"That I'm the handsomest Port custodian?" He moves a hand to his close-cropped hair and smooths his fingers over it, then flexes his lifted arm.
It's so absurdly ridiculous and over the top that I snort with amusement.
"So you really can't hear," he says, kissing his bicep and then lowering his arm. "I'm not just imagining things?"
My defensiveness returns. "Why do I have to answer that?"
"Why do you pretend you can hear everything when you can't? I'm just trying to understand."
There's a hard knot in my throat, a mixture of terror and loneliness. Part of me wants to get it all out in the open—just blurt it all out and let my secret be someone else's responsibility for a while. But survival instinct kicks in, and I fight that feeling back and lie to him. "I can hear just fine. You're definitely imagining things."
His tail flicks behind him, an agitated-seeming motion. "Is that so? If I'm imagining things, then what could I possibly have to blackmail you with?"
Shit. "Nothing," I stammer quickly. "I'm just used to you aliens lording your power over the rest of us helpless women."
"Mmmhmmm." Custodian i'Yani takes a few steps closer to me. "You don't like me, do you?"
"Why would I? You're an absolute prick." It takes everything I have not to back away as he approaches.
"But you asked for me when your barn burned down. Why is that?"
I clench my jaw, saying nothing.
"Is it because you can hear me well enough? Sinath's more soft-spoken than I am. Ainar has a lower pitched voice. Could that be why?" He looks so knowing that my heart flutters with terror. "So I'm going to go back to my original theory of you not being able to hear. And I'm going to ask why you're determined to pretend otherwise." He takes another step forward, practically looming over me, but his expression isn't menacing. Just curious. "Is it a human thing?"
A human thing? I stare at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? A human thing? How about the fact that if a slave is flawed, she gets put down like a rabid dog?"
Custodian i'Yani's face is the picture of confusion. "But you're not a slave anymore."
"I'm not a slave right now," I agree, hot panic making the words spill out of me. "But that doesn't mean someone can't change his mind next week. Or that new aliens won't arrive and scoop us all up again. So you'll have to forgive me if I don't trust that line of bullshit."
He shakes his head, his expression confused. "But that's why we're here—"
"The space military?" I snort. "You're also aliens, too. The same ones that enslaved me the first time around, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't think this is all perfectly kumbaya. Just because you say I'm safe doesn't mean I'm not still at the mercy of someone's whims."
The look he gives me is pitying, but full of understanding. "You're not wrong. I won't say that you're wrong. I know there are all kinds of bad sorts among my people, just like any other. If you don't trust mesakkah, I get it. But I want you to know that you're safe with me and any of the other custodians. I'll tell them about your disability—"
"No!" I cry out quickly, frantic. "Please, please don't."
"You do know there's a medic in town? We could have him look at your ears—"
"And then you'll have a permanent record of my flaws? Thanks but no thanks." I put my hands on his chest since he's moved far too close and give him a gentle little push toward the door. "Look. I'm doing fine on my own. I manage."
"You manage to burn down your own barn, you mean." That laughing, teasing expression is back on his face.
"Which won't happen again," I say swiftly.
"Sure, because all the equipment is broken." The custodian smirks down at me. "Didn't anyone teach you how to use it?" His expression becomes knowing. "Or they did and you just couldn't hear them."
"Does it matter?" I nudge him toward the door again. "Please just go, all right? And don't tell anyone my secret. If you're as good a guy as you keep saying you are, you'll keep your mouth shut."
His expression grows thoughtful. "I'll keep my mouth shut, yes. But I want something from you."
I have to bite back my anger. "I thought you said you weren't going to blackmail me? But if that's the cost of your silence, fine." I step back and gesture at his waist. "Drop your pants."
The custodian's hand slides to cover his package, and he frowns at me. "Not that. I want you to go on a date with me."
A…what? I blink up at him. "I'm sorry, I don't think I heard that—"
"A DATE," he bellows in my ear, leaning forward. "I WANT YOU TO GO OUT WITH ME."