Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
I need to pee, but I won’t risk leaving my stool. For one thing, I don’t want to lose my seat. For another thing, I’m so damn short that it was a challenge getting up here. I’m sure it was far from graceful. Getting down will be even worse.
My heart is racing as I look around the room. It’s growing more crowded the later it gets. Many of the women in here are drunk. They keep spilling drinks on each other and the floor. The bartender sometimes comes out to mop a new spill so it won’t be slippery, but his work is futile. It just happens again. I can’t imagine how sticky it is. Gross.
No one is paying any attention to me, which is nice. The women are mostly in packs. I don’t think anyone besides me dared come into this club alone. Who would do that?
I’ve also learned that the primary color people wear to clubs is black. Some have on silver or gold accents. A few have other bold colors. No one is wearing pastel pink.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket. I glance at it to make sure it’s not Kate or Mary. They have checked in several times, too. They seem relieved every time I answer. I’m sure as the night wears on, the chances of me being selected wane.
Three Eleadian men have made appearances. They really are as tall and broad as the rumors suggest. What’s odd isn’t just their height. All of them are over seven feet tall. I’ve seen the occasional tall man in my life. The difference is these men are proportionately larger all over. It’s like they’re giants and the rest of us are tiny.
Every time one of them steps onto the dance floor, my breath hitches. Partly from wondering if each new arrival might select me, and partly because they are so incredibly daunting.
I’ve stopped wondering if I’ll be chosen. Of course not. I must look ridiculous to these sophisticated men in suits. I’m childlike. In this dress, it’s obvious I don’t even have voluptuous boobs.
A door opens across the room, and another Eleadian man enters. He has blond hair and tanned skin. His hair isn’t as blond as mine, but it’s lighter than any other man’s I’ve seen so far. And none of them have been as pale-skinned as me.
I take another sip of my drink before deciding to fish out the cherry. It’s my favorite part. I’m not leaving it in the bottom of the glass. I’m in the middle of trying to stab it with my straw when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Stopping my endeavor, I slowly lift my head. I don’t turn to look in either direction, though. I’m afraid to. The air in the room has shifted. Something has changed.
I sit taller, spine rigid. My toes are on the rung of the stool, and I press down to ground myself.
The bartender looks at me and then lifts his gaze above me, over my head. He glances back at me and then up again before he smirks.
Shit.
My heart races. Goosebumps rise on my skin. Is one of the Eleadians behind me?
I don’t care if I’m chosen. I don’t care what happens to me. I’ve come here with the hope that I’ll be selected and whisked away from my stupid life.
Maybe I’m out of my head for wishing such a thing. After all, I don’t have a single clue what sort of existence I’d be trading my current one for. These Eleadians could be plucking human women off this planet so they can experiment on us or breed us or even eat us. No one knows what happens after a woman disappears.
I feel the heat behind me a second before warm palms land on my bare shoulders.
My breath hitches. A strange calm settles over me.
The enormous palms slide down my arms until they reach my hands.
My gaze is fixed on the size of this man’s fingers as he gently takes the glass and straw out of my hands. He sets both items out of my reach before clasping both of my hands in one of his and holding them hostage against the bar.
I stare at our connection, fixated, mostly on the fact that his skin is very dark. It appears even darker in contrast to my own nearly white skin.
The man crowds me from behind, his abs against my back, his chest firm against my head.
He points toward the dish of cherries on the other side of the bar. “Roger, could you put a few of those in a dish for me?” His voice is deep and smooth. It seems to reach into me and claim me.
The bartender nods and quickly scoops out four cherries. He sets them on a small plate and slides it in front of us.