Jake

  Jake

  V. Vaughn

  Sugarloaf Press

  Copyright © 2017 by V. Vaughn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Cover by Croco Designs

  Editing by Jodi Henley and Angie Ramey

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  Contents

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Author

  About This Book

  Hannah Sullivan takes the life of a flaky artist to an extreme, so it’s no surprise to her friends when she decides to pick her alien life-partner at random. When Jake28 arrives and she discovers he really can cook, Hannah’s personal life seems perfect. But professionally, she’s still paralyzed by her own self-doubt.

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  Jake is thrilled to finally come to earth and meet his nearly-perfect match. Especially when he discovers the chemistry between them is beyond what he imagined. As Jake settles into his new life with Hannah, he discovers that more than just her kitchen is in disarray. While he can see Hannah’s true talent below her messy exterior, she can’t. When she pushes him away, he must figure out how to free her muse and claim her heart.

  Chapter 1

  I lick my fingers and pull up my alien selections on the Intergalactic Dating Agency site. Orange cheese dust is salty on my tongue as I reach for another cheese curl. Amazingly, hundreds of aliens have requested me as a match, and I have until midnight to pick one or I lose my money. The long list pops up, and I sigh as I wonder how I'm supposed to narrow them down. What used to be the best matching program ever now has a major flaw.

  The planet Erosicia's government decided Earth was being too scientific about pairing up their men with our women and not giving enough attention to physical attraction. They had us take out the ability to view percentage scores and dropped the threshold of compatibility. So now when a woman runs a query, any male who hits fifty percent or more comes up, but she doesn't know how strong a match they are.

  I delete a smoking hot alien who is scowling as if he's posing for a mug shot. This new program requirement demanded by Eroscia has led to a lot of bad matches. And since it's expensive to bring the alien to earth and the alien has to marry the woman who chose them as part of the deal, the divorce rate has gone through the roof. Our government did decide to intervene, and now women are allowed to return the first alien and try again before having to plunk down thousands of dollars more to get another chance.

  It's amazing that this is what relationships on earth have come to. A few years ago a plague struck and wiped out over ninety-five percent of our male population. When the planet Erosicia was discovered, we learned their superior life form was almost human, and women on earth found hope that we could all find love again.

  I scroll through as I look for other reasons to delete some of my alien choices, and my keys click as I nix any guy who doesn't appear happy to have his picture taken. Not that it matters, because I can't imagine I'm going to find the love of my life this way. Once I end up with pages full of smiling aliens to choose from, I click the counter button to discover I've narrowed down my search to just over four hundred potential matches.

  I scroll down and wonder if I should start deleting based on hair color now, and as my finger hovers over a redhead my phone alarm goes off. Rushing to grab my cell and figure out what I've forgotten to do, I knock over an empty soda can. It clatters as I read the notification. "Crap!" I jump up, realizing it's girls night at my place and my two besties will be here in a half an hour. I glance around the room at my usual chaos of empty food containers, dirty dishes, mail, discarded clothing, and who knows what else. There's no way I can clean it all up and figure out what I'm feeding them in thirty minutes.

  I let out a big sigh and go to the kitchen. It's even worse in here. But I get an idea when I spy the box of extra-large garbage bags. I manage to get three bags full and shoved in my studio in time to wipe down surfaces. I'm in my bedroom sniffing through the pile of clothing to find something clean when my friends buzz to be let in.

  After I allow them to come up, I open the door to Morgan and Cassie. Cassie's blond, spiral curls bounce as she glances around the apartment. "Hannah Sullivan, I don't believe it," she says. "You cleaned."

  Morgan pushes her way past us. "Wow. You remembered we were coming? I almost sent you a text in case you were high on paint thinner." She walks over and lifts a throw pillow and reveals an empty chip bag I missed. Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she gazes at me with the offending garbage in her hand. "Whew. It's really you."

  I glare at her for a second as if I'm mad, and Cassie asks, "What are we eating? I'm starving."

  "Oh." I turn to her with a sheepish grin. "Delivery pizza?"

  She chuckles as she pulls out her phone. "I suppose that's better than whatever you'd burn. The usual?"

  Morgan and I agree. I'd take my friends' comments as insults if they weren't true. But I'm self-aware enough to know I personify the flaky artist stereotype. Morgan plops down on my couch before she picks up my laptop. She must have seen the countdown clock because she asks, "You have to pick by tonight? Need some help?"

  I sit next to her. "Yes. This is so impossible."

  Cassie's voice is soft in the background as she orders us dinner, and Morgan says, "Well you know I'm going to suggest you delete anyone whose color is off."

  "Oh, right. You do it." A couple months ago Morgan picked a guy who had Eroscian fever and didn't tell her until after they kissed. My poor friend had to sweat it out for a week waiting to see if she developed the symptoms for an alien illness that is a chronic disease for humans.

