The Alien's Little Sister (Stolen by an Alien #8) - Amanda Milo Page 0,15

exhale a breath. “Wow.”

The surprisingly heavy length of her scale-covered blue limb scrunches like it’s a little embarrassed and starts to draw itself off of me.

“Wait,” I say, catching it with as delicate a grip as I can manage, because my fingers are grimy and I don’t want to make her dirtier than she already is. “This is handy,” I tell her, because it is, and because I feel bad that I inadvertently made her self-conscious. “Thanks. We’re going to use this again in a second.”

She gives me a glance that tells me she’s unsure if I’m being sincere or not.

“Oh, you can believe I’m going to put something as flexible and articulate as this to work,” I promise her, giving her tail a flick. “Watch.”

To refill the pumpkin, each bottle of diff fluid has to be fitted with tubing that gets fed into the fill hole. The diff bottle has to be held aloft, upside down, waiting for each one to drain. It takes a while. A long while. And this needs to be done two and a half times.

Let me tell you. That’s a rotator cuff injury just waiting to happen.

You could also get a hand pump to simplify this process, but I never friggin’ remember to pick one up. Therefore, my shoulder hates me whenever I do this job.

Tonight, I catch Inara by the end of her tail, mindful of the bladed, sharp silvery parts that I find sprouting from the end of it—some kind of alien defense system, clearly—and I wrap her limb around the first quart. “Hold this riiight here,” I instruct, positioning her tail as high up in the frame as she can tug the end of the bottle.

She gives me a funny look, but keeps a grip on the quart, and soon, she’s baring her teeth in a grin of comprehension. “Ugh, my tail will have quite the workout by the time we finish.”

“Yes, it will,” I agree. “But your sacrifice is appreciated.”

She snorts, and the sound makes me smirk.

I glance at her hands, regretting that she’s covered in the gear oil as badly as I am. Usually, you wear gloves for a job this dirty, and not just because it’s dirty, but because of the funk-awful smell. Unfortunately, gloves are not an option for Inara with her clawtips wickedly capping each finger, and you never leave a man behind, so I didn’t put them on either. It’ll be GOJO hand baths for both of us. Pumice bits and citrus, mmm.

“Thank you for including me,” Inara says, prompting me to glance over at her.

She’s tied her dreads back into a knot behind her head, which must be super uncomfortable for her to rest her head on, but she hasn’t complained once. She’s got a little grease smeared on her cheek, so I reach out and rub it away. “I’ve gotta thank you. I haven’t worked side by side with anyone since my grandad passed away. This—” My voice cracks a little, my throat having gone tight with a little more emotion than I was prepared for. I have to stop to clear my throat. “This was kind of like old times.”

It was neat to have someone genuinely interested in the process. Not being alone to do the job was nice. I always miss my dad and grandad when I work on this car. I didn’t know that having someone at my side, showing interest, would matter so much.

I shift on my creeper, and somehow, I catch a whiff of Inara. My nostrils should be burned out for at least a day after this job, but being under a car with Inara is apparently enough to override my olfactory system’s natural defenses, because I can still smell her pretty perfume, somehow.

Beside her working under the Boss like this, I’m altogether more aware of her than before. There’s probably something off about me that I find this alien even more attractive when she’s hanging out below four thousand pounds of vintage chrome and steel and smelling like rotten gear oil, but good God I do.

But for real… her attractiveness level’s climb aside, it was really nice to do this with someone.

“Matt?” she says softly, prompting me to realize that I’m staring at her.

“Hmm?”

She doesn’t look away. “I’m ready for fresh fluid.”

I swallow, thinking there are some things that sound super dirty under the right—or wrong—circumstances, and a pretty woman lying on her back announcing that she’s ready for fresh fluid just got added to my