Alien Captain's Bride - Scarlett Grove Page 0,1

condo in Florida.

I thought my fashion sense was ironic at the time. After a while, it became a bad habit I couldn’t break. I have a Peter Pan collar monstrosity in pink gingham sitting on my cutting table at home. While my style was out of fashion forty years ago, in reality, I’m not much older than the students at the college where I work.

At twenty-seven years old, I have a master’s degree in library science. I’m the assistant librarian at one of the most prestigious colleges in the state. Yet, despite all my accomplishments, Ashton's betrayal cuts like a knife, bleeding out all my self-confidence until there's nothing left. Maybe I should have gotten a makeover and lost the ten pounds like he suggested last Christmas.

We met three years ago while we were both finishing our master’s, me in library science and him in business. Our worlds couldn’t be further apart.

He believes he’s God's gift to women because he’s working in an upscale firm as an investment broker, quickly climbing the ranks and earning fat commissions.

While I’m here, slowly turning into one of the cardigan-wearing old ladies who shush students for talking too loudly.

The truth is, I love the library. I love everything about it. The stacks of books, the world of knowledge they hold between their covers.

Sometimes when I’m shelving books, I dream of jumping inside the pages and living other lives. I run my fingers across the spines, imagining I can instantly download all the knowledge of humanity directly into my brain.

Even if my job doesn’t pay as well as Ashton's or have the kind of prestige that accompanies Wall Street–level wealth, I wouldn't trade it for the world.

I tear myself from my ruminations as the front door swings open. Bobby McKenzie, the teenage custodian, shuffles into the library. The tan jumpsuit she wears is baggy on her rail-thin frame, even with her impressive height. The bangs of her brown pompadour haircut hang over one hazel eye. She gives me a rough glare, and I nod at her. She hurries to the custodial closet without returning my smile and pulls out her maintenance trolley. She then starts down the aisles to begin the nightly process of emptying the trash cans and mopping the floors.

The library closes in thirty minutes. After that, I’ll finish the admin and go home to an empty apartment.

Bethany Mills, the school nurse, bustles through the door and smiles warmly at me. Bethany is wearing a white dress with a red cross on the chest pocket. Her white-blond hair is up in a 1940s-style French twist. She’s really pulling off the retro nurse look.

Bethany is one of those girls that looks great with generous curves. Unlike me. If I gain an extra ounce, I just look frumpy. I wouldn't be caught dead in a skirt that short, especially with my pale, freckly skin and chubby thighs. While my shade of pale is all speckled and blotchy, Bethany’s looks like cream. I’d be totally jealous if we weren’t such good friends.

Bethany leans over the counter, revealing the rise of her bosom under the low neckline of her dress. Her red lips curve in a sly smile.

"Do you have it?" she asks.

"Yes. I saved you a copy."

“Have you finished it yet?"

"No. Madeline Weber reminded me that Mrs. Henderson would probably fire me if she caught me reading it.”

We share a laugh. Mrs. Henderson is the prototypical crabby old librarian, from the black horned-rim glasses to the frumpy cardigans, thick, ugly shoes, and harsh demands of silence. She also detests what she calls lowbrow fiction, considering anyone who reads it to be of minimal intelligence and lacking class.

I pull an extra copy of Alien Commander’s Bride from my purse and hand it to Bethany.

She smiles with glee as her fingers slide over the bare-chested man on the cover. "What do you think so far?"

"It's one of the hottest books in the series."

Bethany lets out an excited squeal, which earns a shush from Mrs. Henderson. The head librarian emerges from the library offices and hurries toward us. Her thick shoes squeak and squish with each step. As she draws near, her eyes scan the cover of Bethany's novel. They widen comically, and her wrinkly mouth tightens.

Mrs. Henderson shakes her head and grabs the library microphone. "The library closes in fifteen minutes," she announces over the loudspeaker.

"I'd better go," Bethany says.

The sound of shattering glass cuts through her words. The large windows that look out onto the dark quad