  Cassie comes to sit across from us, and as soon as she lowers herself in the chair she pops up with an "Ouch," and removes a fork that was tucked behind the cushion. It clatters on the coffee table when she sets it down. "Too bad you can't hear if they squeak when they walk." She's referring to her first alien match who refused to spend any of his stipend on their first date. He’d claimed his credit card hadn't activated right, which he couldn't have known since he hadn't had a reason to use it before he was brought to her.

  Both of my friends returned their first match, and I think they're gun shy about using up their last chance. Morgan says, "Okay, I've removed all of the aliens who don't look healthy. What else?"

  "How many does that leave me?"

  "Three hundred and twenty-seven."

  "You really should read their profiles, Hannah," says Cassie. My lawyer friend is a stickler for details, and I imagine she expects me to spend hours researching the right alien for me.

  "They all say what they think we want to hear," I say as I reach for my laptop. I'm not sure why I even put up the money to get an alien. It's not like I'm going to find love, but I did it after a windfall of cash came to me from an art show. The truth is it would be nice to find a man to cohabitate with, and maybe I'll get lucky enough to find one who is happy to settle for a subpar relationship for the chance to live on earth. I'm tired of thinking so hard about my task, so I close my eyes and scroll down for a bit before I take my finger and touch the screen. When I open my eyes to look, I read off my pick. "Jake28." A key clicks as I push it to find out more. "Jake is an easygoing guy who loves to laugh. He'd like to share adventures on earth with a woman who will make the best of any situation and end the day by cuddling on the couch."

  "Not this couch," says Cassie as she holds up the fork, and she chuckles.

  Morgan says, "Hey, if he likes chips..."

  "Very funny." I continue to read. "He's a hopeless romantic who likes to cook a wonderful meal to eat by candle light."

  "He cooks?" asks Cassie. "I thought they got their food from dispensers?"

  "See," says Morgan, "I swear the people running this program make crap up. Can you imagine if your day was spent writing these profiles? You're bound to run out of ideas after a while."

  I stare at Jake's avatar and notice how warm his brown eyes seem. Like almost every alien on the site, he's got a buff body which makes me think it's a prerequisite. "Damn, why do these guys all have to be so hot?"

  "I know. It makes you have so much hope." Morgan sighs. "I wish they'd include their flaws."

  But then I'd have to share mine. I wasn't popular with guys when earth was crawling with them, and considering I can't even get regular work in my chosen profession, I have every reason to believe my alien match isn't going to be successful once he discovers who I really am. The countdown clock for my deadline flashes at me like a ticking time bomb, and I gaze at the sexy alien face before me. What have I got to lose? I hit the ‘initiate match’ button, and Morgan says, "Wait!" Her eyes are big as she looks at me. "Did you... You did."

  "Holy crap," says Cassie. "You picked a guy who says he can cook when we all know he can't."

  "We don't know that," I say with a tone of defiance, even though I don't believe it either. "Maybe they offer cooking classes now to prepare the aliens for earth."

  "I'm already nervous for you, Hannah," says Morgan. "I need wine for this." She wa
lks over to the door where she and Cassie had set their bags down and pulls out an extra-large bottle of our favorite cabernet.

  I get up to go to the kitchen for glasses, and the girls follow me. A cabinet clicks when I open it and I pull down three mismatched goblets. "You guys are making too much of this," I say as I hand the wine opener to Cassie. "I can always send him back and pick another one."

  "And then you'll be like us; too paralyzed with fear to pick another one," says Cassie as the cork in the bottle pops.

  Morgan says, "You know, with Hannah's luck, she could end up with a great match."

  "True," says Cassie. "When is your next show at Miranda Johnson's?" She's referring to the time I dropped my portfolio, which opened at the feet of Miranda Johnson when I bumped into her on the sidewalk. The gallery owner helped me pick it up and fell in love with my work. She offered me a show that turned out to be so successful I've been living off the proceeds for months. But now the money is just about gone, and I’m supposed to do another one. One I’m not going to be ready for. My stomach knots up as I wonder how I'm going to continue to pay the bills.

  I flash to a vision of the paintings in my studio that mock me with their mediocrity. Thinking about the call I should return to Miranda to discuss preparations, I force a smile for my friends. "I'm working on it." The rich flavor of my wine tempts my taste buds as I drink, and it occurs to me that Jake will come with skills for a job; hopefully, one profitable enough to cover both our expenses. The thought makes me grin for real, because picking an alien match might not be such a bad thing after all.

  Chapter 2

  I stare at the mountain of clean clothes I carried up in three trips from my building's basement laundry room. A shirt is warm in my fingers when I pick it up to begin folding. I cleaned my apartment yesterday. And I mean really cleaned it. The more thought I've given to what having Jake in my life means, the more I realize I have to give our relationship my best shot. I need him to like me well enough for marriage, because he could very well offer financial stability. So I dusted, mopped the floor and almost organized the spare bedroom I use as a studio. I had to draw the line somewhere, or I'd never be able to work.

  Even though I think I may have found the answer to my financial woes, the fact that he'll be here soon has my stomach rolling. I have no idea if Jake is really the man his profile claims, and the only thing I can be sure of is he's very attractive and safe enough to enter my home.

