Engaged to an Alien Pop Star

By Kendra L. Saunders

Blurb:
Daisy Kirkwood and her best friend Kammie have adjusted to life on an alien planet pretty well, all things considered. And thanks to Daisy's alien pop star boyfriend, Griffin Valentino, she has plenty of sexy new experiences to keep her busy. But it's not possible to take a massive music nerd away from her home planet and not expect her to pine for a concert or a record store at least in once in a while.
Heading back to Earth with Griffin and his best friend Dev for a brief but much-needed visit, the girls want nothing more than to catch up on the underground music scene of New York City. Unfortunately, thanks to Griffin's less-than-stellar space traveling skills, they accidentally pick up a hitchhiker. Or three hundred. Their many-legged stowaway beasties take up residence in the darkest, creepiest corners of Manhattan, leaving the gang no choice but to experience a very different underground than they bargained for.
Giant alien bugs aside, Griffin has some epic plans of his own for their trip, plans that involve a concert, an album... and the most outrageous marriage proposal that Earth has ever seen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: CTP Publishing
• Release date: Nov 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781634222303

Kendra L. Saunders

Kendra L. Saunders is a time-and-space traveling fashionista author who writes books about magical, dark-haired men, interviews famous people, and suggests way too many bands to you via whatever social media platform she can get her hands on. She writes with good humor because humor is the best weapon for a girl who can't learn karate or ballroom dancing.

Book preview

Chapter One

My boyfriend is levitating four inches above our bed, with a cloud of gold sparks floating around his head like a crown. This makes for a pretty normal morning, even with the soft snuffling and clicking noises he makes as he sleeps. And the crown is appropriate, since my boyfriend is an alien prince.

The alien prince in question, Griffin, floats back down to our bed with a yawn, stretching as he hits the blankets. He squirms around until he can slip under the blankets and wriggle closer to me. Despite sleeping uncovered, he’s toasty and warm, a sign of restorative sleep in his people. I return his embrace a bit too eagerly, my hands slipping under his nightshirt and causing him to gasp out loud. "Gods! Daisy, your hands are cold."

They’re not cold. They’re room temperature. But you feel nice and warm, so hold still.

Griffin wriggles a bit more in feigned protest, but we soon settle into a comfortable position, arms and legs entwined.

Are you excited to go back home? Griffin asks, his voice husky with sleep as he leans up to nip at my earlobe with sharp teeth. His glowing blue eyes peer at me from under heavy lids and dark lashes, lashes that are unfairly longer than my own.

If you keep biting my ear or looking at me like that, I’m not going to be able to go back to sleep. And yes. I’m very excited to go back to Earth.

Well then, don’t go back to sleep, Griffin says, running a hand over his recently shorn dark hair. It’s always amazing to me how he can go from sleepy animal cute to dangerously sexy alien rock star in the span of seconds, depending on what he’s doing or saying. That kind of magical ability can get an Earth girl in trouble. I have much better ideas for what we can do this morning, Wanda…

Wanda is his pet name for me, a word in his language that means, Love without end. Griffin knows very well what he does to me when he calls me that.

Do these plans involve you miraculously making chocolate appear? I miss chocolate, I say, in a teasing tone. When we go back to Earth, I’m going to stock up on junk food. There’s only so much healthy gray goop a girl can eat before she starts to feel like a very deprived post-divorce Gwyneth Paltrow.

Chocolate? Don’t be daft, Daisy, I was referring to sex.

How disappointing. I guess you’re going to have to work extra hard to distract me from thinking about chocolate…

In response, Griffin wriggles closer and kisses me. In relation to kissing, there are two things to understand about Kalesstrians. One, they vibrate when they’re happy. Two, they’re happiest when romance of any type is on the menu.

As our lazy, early morning kiss continues, one of Griffin’s hands valiantly journeys down my back and lands with a possessive squeeze on my bum. I bite his shoulder in response, and he trills, grinding against me. Yes. This is a nice way to begin the day after all…

Just as I’m getting into it, though, Griffin gasps, sits straight up, and leaps out of bed. His bare feet hit the stone floor with a quiet thud, and he hobbles across the room grumbling about how cold the floor is.

