My Crazy Hot Interstellar Affair

32. Warning! Never Ignore Your Nipples

Andie laid beside Oliver, face-to-face, their bodies flush, nestled perfectly—like gummy bears melting together, fused, the lines blurred. His right arm wrapped around her body, his hand pressed possessively into the small of her back.

He is alive. He is alive. He is alive. At this moment, Andie didn't care about drones, evil mothers-in-law, awful assistants, valiant spaceships, her best friend, hunger, or annoying inner voices. Only that Oliver existed—his breath hot and spicy, stirring her hair.

"I heard that," Bad Andie said. Andie ignored her to the extent it was possible to ignore such a relentless pest.

Andie sniffled. At this point, she'd shed all the tears her body could produce. Lifting her head, she peered at Oliver through her lashes, covertly studying his condition. No need to alarm him.

Despite a blue sheen in his eyes, his face appeared rather gray, and tiny beads of sweat clung to his forehead. Being wholly unschooled in alien physiology, Andie could not exactly diagnose what kind of shape he was in, other than to conclude he did not look right. Where was a medical tricorder when you needed one? She moved a few inches further away to get a better look at the rest of him.

"No," he rasped. "Come back."

"I promise I will as soon as I've determined you don't need any weird alien first aid."

He managed a weak grin. "Are you a physician?"

"No, but I've been to doctors. Human ones. I mean, obviously human ones. But even if I was a doctor, your spleen is probably somewhere in your thigh, and your hypothalamus could be in your ear canal or big toe." Andie exhaled in frustration. "I honestly know nothing about your physiology."

He pressed his groin into hers, and two things became apparent: 1. Oliver was feeling better, and 2. She knew something about his physiology.

"How did I ...?" He glanced down at what was left of the hole in his spacesuit.

"I'm not sure. But I think it had something to do with my all-new blue lightning superpowers."

"You saved my life."

"I believe I did. But I would sure like to know why I caught these powers from you. Like some sexually transmitted disease." Andie gulped. Could it be ...? A fleeting thought passed through Andie's mind. So shocking she could not even entertain it.

Oliver's head jerked upward. He scanned the sky, eyes widening.

"What's wrong?" Andie said.

"Drones," Oliver whispered. "They're about a mile away. They must be searching the beach."

"Do you mean one of those ten-foot tall metallic jellyfish thingies?" Aside from the slapping of the waves against the beach and the occasional shriek from one of those screeching birds, the beach was quiet. Somehow, these birds seemed at odds with the whole celebrity paradise idea. Paradise should have Vivaldi or a nice delicate lark song or perhaps the industrious hum of a ten key, but gulls? "I hear nothing."

"Keep your voice down. Drones have excellent audio recognition. You've seen one?"

Andie nodded. "But last I saw, it was trapped in the door of The Big Guns, heading into outer space."

"It must have been a scout. How long was I out?" He coughed and then winced. "There is not much time. We need to take cover while I finish regenerating."

"Where?" Oliver nodded past her shoulder. She turned. About fifty yards up the beach, a tiny thatched cabana stood nestled between two gangly trees. Kind of like palms, but with feathery blood-red fronds. "Can you walk?"