One
SALLIE
"Sallie."
I startle at the deep voice that comes from the back door, gasping when the beans in the bowl I'm holding spill all over the floor at my feet. It sounds like the rain sticks we used to make back home in arts and crafts as kids, and my heart squeezes at the reminder of a simpler time.
"Shit. Sorry." Rapid footsteps head my way as I drop to my knees with an awkward laugh. My heartbeat races when the hulking man who startled me kneels to help me clean up the mess.
Ranger. My new husband. Or, one of my new husbands, I should say. He and his friend Maxon are the culmination of a spontaneous (aka, drunken) thirtieth birthday decision that changed the course of my entire life six months ago.
My boyfriend broke up with me the day before my birthday, and truthfully, he was not a nice man, nor did he make me feel good about myself ever, but I hadn't anticipated being single when I turned thirty.
Loneliness hit me like a ton of bricks. I resolved to spend the last hour of my birthday doomscrolling when the ad for Kismet Moon Matchmaking popped up on my phone.
I took it as a sign from above, clicking faster than I drank the frozen margaritas that night.
I know what you're thinking—Sallie, honey, so many people sign up for dating websites, especially when they're drunk off their asses and drinking their feelings.
Yep.
But Kismet Moon Matchmaking is not just any dating website. It is the number one matchmaking service specializing in helping those on the Lunar-base moon colony find brides. Like, on the freakin' moon.
After months of tests, both psychological and physical, I received word that I had been matched.
And ten days ago, my curvy ass found itself on a rocket headed for the moon promising to marry not one, but two men, and now here I am in our married-living pod panicking that I've made the biggest mistake of my life.
"Shit. I'm crunching more than I'm picking up." Ranger's deep voice has a direct line to my clit, and I have to bite back a moan to keep from making an already awkward situation even more uncomfortable.
"No worries," I manage to squeak out and then gasp like a weirdo when our hands touch over the top of the bowl.
Did I mention my new husbands are hot? Like honest to god, lift weights for a living, handsome, salt of the Earth, er, moon, good with their hands, men. They paid to bring me to the moon to be their bride.
And, yet, we've been married for three days, and we have yet to consummate our union by, you know, unionizing.
Ranger clears his throat and then shuffles away from me as he scoops up the little round ovals and drops them into the bowl.
He's hunched over, giving me a great view of his firm backside, his muscles rippling under that tight shirt of his, and my panties are soaked by the time the last one is picked up.
When the floor is clean, I stand and reach for the beans.
Ranger hands the bowl to me, but doesn't let go of his side.
"Thank you," I say breathily, staring up at him through my lashes and wondering what his big hands would feel like on my body.
Ranger's finger grazes mine, and my heart soars. Is this it? Is he going to take me on the kitchen counter, and consummate our marriage right here, right now?
But then the moment passes, quick as shooting star, and he gives me a quick nod before heading down the hallway to the bathroom next to his bedroom.
Our bedroom, I should say, but he's been sleeping on the couch.
Married-living pods have two bedrooms, one for each of the men and then I'm supposed to alternate evenings, if we follow the recommendations in the little brochure they gave me when I landed.
But when we arrived home that first night after our ceremony, Ranger lead me to his bedroom and then headed straight for the living room.
Maxon is in the other bedroom. He's more talkative than Ranger, joking and laughing with me, but he simply said goodnight before pulling the door closed.
I spent my wedding night and every night since, all by my lonesome.
Over the past three days, a deep dread that my husbands regret their decision to marry me has only intensified right along with my absolutely feral desire to take both of them at once.
My cheeks heat with my naughty thoughts, and I bite my lip as I walk to the sink to rinse the beans before putting them in the cooker to be ready for supper tonight.
Fighting back tears, I stare out the little window over the sink and wonder what they were expecting.
I sent them pictures, and, while they were of course flattering, I made sure they knew I was a plus-sized woman before they agreed to the match.
The dress I was wearing in the third picture left very little to the imagination, which I thought would be a good test to see if I was their type.
They signed the paperwork and paid the deposit the next day, which I thought was a good sign, but neither of them has so much as touched me since our first kisses at the ceremony three days ago.
I've read the literature from Kismet from cover to cover since first getting matched, and the advice most often repeated is that love can take time to grow.
The thing is, Kismet is the most popular service, because they have an unprecedented success rate – 99.
9% compatibility. And not everybody gets matched by them, so I was hoping that Maxon and Ranger were my soulmates or something.
I shake my head and sigh. Instant love is better left to fairy tales and romance novels. Let's hope my grandma's chili can at least win their stomachs.
"This smells delicious, Sallie." Maxon rubs his hands together and gives me his grin that makes butterflies erupt in my belly. He takes the pot from me and ladles a big helping into my bowl before filling his and Ranger's to the brim.
"Thank you for making dinner again," Ranger adds. "I'll cook for us tomorrow night. We can take turns."
My smile falters. He doesn't like my cooking?
I watch him, holding my breath as he dips his spoon into the rich mixture and blows on the steaming chili.
I'm so distracted by his perfect lips and tongue, wondering if he knows how to use them where it counts, that I don't realize I'm still staring at him until he looks at me expectantly. Did he say something?
"Sorry, what?"
"This is incredible," Ranger repeats, and I let out a sigh of relief.
I reach for the pepper at the same time as Maxon, and we both pull back quickly. He laughs and then reaches for it. He places it in front of my plate. "Ladies first."
"Thank you." I glance at the two men, my heart so full of love and longing for their affection that I know I can't hold it in any longer.
Oh no, oh God. Please don't cry, I beg my sad little heart, but the prick of tears starts behind my eyes in sharp defiance of my plan to be patient and let love grow.
"I h-hope you l-like it."
And then I burst into tears.