Griffin, I thought you were going to distract me from thinking about chocolate.

"No, no, no. The meeting! The meeting! Griffin yanks a drawer out from his dresser with such force that he almost knocks over the collection of belongings from home that I keep atop it. A framed picture of my parents is in particular danger of toppling and ending in a shattered death on the stone floor below. Sorry, sorry," Griffin says, maybe to me, or maybe to my endangered possessions.

Griffin might be a member of a royal family, but he doesn’t have an opulent room. There are no crystal chandeliers or plush red carpets, no overstuffed golden pillows on massive couches, and no exotic caged birds or taxidermy animals. In fact, when I first moved into his room with him, the décor was depressing. Together, over the four months I’ve lived here, we’ve managed to make it a homey place, even if nothing fancy.

I’ve hung a few of my favorite record covers on the walls, and gathered some cool Kalesstrian rocks of different colors and stacked them on a corner of Griffin’s desk. My teddy bear, Jagger, sits atop the dresser, along with a framed photo of my parents, a bottle of smoothing cream for my very curly hair, a can of rapidly dwindling hair spray, and a few of my favorite books. Griffin picked up most of those things for me on stealthy, secret trips back to Earth, and I’m continually grateful for them.

After all, lots of boyfriends make runs to the corner store for their girlfriend when she’s feeling sad or desperately needs something silly. But not every boyfriend travels across the universe through a dimension door to do it.

Griffin has contributed to our room’s décor by leaving his clothes from Earth strewn across the floor, and placing a dozen cheap New York City knickknacks around the room. His favorite is a tiny plastic taxi, which he promoted to VIP status by placing it on his desk. He occasionally plays with it when he thinks I’m not listening, sending it on imaginary adventures through space and time, like a yellow-checkered TARDIS.

He’s also stuck a paparazzi picture of George Clooney sipping coffee to the wall, because ‘he’s a cool bloke. Look at him! He’s cool.’

Where’s my shirt? Griffin exclaims. As he sorts around frantically through the drawer, the dresser sways again, this time sending the hairspray can in a one-way flight to the ground. Just before it hits the floor, though, it stops and hangs in midair. Griffin waves a distracted hand around, and the hairspray can floats upward until he can pluck it out of the air and set it back in its place.

That’s another thing about Griffin’s people. They dabble in telekinesis, sometimes without even noticing.

What… meeting? I finally ask when he doesn’t elaborate further.

I was supposed to sit in on a meeting this morning, before we go back to Earth. He grabs a pair of trousers and hops around to pull them on, all the while muttering to himself about sleeping too late.

A meeting with your dad?

Yes, yes. Oh no. I hope I didn’t miss too much… He yanks his nightshirt over his head and leaves it on the floor, pulling a black shirt on in its place. After that, he hunts for his shoes.

How long do you think the meeting will be? I ask, sliding off the bed and plucking up Griffin’s wayward shoes. He’d kicked them off last night with the careless ease of someone who is used to having a maid clean up after him. I’m still confused where he gets that instinct, though, considering I’ve never seen a maid in his room. Here, Griff. I have your shoes.

He rushes over to me, leaning in for a quick kiss before wrangling his shoes on. I have to go. I don’t know how much I’ve missed.

Since moving here, I’ve kept out of the way as much as possible. After all, I’m a human on an alien planet, and I know better than to stick my nose into places it doesn’t belong. But sometimes, especially when I see Griffin rushing around to his duties, or trying to heal someone, I remember all too well that I’m only a visitor here. I don’t have a job on Kalesstria, and no one besides Griffin asks my opinion on anything. It feels like I’m waiting forever for something, and I don’t even know what it is. Wait, let me walk with you, I say, grabbing my own shoes. I need breakfast anyway. I’m starving.

