Read How Not to Date an Alien for Free Online

found one that he deemed proper enough for her.
    But before that, it was the matter of who was driving the car.
    “I can pilot a craft capable of deep space travel,” he had moaned. “Yet I find it difficult to operate a manual transmission on a car.”
    Kilana tried not to laugh as her alien pouted and read through the manual.
    “It’s all about stick control.” She couldn’t help but put it out there.
    He glared in return.
    “Look, it’s simple,” she tried to explain. “If you want to go from zero to ten, first gear.” She pointed to the appropriate number next to her gear stick. “Twenty or more, shift to two. Thirty or more, three. Get it?”
    He frowned at her. “The theory, yes. Practical application is another thing.”
    “Need more experience?” She couldn’t help but laugh. Take that, she thought. For an insignificant and confused race, we got your ass beat on this one.
    “I pilot a ship with an antimatter rocket that can alter and control time dilation, equipped with a light sail particle accelerator that can function without being dependent on any outside fuels because of its use of the prevailing plasma winds found
    in the solar system. Allow me a few moments to familiarize myself with this primitive, environmentally dangerous engine, and then we shall depart.”
    She almost choked on her guffaws as he stuck his nose into the manual again with a sniff and began muttering at what he was reading.
    But her laughter was short-lived as he gave a pleased sound and placed the manual back in the glove box.
    “I do believe it is time for you to exchange the refined fossil fuels used to lubricate the moving parts of your engine for fresh.”
    “Been meaning to get an oil change,” she muttered, wiping her eyes of the tears that had fallen with her laughing jag.
    “Buckle your seat belt,” he ordered, and Kilana decided she’d better because she was sure they were going to hit something before the advanced alien life form figured out the mechanics of driving a car.
    He grinned at her, showing all his teeth, and a nervous feeling took root in the bottom of her stomach. He turned the key slowly, jumping a bit at the growling sound coming from the engine of her brand new gray and silver Dodge Challenger.
    “I believe I am going to like this.” A manic light came into his black eyes.
    The next thing to emerge from her mouth was a loud scream as he slammed the car into gear and peeled out of the driveway. He had figured out the relatively simple mechanics of her stick shift, and they took off, almost literally flying down the street.
    Yes, she was screaming.
    The man was slamming her car into fifth gear, driving about seventy-five around the winding roads of her town. How he got it to accelerate into that high a gear was beyond her. But she was too busy holding onto the “oh, shit” bar and praying he would pay close attention to his technique. And what really worried her was that there was one gear left to go up before he topped out.
    With one hand on the wheel now, he flicked on her radio, flipping channels and barely missing an economy hybrid full of cell phone talking yuppies and a landscaper driving a big SUV.
    She was sure she lost a few years off of her life when he screamed around a funeral procession, nodding politely at the hearse in the lead before he hit the accelerator once more and sped through no less than three speed traps.
    The cops didn’t even blink.
    “How,” she stuttered, trying to do her best to hide underneath the dashboard and swallow her heart back down into its rightful place, “how do you do that?”
    He just turned to her and smiled, showing all his sharply pointed teeth.
    “I think I like this.” He settled on a radio station that was pounding out a funky techno beat.
    “I like life —” she shouted before pointing out of the windshield. “Watch the road!”
    He slammed on the brakes, the car laying rubber for a good fifteen feet before he skidded to a halt at a