Resurrected (Resurrected Series Book 1) by S. M. Schmitz Page B

he doesn’t really drink coffee.” She suddenly looked up at me, tilting her head and squinting at me as if suddenly realizing I had been the one who had fucked up. “What were you doing there?”
    “I was thirsty.” I picked up the wine bottle and refilled her glass. Maybe I could at least get one of them drunk long enough to forget she was pissed off at me.
    “Oh, God, Lottie, this is such a mess. What are we going to do?” Lydia sank into the couch, her long legs stretching under the coffee table, one arm thrown over her eyes.
    “I don’t understand. Why is this such a huge problem?” I eyed the wine bottle but decided against drinking anymore. I was pretty sure the hotel had a bar in it, and I definitely needed something stronger than a red wine anyway.
    “Because you know we’re here,” Lydia explained. She had that tone of voice again like she was explaining this to a child, patiently and sweetly, but part of me suspected she thought I should have figured that out on my own.
    “Dietrich would never tell anyone,” Lottie immediately jumped to my defense, and I sank a little lower in my seat.
    “Um.”
    “What.”
    It hadn’t been a question but a demand. It’s not like she had told me not to tell anyone though. Lydia had uncovered her eyes and was watching me now too. Resignation. Fear. The Jabberwocky.
    “Just Eric, Lottie, and come on, think about him if you can’t remember him. Try to. You know you can trust him.” I believed that. He was the only person I had ever trusted besides her, and he and Lottie had been good friends. I would have trusted her life with him.
    “I should have known you would tell him.” Good God, how much did she remember? “What did he say?”
    “Well … he would like to meet you.” I thought about telling her he was down the street. I wasn’t sure she’d had enough wine for that.
    “Ungh, and I thought work was bad.” Lydia muttered. Her face was buried under both arms now.
    “Lydia, we aren’t going to … what are you even worried about? Isn’t there some movie with a government agency that tracks down aliens?”
    “ Men in Black ?” Lottie guessed.
    I shrugged. “If that’s what you’re worried about … I’m almost positive no such agency exists. Well … like 97% sure. But that’s pretty good, though, right?”
    “You still haven’t seen that movie have you? We wouldn’t be worried about Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones trying to keep track of us. They helped hide the existence of aliens in this world; it’s the public we worry about. We can die just as easily as anyone else, you know.”
    I thought about Lottie being hunted.  By the government. By a scared and angry Tea Party mob. By some crazy vigilante anti-extraterrestrial gun-loving militia group from Montana. No one was going to hunt her. No one was going to hurt her. Nobody would ever lay a fucking hand on her. No one except me.
    I hoped the wine was affecting her by now. I reached across the table and took her hand, her left hand, still ringless, still decorated with those three freckles that formed that wide triangle with the perfect, smooth white skin inside. “Lottie,” I said softly, “you know I can keep you safe. I will. And Lydia. Nobody will hurt you. I promise.”
    Lottie looked down at our hands. I tensed, waiting for her to rip hers away from mine, to ask me what the hell I thought I was doing, to remind me … again … that she wasn’t really my fiancée. But she slowly exhaled, stretched her fingers out, lacing them between mine, then held on tightly. “I know, Dietrich,” she breathed. “I know you will.”

Chapter 5
     
    Lottie sat crosslegged on one of the beds in my hotel room, watching Eric curiously as he vacillated between disbelief and shock. I sat on the opposite bed watching Lottie. When I left her apartment the night before, Lydia had finally started drinking and Lottie was trying, somewhat futilely, to calm her down. She had promised me she would come by