In the last two weeks, Griffin has made an effort to take part in every meeting his father attends. It’s been a long road to get him to this point, thanks to years of a bad relationship with his father, a lot of political craziness, and some poor choices in Griffin’s past… but he’s trying. The guy who once got drunk on Kalesstrian mood enhancer and spray-painted an offensive slang term about his own father on the side of a government building is now trying to take responsibility and learn how to help his people. I’m so proud of him.

But most of the meetings seem to fall at weird times, like early in the morning. Grossly, unreasonably early in the morning.

Once I’ve got my own shoes on, I chase after Griffin. His pace is nervous and his gait jerky, a forward-moving flash of anxious energy, and I have to rush to keep up with him. Should have got up earlier, he mutters, without looking at me. Shouldn’t have slept so late.

The royal home is massive, but I’ve spent enough time in it now that I’m starting to learn all the shortcuts and the best paths from one side to the other. Even without Griffin’s hyper-speed lead, I could probably have reached the kitchens relatively quickly. As it is, though, we’re at the entrance of the Conference Room in no time, and Griffin spins to give me one more quick kiss.

As soon as I’m done with this, we can pack and head to Earth, he promises.

Sure, sure. Yeah. Enjoy your meeting.

Is that what you’re supposed to tell your alien boyfriend before he attends a teleconference between diplomats from planets across the universe? Should I salute him? Should I give him the Vulcan live long and prosper gesture?

Griffin offers me a jerky nod in response, apparently not concerned about my method of sending him off. He stands up to his full height—which is only about three inches taller than I am. Unnecessarily straightening his handsome, well-fitted black uniform jacket again, he pats at his hair and purses his lips. Going in now, he says, and then turns to open the door.

It swings open, nearly hitting him in the face. A flood of grim Kalesstrian officials stream out. Two of them bump into him as they walk by, without apology. Most of them are gray-haired and wrinkled, and all of them wear beige uniforms marked only by small red insignia on one shoulder. I smile at one of the female officials, but she ignores me and continues on as if a giant magnet is pulling her away.

At the end of the stream, Griffin’s father makes his appearance. He’s not hurried like the others, and he wears an assortment of sharp pins and patches on his crisp black uniform. He also stands much taller than everyone else around him, including Griffin. Kalesstrians are generally a bit shorter than humans, but Emperor President Anterys Tamanoc stands tall and prominent in a crowd. In caveman days on Earth, they would have chosen him as leader based solely on his height. Here on Kalesstria, he’s leader because he has the ability to make people want to crawl into a hole and die just from meeting his gaze.

Suddenly, I’m painfully aware of the fact that I’m still wearing wrinkled nightclothes, and my hair is half tied up in an explosion of tangled, dark blonde spiral curls. Taking into consideration how tired I am, and how little makeup I have on hand in Kalesstria, I probably look like the half-dissolved villain in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

Griffin… Anterys says this in the exact way people greet really persistent debt collectors. He types something on the large tablet he’s holding, and then switches the screen off. Only then does he actually look at us. You missed the meeting.

I’m sorry! I woke up late and—

Anterys drags his steely, blue-eyed gaze over Griffin, from black boots to messy hair, and then gives a curt nod. I see that.

D’you… can I… can you, er, debrief me on the meeting?

At this, Anterys presses his lips into a thin line and looks Griffin over again. Somehow, his gaze feels even heavier and more judgmental. I needed you at this meeting, and you weren’t there.

Griffin’s shoulders slump. I’m sorry.

Anterys offers a subtle shrug and tucks his tablet under one arm. With a cool glance and nod in my direction, he sweeps away, leaving us alone in silence. Did he really just admit he needed Griffin for something? I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say something like that, not when it’s already hard enough for him to admit to even liking his son.

I’ve never been particularly well known for handling stressful or embarrassing situations with grace. In fact, most of my life has been a desperate attempt to run away from them with the stamina and speed of an Olympic runner. My method for comforting others in times of embarrassment is usually along those same lines… run away fast.

