I swipe over to the other tab on my browser—the one I definitely shouldn’t have open during negotiations.
It’s a sign of how much I just do not give a fuck, not one single fuck, anymore.
The application page forMated and Afraidgleams in all its neon-glowing glory.
Five slots. Five separate electronic signature lines.
I’ve already pre-filled the administrative data using their socials. All it’s going to take is eight pitchers of Lily-made margaritas, a heavy dollop of my sugary-sweet optimism, and a tiny bit of friendly trickery to get them to sign the electronic waivers.
Gary starts shouting about the timeshare again, but I’ve completely tuned him out. His wife has too, from the looks of it.
I’m looking at the description of the Draegon males on the casting page.
Huge. Winged. Built like literal brick houses, and biologically incapable of leaving their partners unsatisfied. What’s not to love? There is, in fact, a whole damn lot to love there.
Licking the screen won’t make one mine, but I know just how to lock one down. An evil laugh tears through my brain.
I take a deep breath, my heart racing with a delicious mix of adrenaline and competitive drive. Gary can keep his timeshare. Tonight, I’m getting my girls a set of fated alien mates, or I’m going to ruin our lives trying.
"Gary," I say, interrupting his tirade with a bright, razor-sharp smile. "Let's put a pin on the timeshare. I have a hard out at five, and trust me... we have much bigger things to settle."
The wife’s attorney shoots me a grateful look, and I smile apologetically at the poor woman.
She’s so much better off without Gary.
And I’m going to be so much better off on a different planet.
CHAPTER 2
POPPY
A microscopic speckof conscience tries to prick at my brain as I watch Lily dump an entire bottle of silver tequila into the blender.
A swig of my own drink murders my conscience, and I decide to have a few more sips for good measure.
I am a good friend,I remind myself, smoothing down the silky fabric of my brand-new silk slip nightie.I am a saint. I am an angel of mercy delivering my sisters from the apocalyptic wasteland of the modern late capitalism hellscape.
Besides, I didn’t dress up in a glamorous negligee and three-inch marabou feather kitten heels just to back out now.
This is my casting call armor. I look hot as hell. My make up is set. My hair is perfect. I am glowing, thanks to highlighter and a deft hand at moisturizer.
If the aliens are going to beam us up tonight, I am going to look like a woman who is ready to secure a prime-time slot on television.
Beam me right the fuck up, alien daddies.
"More salsa in it, Ell," Lily yells from the kitchen, her dark bob swaying as she aggressively pulses the blender. "Poppy’squeso is solidifying into a brick and I am NOT in the mood for this.”
"I'm on it!" Ellison calls back, though she’s currently slumped on her couch, staring blankly at the TV screen where the currentWorld’s Most Eligiblecouple are making out in a tropical waterfall. "If my manager emails me one more time on a Friday night to 'circle back' on a claim, I am going to circle back to his house and set his lawn on fucking fire."
"Do it," Lucy cackles, walking into the living room, sloshing a saltless margarita over the rim of her glass. "Why shouldn’t we? A little arson is just what we need." It’s slightly out of character for sweet Lucy to be cheerleading a crime spree, and that strengthens my resolve.
If Lucy’s ready to commit crimes, it’s time to get the fuck out of dodge.
"Meanwhile," Lily chimes in, marching out of the kitchen with a freshly loaded pitcher, "I haven’t had a decent date since the Roth invasion, and that guy turned out to be stealing all my streaming passwords. And he stole my favorite pillow."
I take a huge bite of a fudge brownie to hide my smile. This is it.
A crescendo of complaints. Music to my evil ears.
