Alien Hunt (Mated & Afraid #3)

1. Poppy

POPPY

I feel evil.

Not in a serial killer “it puts the lotion on its skin” way, but more in a cartoon villain twirling his mustache and cackling maniacally way.

Just, you know, deliciously bad.

The soon-to-be-divorced couple sitting across the conference table from me are currently screaming at each other over who gets custody of a Peloton and a timeshare in Florida, and all I can think is, “I know something you don’t know” in an incredibly ridiculous school-yard chant way.

That, and “you miserable people are so about to not be my problem.”

The last thought has me hiding a smile. At least, I think I’m hiding a smile.

My client, a man who has made marital pettiness his entire personality for the last six months along with so many red flags it’s possible his soon-to-be ex-wife is completely colorblind, pauses mid-rant to frown at me. “You’re in a remarkably good mood today, Ms. Harrington.”

“Because I was just looking over your financial disclosures, Gary,” I whisper, batting my eyelashes with faux sincerity. “And I can already picture how beautifully this settlement is going to turn out for you. A clean slate and an unforgettable victory.”

Gary smiles, looking momentarily assuaged by my faux-optimism, and leans back in his leather chair.

I gently tap his opposing counsel’s stack of motions.

“We’re taking the Peloton, for sure. Gary paid for the custom calibration, and frankly, your client doesn’t even use the subscription.

Plus… everyone knows Gary needs the cardio for his blood pressure.

He has several doctors’ notes. It’s a non-negotiable. ”

Honestly, I think the world would be better off if we left Gary’s blood pressure unchecked, his poor wife certainly would be, too.

Gary nods officiously, matching my energy, and my phone buzzes against my thigh under the table.

Hell yeah.

That’s the sound of my nefarious plans very much under way.

Plans that have absolutely nothing to do with dividing up mutual funds, or arguing over who gets the velvet sofa, or listening to human men talk about their feelings—which, after three years in family law, I can confidently say are often trash.

Nope. This plan is for me.

And for my girls, of course. Because let’s face it, the human dating pool post-Roth-invasion is a at best, a biohazard. At worst, a cess pool.

My friend group? We’re all miserable.

Ellison is drowning in insurance pivot tables, Lily is losing her mind, and Lucy is practically a saint for not throwing her blender at her wall. They need a push.

A reality TV-sized push.

With wings and big dicks.

And I’m just the one to give it to them. The push, I mean. Not the wings and huge dicks. I have neither of those.

I slide my phone out beneath the mahogany table, keeping my face perfectly locked in a professional "lawyer face" while my thumbs fly across the screen.

Lily: I’m bringing so much tequila

Notification: Lily has changed the group name from Reality Hussies to Drunk To Escape Reality Hussies

A quiet snort escapes my nose, and I quickly mask it with a delicate cough into my hand.

Poppy: ha

Poppy: I’m making brownies right now

Poppy: And I have a crockpot with queso going

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 for Mated and Afraid gleams 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.