Still, in the four months I’ve lived with Griffin, I’ve come to adore and cherish him immensely. As a highly empathetic being with healing sensitivities, Griffin is usually great at knowing how to make others feel better when they’re upset. Surely, I can find it in myself to extend the same comfort to him, right?

It’s okay, Griff, I say, reaching out to pat his arm. It’ll be okay. There. That’s comforting, right? Well, maybe I can do better. When we get back to Earth, we can have all the delicious junk food we want. Pizza. Soda. Chips. We can get pasta… We can have wine…

Little gray sparks light around Griffin’s head and fall slowly, like ash, disappearing before they can reach his shoulders. Kalesstrians emit sparks that reflect their mood, and Griffin’s mood is turning dark rapidly.

Hey, hey. I pull him into a hug and reach up to pat his soft hair. He lets out a little puff of air in response, remaining stiff in my arms.

Now I’ve gone and made a tit of myself in front of him, he says, pulling a face. He already doesn’t bloody well trust me for so much as looking after waste recycling, or recording simple greetings for visitors from other planets, never mind something important, like a big meeting.

I lean forward and press a kiss to one of his impressively high cheekbones, and then one quick kiss against his mouth. When we come back from our visit to Earth, you should try sitting down with him and talking about the schedules for the meetings. You know, so you don’t miss another one.

Griffin lowers his voice to a grumble. He probably won’t even let me attend any in the future. He pulls back from me, nervously picking at the collar of his black shirt. He looks great in his uniform, but I know very well how much he hates wearing it. It’s too boring, too tame for his strangely outlandish taste.

All at once, I know exactly what to say to cheer him up again.

You know, Griff, we should hurry up and eat breakfast, so we can get going. We’ve been gone long enough from Earth that there will be all kinds of new designer clothes in stores, and only so much time to see everything…

At that, Griffin’s eyes light up. He grabs my hand, and we run off together to get ready.

Chapter Two

While Griffin changes for the trip to Earth, I finish packing. My best friend, Kammie, who tagged along with me to Kalesstria, drops by with her bags and offers to help me pack.

The whole helping pack turns out to be a ruse. Kammie is five-foot-ten inches of pure, unadulterated melodrama where boys and bands are concerned. I’m five-foot-four inches of silent, internal struggle where boys and bands are concerned, which makes us perfect best friend material. Kammie’s also a humorous, never-ending source of conspiracy theories and extremely personal stories I never needed to hear.

As she sits on my bed and watches me work, she manages to combine all of her favorite subjects into one by telling me about what Griffin’s best friend Dev did to her last night, while they listened to Pink Floyd together.

What I’m saying is… She pauses for dramatic effect. I believe I had an out-of-body experience.

You had relations with an alien, Kammie. And if Dev’s anything like Griffin, there’s so much other weird stuff going on that an out-of-body experience would likely be too tame to notice.

Even after a few months together, I still feel startled every time Griffin floats off the bed in his sleep. He’s told me many times that he’s actually quite comfortable and safe when he’s levitating three inches off the bed, but it’s hard to contain the urge to pull him back down.

And that’s to say nothing for the clicking, trilling, and growling noises he makes. Or the vibrating thing.

Hmmm. Perhaps you’re right. But Dev and I frequently have sex several times a day, so I believe I’ve noticed everything about him by now. Lovely little man.

I don’t think I’ll ever learn everything there is to know about Griffin. I push aside my bag and flop on the bed beside my best friend. Just when I think he can’t get any weirder, he does.

Aliens. Kammie clicks her tongue. What did we expect when we traveled across the universe with aliens?

At this, we both laugh. The irony is not lost on me that Kammie was the one who read the most books about aliens over the years, but I was the one who made first contact. I’ve reminded her of this fact plenty of times, trust me.

"Just when I think he can’t get any better, though, he manages to do that too," I say, and Kammie elbows me.

You’re a sap, Daisy.

We sit a little longer in silence, and then I let out a playful groan and return to my bag. I still need to choose some shoes that are suitable for walking in the city.

I miss New York, Kammie