Earth Fathers Are Weird (Earth Fathers #1) - Lyn Gala Page 0,22

if he would rate a social worker the second time around. Honestly, he needed the help because he got himself in trouble when left on his own.

“I don’t blame you for this,” he told all three offspring as he rubbed his stomach, “but this situation sucks. And I can’t blame your father. He’s a pretty decent guy, and he loves the hell out of you three. He hangs over me like an umbrella every time I do anything physical.” Weirdly, a jab of jealousy stabbed him.

“I should be the adult and go talk to him.” Instead Max sat in the shaft and stared at nothing. He couldn’t gather the energy for anything else.

Chapter Eight

After an hour of staring at a computer that kept screeching for attention when Max didn’t answer translation questions, Max gave up and headed for the swimming room. Rick had been so insistent that swimming was healthy. That should have been some sort of sign, but no. Max had assumed that Rick wanted to be helpful.

Helpful like shoving his baby-making tentacle up Max’s ass. Max wasn’t particularly body-conscious, but as he stripped out of his clothes, he ran a hand over his stomach. He felt the slight bulge where Kohei was hiding. “If you hadn’t tried to do somersaults, who knows how long it would have taken me to figure this out.” Too damn long.

Max slipped into the water, shivering at the cold before swimming toward the tiny water circulation islands where the water was warmer. Max was still swimming an hour or so later when Rick slipped into the room and hovered near the door. If Max had been mature, he would’ve swam over and had an adult conversation with the tentacle monster who had knocked him up. He would. However, he felt like sulking.

Rick slid forward, strangely graceful on his single central leg. At the edge of the pool, he stopped, and one tentacle spasmed. “Query,” Rick said, and then the translator failed, emitting a series of whale songs and whistles that Max would not have even recognized as a language before leaving Earth.

They needed to have this conversation, whether Max wanted it or not. At least Rick was polite enough to keep a distance. Max caught the edge of one of the islands and propped his elbows on it so he could watch Rick. “Translation matrix fail.”

“Query....” For a second time the translator failed.

Max had to take control of the conversation or Rick might break his translator with all the untranslatable phrases. Max assumed the big dork was trying to talk about feelings. And normally Max was in favor of that. He avoided embracing the stereotype of repressed military man who killed himself by drinking his emotions. He’d seen friends do that after leaving combat.

But right now Max couldn’t handle getting in touch with his emotions, in part because he didn't know what he was feeling. Maybe women imagined themselves pregnant—he’d never asked. But he hadn’t. He’d had fantasies about winning the lottery, and nightmares about getting shot down behind enemy lines and surviving long enough to get captured. He’d mentally rehearsed pickup lines and wondered what it would feel like if his little brother died. That last one was sort of shitty, but in his defense, Pete was a pain in his ass. Generally, these sorts of morbid thoughts led to some intense discomfort, followed by immense gratitude that he didn't have to deal with them.

He’d even developed elaborate murder plots for his ex-boyfriend—he-who-shall-not-be-named. The little troll deserved a good killing, but Max valued his freedom too much, and maybe there was a little nagging thought of the immorality of murder holding him back as well. Just a little one.

However, he had never indulged in a pregnancy fantasy—not in a dream or a nightmare. Not unless he counted the nightmares after watching Alien for the first time, but Max hoped that didn’t count. Rick seemed confident that being a surrogate wouldn’t harm Max, and the social worker would have stopped him from signing up for a suicide job. Hopefully. Shit. Now Max’s imagination was circling an unhappy place.

“Query. Will being the surrogate harm my health?” Max asked.

Rick's tentacles quivered and then drew up. “Provide discomfort.... Stretching of skin... and muscles. Well within tolerances.” A few descriptions in the middle failed to make it through the translator, but Max got the general idea. Being pregnant wouldn’t kill him. Max was surprised the kids were able to survive because intestines seemed like an inhospitable place