Alien Knight Blind Date Disaster

turned her foot from side to side. He’d obviously dressed to show off his muscles. Flaunt his sex appeal. Two could play this game. Smiling flirtatiously, she continued, “I love the way they sparkle. Do you like them?”
Falden cleared his throat. Did he like them? Hell yes, he liked them. The strappy heels made him itch to touch her. He wanted to explore every curve, kiss every delectable inch of her. But how to respond? According to the Nice Guy’s Guide to the Hookup, if a man was too nice, he would crash and burn. Never get the female. If he were on Lumeria or even Caldor, he would know exactly what to do. He would flirt. Play. Tease. Entice her into touching him first. Make his interest in her clear. He would pay close attention to everything she said. Protect her. Prove his worthiness.
On this planet? She’d already slapped him, and he didn’t even know if that was a good thing or a bad one. He was beginning to like this Nice Guy’s Guide to the Hookup less and less. She seemed more angry than interested, but he couldn’t afford to deviate from the plan for his own personal interests. He was on a mission. He needed her to trust him. Tell him what he needed to know. This wasn’t about her. Wasn’t about his need to claim her. Make her his forever. He had to keep that in mind. He’d committed himself to this path, even if it set his teeth on edge. Looking deeply into her eyes, he pushed ahead, murmuring, “Yes. They make you appear as if you are eager to be taken by a male.”
Isabella’s nostrils flared. Her heart hammered in her chest. Unadulterated rage and humiliation burned through her. Did he just call her out for wearing fuck-me heels? Her foot froze mid-twirl. “I believe any man who sees them should fear that I will remove one and stab him in the eye with the pointy end.” Investigation temporarily forgotten, she couldn’t swallow another insult. “Here. I don’t think you got a very good look at them. Let me show you.” Reaching under the table, she pulled off one of the heels, shoved it toward him and accidentally knocked his ice water right into his lap.
“I see.” Falden growled, brushing bits of ice from his pants. Every muscle tensed. His mission was failing. He could feel it. Isabella was not responding appropriately to the guide. He was losing control of the situation, which he could not afford to do.
He took a sip of the alcoholic beverage he’d ordered, as dictated by the ridiculous dating guide, coughed at the unfamiliar burn, then pulled at the mock collar of his shirt. He needed to up his game. Try again. Isabella was beautiful, even with the red wig. Perhaps she was so used to this approach that he needed to use more of the items on the list. Surely she would respond to one of them. She was a female, native to Earth. He would keep trying. Move on to phase two. A mix of insult and compliment. The guide said this phase was tricky and required practice, but he hadn’t liked the list to begin with and refused to use it any more than was strictly necessary. Hopefully he would catch on quickly. He was running out of time. He could feel it. “Your skirt is very short. I find your legs to be very appealing.”
“Excuse me?” Isabella glared. Was he calling her out on her skirt, too, or complimenting her legs? She’d never been so angry on a first date. Not that it was a real date. If this jackass was trying to get information out of her, or earn her trust, he was going about it all wrong. Not only did she not want to talk to him, she wanted to slap him so hard his cheek would burn red for a week.
Looking down at his wet pants, Falden jolted, remembering that part of the list included pointing out his pricey clothing. Make his wealth more obvious. “This clothing is not comfortable. I should not have worn this. I should have worn my arm many.”
Isabella sat back, darkly amused. Maybe this guy was just an idiot in general. But why was he here? “Arm many? Is that Caldorian for waterproof?”
His gaze was deadly serious as he raised his blue eyes to her sparkling brown. She was happy. He was making progress. “Arm many are much finer clothes. The best money can buy. Have you not heard of such a famous human clothing expert?””
Isabella’s brief flash of humor vanished. She stewed. The man had no sense of humor. None. Worse, his words were meant to draw her attention to his wealth, yet his body language was not that of a man obsessed with his appearance or status. What the hell was up with this guy? “Do you mean Armani?”
“Yes. That is what I said.”
The waiter arrived with an extra glass of water along with the whiskey and placed them on the table, removed empty glasses and discreetly handed Falden an extra napkin, presumably to take care of his wet trousers. She considered slamming the amber liquid down her throat as she had the first, but sipped instead. She needed her wits about her. She doubted she’d even finish the second. Something was not right about this guy. Her bullshit radar was screaming at high alert. Arm many? Really? And he was sporting a watch that would cost her two years’ salary, but it looked brand-new, like he’d just taken it out of the box. Literally. Not a scratch, a smudge, nothing.
She squinted, looking closer. Was the thin protective plastic still covering the face of the watch? Had he forgotten to remove it, or was he so completely uninterested in the human device that he simply hadn’t realized it was there? Why had he bothered with a human watch, even an expensive Rolex, when he probably