The Alien by Raymond F. Jones (book series for 10 year olds txt) 📕

she wasn’t. There wasn’t a thing she could do about it once they had thanked her and said, “We’ll be in touch.” The clean-slate-ness of it all appealed to her in a perverse sort of way. She had built her life as a perpetually rolling stone, growing comfortable with never knowing what was next, rootless and ranging.

She hung up the jacket and smiled to herself as she undid the zipper at the back of her skirt, her fingers brushing bare flesh as she let the garment drop to the floor. Her naughty little secret had done the trick, she reflected. Or she hoped it had. It had felt right, anyway.

Stop. Thinking. About. The. Audition.

Seriously, this wasn’t like her at all.

Putting away her suit, Alicia grabbed a light jersey tank dress and dropped it over her head, ruffling her fingers through her hair and stretching her arms overhead.

Sod the knickers, Colin’s deep voice said in her imagination. The thought sent a wicked thrill through her and she closed her eyes, envisioning his solid body pressed up behind her, his head lowered to taste her neck…

Her phone rang.

Huffing a frustrated breath through her nose, Alicia hurried back into the living room and dug her phone out of her bag. Glancing at the screen, her eyebrows shot up. “Hey Melissa, what’s up?”

“What the hell did you do in that audition?”

Alicia froze, eyes wide, gut churning. “Um. Why?”

“They called me right after you left. It’s yours if you want it. They were blown away.”

Alicia closed her eyes and silently danced in place for a few seconds. Regaining her composure, she said, “That is fantastic news. It looks like a great part.”

“It is a great part. One possible snag, but I don’t think you’ll have a problem with it. There’s a nudity clause in the contract. You okay with that?”

Rolling her eyes, Alicia thought for a moment. “How much skin and for how long?”

“Waist up, just a few seconds.”

Chewing on a fingernail, Alicia mulled over this new wrinkle. “How’s the money?”

Melissa named a sum that beggared anything Alicia had ever been offered before. “What do you think?”

Alicia held her breath for a moment. “I think I’d be an idiot not to take it. Tell them yes.”

Loosening his tie as he walked through his house to his kitchen, Colin rolled his shoulders, trying to release the tension in them that had hardened his muscles ever since the afternoon. Having spent far too much time at the office crafting the e-mail to ask Alicia to the gala, something impatient and irrational in him wanted a response right away. Putting his laptop bag on a chair, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Nothing.

Bollocks to this. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was after six. She was probably already at the theater for the evening’s performance. The show was finishing up its run this weekend, so she must have to focus. Who knew when he would hear from her? Or if he would at all.

No, she had said she wanted to see him again. Whether or not she was up for something as formal as the gala was another question, though. It was a hell of a leap from drinks to black-tie.

Nothing for it but to do something while he waited. Walking to the stairs, he went up them two at a time and swung into his bedroom. Shedding his business attire, he put on an old tee shirt, running shorts, and trainers. A jog would clear his head. He hoped.

Locking his door and walking down the steps past the little garden patch, he noticed that his plants wanted watering. He would have to do that when he got back. It had been so hot lately, with no rain to give the greenery relief. Setting out at a slow jog down his street, he turned right at the end and headed up First Street toward the Capitol. Normally, he would head south towards the Navy Yard, but he felt a visceral tug toward the part of town where he knew Alicia would be taking the stage.

Muscles loosening, he began to run harder, heart pounding and arms pumping. Reaching D Street, he turned left, away from the route to the Folger. Which was silly. There was no need to try to avoid looking like a stalker. He could run laps around the bloody building and never see her during a performance. Instead, he headed toward the East end of the National Mall. Reaching the long expanse of park, he headed west past the National Museum of the American Indian, then the Air and Space Museum, passing pickup soccer games and dodging slow-moving packs of tourists. Sweat poured off his face, and his shirt stuck to his chest. His hair, shaggy and needing a trim, hung across his forehead, and he pushed it back with impatient fingers.

Turning along Fourteenth Street, he noticed a young woman following his progress, her eyes locked on his moving form. He almost chuckled to himself when he realized how his brain immediately dismissed her as not-Alicia.

Maybe she’s written back. Shoving his hand into the pocket of his running shorts, he realized he left his phone at the house.

Digging deep for greater speed, he turned again in front of the Museum of American History and headed back toward home.

Kathleen paused in putting on the dramatic eye makeup she wore for her role as Lady Capulet and looked at Alicia in the mirror of their shared dressing room. “Alicia, hon, either you have a feral vibrator in your bag or your phone is going nuts.”

“Crap. I can’t get it. This stupid thing has gotten twisted again.” Alicia’s costume, intentionally somewhat ragged and shapeless, had a tendency to get caught on itself. Alicia strained to figure out what the problem was now, twisting her shoulders around to see behind her.

“Let me,” said Wendy, who played Lady Montague and was the other occupant of the tiny, shared dressing room.

“Nah, I’ll figure it out.”

Kathleen shot