oliver's father, Emerson Lieder, Andie remembered his name from the inlaid floor in The Star Enquirer lobby, looked very different from his wife, Cyra, the alien ice-queen ski-bunny. He did not have Cyra's vampire-white skin, for example. Also, his eyes were blue, but more like Oliver's warm ones than Cyra's glacier-like portals to perdition. A plethora of badges and insignia ran all the way up the right leg of his spacesuit. Captain stuff most likely. Like his wife, he looked to be about thirty-five.

Oliver clasped her hand beneath the duvet and squeezed. This did little to stop the flow of adrenaline surging through her veins. But at least the squeeze meant they were a team. And that Oliver would protect her, she was pretty sure. Because his mother looked like she'd like to fry Andie with a ray gun and ask questions later.

Andie eyed the Christmas tree in the corner, wondering if it would survive the encounter. Then she wondered why she was worried about a Christmas tree when she should be wondering about survival. If Andie didn't die from massive molecular redistribution, she might die of utter mortification. Which she was pretty sure was physically possible.

Cyra jabbed her hands into her slim hips. "What is going on here, Oliver? Are you trying to destroy this family?" she roared.

"Hello, Son." Emerson looked everywhere in the room except at the other three occupants. He shifted back and forth in his silver moon boots. Geesh, these aliens needed a better wardrobe department. They looked like refugees from fifties B-sci-fi movies.

"I do not think I have to explain what is going on, Mother. You know full well."

"That I do. My question is: WHY?"

"I will not discuss this with you. Please go."

Cyra patted her hip as if looking for a weapon. Emerson put his hand over hers and shook his head. She rolled her eyes and yanked Emerson's arm.

"What?" he said, pulling his arm away.

Cyra gave her husband one of her evil death stares. Even Andie could tell she was trying to get her husband's backing, but Emerson didn't seem to get the idea. "Oliver. You must know this ... this ... human ... is ... beneath you," Cyra spat. Was, until you two goons showed up, Andie thought bitterly. "She is a lower life form," Cyra continued, her mouth pinched as if eating a vinegar-soaked lemon-flavored gym sock.

"I resent being called 'lower,'" Andie said.

Cyra smirked. "Well, Oliver! It seems this one has some spunk. She would have to be brave to get so close to you." Andie's fingertips sparked blue. Oliver jerked his hand out of hers in alarm and snuck a peek under the covers. He pushed Andie farther under the bedspread, and at this point, Andie knew the sparkling fingertip thing was not normal. She gulped. "Tell me, Oliver," Cyra crooned, "does she have any idea what you have done to her?