  Denim snaps as I shake out a pair of jeans I thought I'd lost a few months ago. I know I'm a mess when it comes to organizing my life, and most people wonder about me. But disappointing people is something I'm used to. My parents never wanted me to be an artist. They told me I'd never make enough money to survive, and unfortunately, they're dangerously close to being right.

  What concerns me the most though, is that I may not be what Jake is looking for in a woman. My friends helped me write my profile so I’d appear attractive to those who think creative types are fun and will spice up their life. We left out my messy gene along with my other quirks; like never knowing what day it is, my innate ability to get lost almost everywhere I go, and my irregular income. But knowing Jake doesn't have the whole picture of who he's paired with means I don't either. No wonder I'm nervous.

  After I finish the laundry, I make my way to my studio. I started another painting last week that reflects my desire to find love and the hope that I can find an alien to cure the loneliness of life without a partner. I'm supposed to be preparing a body of work for Miranda that is based on a lifetime of searching for love. The pressure is killing my muse. My stool creaks as I sit, and I gaze at the half-finished canvas before me. I'm not sure how to make it sing, but I can't fix what I haven't painted yet so I reach over to select my paints.

  My brush glides easily through pigment as I mix color. I never thought of myself as someone who needed a man in her life. When the plague hit, I was too distraught about the loss of my father and brother to think about the long-term implications of a planet dominated by women. Like many of my girlfriends, I stood strong and declared I'd be fine if I ended up single for the rest of my life. But the truth is I figured out pretty quickly that I missed a physical relationship with a man more than I could have imagined.

  My brush slides easily across my canvas as I swipe on color, and I lose myself in my fantasies of love with the hope some of it will transfer to my artwork. So much so that when the buzzer rings to let me know Jake has arrived, I'm surprised, and I rush out to let him up from the lobby. My feet pound on my freshly-cleaned carpet as I pace, and my hands are damp with sweat when I reach for the door handle to let him in.

  I open up to a short older woman and Jake. I gaze up at the large alien in surprise, although I should have known he'd be big since his profile said he was six foot five and weighed two hundred and fifty pounds. He traps me in his gaze and squints at me. The woman says, "I'm Mrs. Stevens and this—"

  "Is Jake." I stick out my hand. "Hi. I'm—"

  "Hannah," he says. But he doesn't take my hand. Instead he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a sanitary wipe. "You have a bit of..."

  "Paint," says Mrs. Stevens. "You have paint on your nose, dear." She turns to Jake. "Hannah is incredibly talented. Just wait until you see her work."

  "Oh my gosh." I step back to let them in as my cheeks burn with my embarrassment from Mrs. Stevens’s praise as well as my appearance, and the sanitary wipe’s packet tears as I open it to clean my face. "Come on in."

  Jake lets Mrs. Stevens inside before he enters. He glances around with an expression I can't read, and I notice the bag on his shoulder. "You're going to stay in my room since my guest bedroom is my studio." I chuckle nervously as I lead the way, "Trust me, you wouldn't want to stay in there."

  Mrs. Stevens walks with us and scans my bedroom with her gaze. "It looks lovely." It should, because it's never been cleaner. She turns to Jake. "You have my number if any problems should arise, but I think you're going to be happy here." She looks at me and smiles. "Enjoy your alien match, Hannah. I'll let myself out."

  My stomach flips when I realize she's going to leave us alone already, and I wish I could think of a reason to make her stay. I mumble a weak, "Thank you," and watch the older woman as she goes. When the door clicks shut behind her I walk over to the dresser, and a drawer scrapes as I pull it open. "I cleaned out half the bureau for you, and there's room in the closet for anything you might want to hang." I'm afraid to look at Jake, and since he doesn't do anything to put me at ease, I think he's regretting accepting my offer.

  When he still doesn't speak, I glance at him. "Okay. Um. I guess I'll let you unpack." I point out the door. "I'll—" His eyes practically flash with a feral look that strikes fear in my heart, and I inhale sharply as I back away with a strong urge to break into a run. Once I get out of the room, I move quickly to my studio and shut the door with more force than necessary. I'm not sure what I did to make Jake so upset, and I turn the lock as slowly as I can so he can't hear it.

  A moment later, Jake knocks lightly on the door. "Hannah. I didn't mean to frighten you."

  "It's okay. I'm not sure what I did, but I won't force you to stay with me. Promise."

  "What?" He chuckles. "No. That is not what I was thinking. I'm sorry."

  "Oh. Is it the room?" Maybe he’s allergic to the cleaner used. Or… I sniff my shirt to make sure I don't stink. "Or… me?" Oh god. What if he stepped on a fork and is bleeding profusely? Do aliens heal like we do? What if he passes out from blood loss and I don’t know any of his medical information?

  "It's neither of those things. Can you open the door, please?"

  The hinges squeak when I pull the door open a crack as if I’m about to see a murder scene. "I believe WD-40 would fix that," he calls.