It’s Not Unusual To Be Loved by an Alien (Tentacular Tales #1) Read Online Chloe Archer

Categories Genre: M-M Romance, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Tentacular Tales Series by Chloe Archer
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Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
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A sexy alien living incognito on Earth meets a sci-fi loving nerd who wants to rock his universe. What could possibly go wrong? Besides the unexpected tentacles and the accidental Mating Courtship Ritual, that is….

RIVER SULLIVAN
As a bona fide sci-fi nerd and total X-phile—the truth is out there—I’ve always believed in aliens. Duh. But I never thought I’d actually find them on Earth–let alone right here in Las Vegas! Now I’ve stumbled onto a big freakin’ secret and found my very own hot AF alien. I’m head over heels, but he’s being a total grump and holding back. How do I make him realize a geeky sunshine guy like me is just what he needs in his life? Did I mention he also has tentacles?!?! #HolyHentaiFantasyBatman #SwoonworthyAlien #SignMeUpSugar #MakeItSo #VivaLasVegas

KAI GENARO
The last thing I need in my life is a chatterbox twink who’s determined to woo me and could expose the secret existence of aliens on Earth to all humankind. Everything about him annoys me, including his stupidly attractive halo of golden curls and his bright green ‘come hither’ eyes. To make matters worse, he’s been recruited to work for the alien Alliance on Earth, and I’m assigned to keep him out of trouble. I don’t care how attractive he is. I don’t date humans! Except, my tentacles may have accidentally started the Mating Courtship Ritual with him…

FULL BOOK START HERE:

CHAPTER ONE

“There’s a big universe out there. You’ve got to keep an open mind and a watchful eye if you’re going to explore it.”

—Captain Starblade, The Tentacular Tales of Captain Starblade, Ch. 1

RIVER

I’m about ninety-eight percent sure my new neighbor is an alien.

That’s why I’m following him super-covert-Mission-Impossible-style down a deserted highway at 3:00 a.m. on a Wednesday night as one naturally does if one’s a believer in all things extraterrestrial.

“Don’t you have work in a few hours?” Uncle Benji asks from the passenger seat as he pops a cannabis edible gummy into his mouth, chewing on it with an air of nonchalance.

Benji, like me, is still wearing his pajamas since we had to vamoose to follow our new neighbor/secret-alien-in-our-midst tonight. I’m stylin’ in my super-sexy TARDIS PJs, while Benji’s sporting his favorite ratty orange cardigan over a faded Beavis and Butthead T-shirt and striped cotton pants. Like all of his well-worn clothing, they’re liberally flecked with a rainbow array of paint from past and present paintings he’s been working on. His long, lustrous brown hair, tinged with gray, is pulled up in a messy man-bun, looking like something that took hours to perfect but only took him ten seconds to create. It’s like he’s a freaking runway model or the lead in a sexy shampoo commercial. Even though he’s in his early forties, his mane of hair, turning a stunning silvery gray, brings out his pale green eyes and makes him appear mysterious.

In contrast, my hair is a wild nest of crazy blonde curls with a mind of their own. I’m lucky if I can get a comb through my mop of hair most days. It’s so cosmically unfair.

The truth is Benji doesn’t care about things like his appearance. He’s a total Gen X hippie pothead. A lot of people dismiss him as ‘too quirky,’ but he’s an incredibly successful artist—and the best partner in crime. Especially when it comes to stalking possible aliens.

I hunch my shoulders at his question about work. “No. They didn’t renew my contract.”

Benji hums thoughtfully. “Why not? I thought it was a done deal after the probationary period?”

I sink down into my seat, keeping my eyes fixed on the tail lights I’m following. “Apparently, I don’t fit into their ‘cohort dynamic’ or some corporate buzzword bullshit.”

What my now former boss had added ‘off the record’ was that my co-workers thought I was super fucking weird—I never should have talked about my alien neighbor at work—and that my technical writing veered into ‘unnecessary flamboyant embellishment’ or ‘poetic whimsy’. Sue me for trying to make technical writing more interesting. I know I would enjoy a bit of whimsy the next time I have to put a stupidly complicated desk together.

“They didn’t even give me the chance to change or improve anything.” I scowl. “Nope. Just let me go instead.”

Benji clucks. “They sound like a bunch of dickbags.”

I can always rely on him not to judge. His solidarity is touching, and I feel momentarily better. We’re totally one another’s kind of weird. Even if stupid, boring coworkers don’t get me, Benji does.

“Maybe this is a good thing? I was so fucking bored there. Technical writing seemed like a smart way to make money until my fiction career took off, but it’s utterly mind-numbing.”

Benji strokes his short beard and yawns. “It’ll be okay, Tigger. I make more than enough money from my art. I can help you out for a while until you find something better. It’s all good.”


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