Taken by the Alien Next Door (Aliens Among Us #1) - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,8
seemed unable to meet his gaze. Her face was bright red. “Sorry doesn’t seem good enough, but…that’s all I can do. I am so sorry.”
Zevris released a slow breath and glanced down at his soaked boot. It had served him well through rainy Oregon weather, but apparently its water resistance was easily overcome by animals that didn’t know how to keep their tongues in their mouths.
And damn those beasts for making that…cute.
“It’s…fine,” he said, tensing the muscles in his leg to keep himself from shifting his foot. He knew that it would feel infinitely worse once he moved it.
“No, it’s not. It’s horrible. Oh my gosh, I’m mortified.” She pressed a hand to her face, covering her eyes. “I’ll pay for those, too. It…it was nice meeting you. I’m sure you can’t say the same to me, and I totally understand that. So I’ll just… Goodbye.”
Zevris was more stunned watching her hurry back to her home—muttering to the dog in admonishment the whole way—than he’d been by Dexter’s actions. If there were a right thing to have said in that situation, he could not have guessed it on his own, and his mind didn’t produce any options until she was already in her own driveway.
It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it, Tabitha.
It’s worth it just to have met you.
I’ll forget the boots if you have dinner with me.
Don’t go.
And then she was out of sight, having rushed into her garage with Dexter in tow.
The two movers had halted on the truck ramp with a long dining table between them to stare at Zevris, smirking.
“Tough break there, buddy,” said Frank.
“That sucks,” said the other.
Zevris’s brows slanted down, and another growl brewed in his chest. “You will see a tough break if you don’t take care of my fucking mailbox, buddy.”
“I dunno. Might forget about it,” Frank said. “Not even a dent on our truck, so how would you prove anything?”
Zevris glared at the man, who maintained his smirk. Frank’s expression said, What will you do about it?
There were no conscious thoughts in Zevris’s mind when he took his first step toward the movers. His foot came down on the driveway, his boot made a squelching sound, and he felt moisture gush from the insole and bubble around his foot and toes.
He did not let that stop him.
The movers set down their table, the driver giving Frank a questioning look.
“So what, you hit the gym a few times a week and think you’re a tough guy?” asked Frank.
Zevris halted at the back end of the truck. He curled his hands into fists, felt his claws digging into his palms, and his muscles tensed. The mailbox tucked under his arm groaned slightly as he inadvertently crushed it a little more. He knew he should have stopped himself well before this point—and knew, also, that he could not stop.
He turned and kicked the truck’s rear bumper.
With his soiled boot.
The metal bumper clanged and groaned, bending beneath the force of the blow, and the impact that jolted up Zevris’s leg was oddly satisfying—satisfying enough for him to pull back before he could put his full force into it. When Zevris lowered his foot, there was a boot-sized dent on the moving truck’s bumper.
Zevris settled his gaze on the stunned movers. “Looks like you have quite a dent to me, buddy. You ought to get that taken care of. I am sure your insurance will cover it—along with the mailbox you destroyed when you got it.”
He turned and walked back to his house without a backward glance, gritting his teeth and refusing to let the squelching of his boot affect his gait.
There was no telling whether this was the worst day he’d had on Earth or the best, but either way…it was the most memorable.
“Tabitha,” he said to himself as he tugged his boot off at the front door.
He smiled despite everything.
Three
Tabitha gritted her teeth and grunted as she heaved the big, heavy box—clearly marked KITCHEN—onto the kitchen counter, having just hauled it in from the living room. It clanged loudly, and she winced at the sound.
“Stupid moving company. I am soooo going to one-star their asses,” she muttered as she folded her arms over the top of the box to take a breather. Her face was flushed, and she was sore, exhausted, hungry, hot, and sticky with sweat. The underside of her bra was soaked, uncomfortably rubbing against her skin.
Because under-boob chafing was the perfect way to end a day of hard work.