Alien Romance: Interview with an Alien (Football Paranormal Invasion Abduction Alpha Sci-fi Romance) (Fantasy First New Adult Contact Science Fiction Mystery Sports Alien Short Stories)
Authors: Robin Cavanaugh
© Copyright 2016 by Robin Cavanaugh
All rights reserved.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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24 Special Bonus Stories INSIDE!
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Interview with an Alien
Alien and Football Romance
By: Robin Cavanaugh
Gillian checked her reflection one last time before driving out for the interview. She felt she had to look both attractive as well as professional. She wore a blue pants suit with a white silk top underneath, highlighting her bust size without being obvious about it. It was her only tailored suit so it was made to fit her voluptuous size. She was a tall woman, five foot ten, with wide hips and large chest. Due to her height and other attributes, her chubby waist was not as noticeable and the suit helped, she thought.
Her blond hair was past her shoulders and she had it pinned up on the sides. A lot of journalists liked to tie it up or back completely but with her plump, heart-shaped face it looked better the way she had it. Her blue eyes were clear and bright and she used little make-up, glad she had a good complexion so she could get away with that. She hated make-up.
Satisfied, she gathered up her interview bag and went down to her car and began the drive out to the athlete’s ranch. She was still in shock she had been chosen for the job. Marcus London was the hottest running back in the NFL. Off season, he never did interviews and when he did, it was quick and fluff. She always put in for interviews with everybody, but her magazine was not Sports Illustrated. Athletes Monthly was a low key, more in-depth magazine and it was harder for them to get the big interviews. So when she got the call, she and her editor were over the moon.
Social media was going nuts, because he was not doing any other interviews. It was her big break and she intended to make the most of it. Out of all of the people who put in the request, she was picked and London’s manager had said she was his personal choice. No television networks or other magazines were getting a shot, just her, Gillian Johnson.
She pulled up to the ranch out in the middle of the desert and stopped at the gate. She rolled her window down and pressed the button on the gate box. The dry heat rolled into her air conditioned car. A green light blinked and the gate slowly opened for her. She drove her little Celica through the gates and followed the drive. Gillian took deep breaths to help her relax and not become too freaked out about the coming interview. It was hard because now she was on site and it was about to begin!
Gillian pulled up to the mansion where the steps went to the front door. She got out, grabbed her bag and as she did the front doors opened. A little man in a suit came out, smiled and waved, gesturing her up the steps. Even for early summer, it was hot out here in the Arizona desert, so going inside was a welcome idea. She shrugged her bag over her shoulder and went up the steps.
“Welcome, Miss Johnson. I am glad you could make it. Marcus is a huge fan of your work and if I may say so, I am as well. My name is Lawrence Kirkpatrick. I handle all of Mr. London’s appointments,” he said, offering his hand. She shook hands and went inside the huge place with him. It was the perfect cool temperature. Not too hot and not too cold, like the fairy tale, just right.
“It is good to meet you, Mr. Kirkpatrick. It is nice of you to say,” she responded.
“It is only the truth, my dear. This way, please. Mr. London is out back,” he advised and led Gillian down a wide hallway that appeared to pass through the center of the mansion.
“If I may say so Miss, your article on the dangers of concussions in the NFL was the first of the kind. Mr. London was very encouraged by it and believes you are the person who first brought it to light and made it something that people will discuss. He looks forward to talking about it with you,” Mr. Kirkpatrick told her.
“As do I. I am glad he liked it. Most people do not remember that I wrote that. I have come to find it amusing,” she told him.
Gillian was being honest. When the discussion became more mainstream, the credit was given to other, male, journalists. It had taken her awhile to get past being ignored like that. As she had told Kirkpatrick, these days she just thought it was amusing. Even more amusing was the fact that she was the one who got the extended interview with the reclusive running back. The hallway opened up into a wide living room area. The back wall was all glass with French doors in the exact middle. Beyond the doors was a long, covered patio and Marcus London sitting at a glass table.
The football player got to his feet with a smile. Kirkpatrick opened the doors and waved her out graciously. Gillian strode confidently over and shook hands with the big man. Marcus London was six foot three. He wore jogging shorts and an open button up shirt. His muscular chest was well tanned as was his handsome face. As always he had his tinted glasses and trademark, black, headband. While shaking hands, she could feel a physical attraction. His maleness was a draw to her, like a magnet to her body’s senses that she had not expected. It quickly passed and she managed to control her blushing and stay focused.
“It is good to meet you, Miss Johnson. I have been a fan for years. Actually since your first article for your college paper, Sports Journal, about the fame of college ball. I could tell you had a good grasp of your craft and your knowledge of the topic was excellent. Thank you for agreeing to do the interview,” he told her. She was surprised. She was usually the one thanking the subject. As she did then.
“You are welcome. I’m the one who should be thanking you, Marcus. I know you don’t do many interviews and I am glad to be here,” she told him honestly. He nodded and gestured to the table. Gillian sat and he poured her an iced tea and one for himself as she got out her notepad and voice recorder. She didn’t turn on the recorder or pick up her pad, not yet.
Gillian believed in taking a few minutes to speak with a subject to learn the flow and vocal tendencies so she had a better grasp of
how
they were saying something. She had found that it helped guide her questions and glean information she may not otherwise have known was there.
“Thank you for the tea. It is a beautiful home you have here Marcus. I must admit, I thought that out here, in the desert, was a strange place to want a house. Now that I’m here, I can see the attraction. The landscape is beautiful even with the sun's glare. You have managed to create a comfortable atmosphere in what some might call an uninhabitable space,” she told him. It was true. The covered porch kept the direct heat off of them and there was a breeze that came through, easing the heat just enough.
“Thank you, Gillian, may I call you Gillian?” She nodded and smiled. “I like open space. Unobstructed space you could say. When I was traveling through the desert some years ago, I knew it was where I would eventually settle. Even if I had not made it in the NFL, I would have ended up here somehow. It was inevitable,” he told her. She believed him. He was known as a person who got what he went after. Fortunately for her, so was she.
“Does it ever get lonely out here? It must be hard if you want to have a night out with your friends you have to travel so far to get there,” she said. Only realizing after the fact that asking if he got lonely, could be an awkward question to a single man from a single woman. She cursed herself inside for the mistake. She was better than that and wondered what was wrong with her. Suddenly the table shook for an instant and then stopped. Both of them looked around.
“Are there earthquakes in the desert?” She asked.
“Not here. That is very strange,” he said trailing off, looking across the porch to the sand and sagebrush. Gillian could see something approaching. She thought it was a bird and seemed to be moving fast. The table rocked and then the ground began trembling as it got closer very quickly.
“Shit, inside!” Marcus shouted, reaching to grab her hand and yanking her towards the door. Looking over her shoulder as they went she could see it was some kind of aircraft speeding towards them. In a brief instant, she could see a wave of something going into the ground below it and chunks of the earth were being kicked up. Gasping, she stumbled into the mansion and the door was shut and locked. Gillian faced the window, the craft roared closer and then screamed right overhead. The whole patio seemed to erupt from the ground and slammed against the glass. She cried out and jumped back, sure it would engulf them.
