Chapter 1
Rosie
Seeking: Human to assist in rutting cycles
Requirements: Strong, independent, high sex drive, no desire to spawn or have romantic entanglements.
I read the bare bones bio again. And again. It is hardly the most romantic thing I've read, but I’m not exactly looking for romance.
"You can't be serious," Betty says from over my shoulder. I shrug her off. Of course, I'm not serious. Except, maybe I am.
The new Human-Extraterrestrial Liaison Program may be exactly what I'm looking for. If I don't think of it like an alien dating app and more of a job site, it's actually quite perfect.
"Rosie, no." I stick my tongue out at mybest friend and ex-husband and go back to ignoring her. “You can't."
I flip back to the program page and read over the details again. The H.E.L.P. site is rather bare bones itself but I guess it would be. It's only existed for a matter of days, and the site has already crashed multiple times from interest.
"What do you think a rut is?" I ask, flipping through the about information going over the sign-up process (which I've done), the mating criteria that leads to matches (which I've gotten), and the stages of courtship (I wonder how much the intergalactic messages are costing the company).
"Breeding season." Betty says, looking up from her phone, where she'd clearly looked it up. "He wants to breed you."
The words send a shudder through me. I was down for a good cream pie, but the thought of actually having kids was enough to put me off my dinner. But the bio did say that his match should have no interest in spawn, which I assume is the alien term for children.
"Pretty sure he doesn't." I say, reading over the benefits list. "Besides, it almost might be worth it for this benefitspackage. Free housing, free health care, a stipend to outfit me for space travel and then a settlement once I agree to stay on WLN269."
We both pause to giggle at the ridiculously named planet that sounded like something a preteen boy came up with. Honestly, neither of us is better than a child. It was part of why our marriage fell apart. Neither of us wanted to grow up and be responsible.
That same flaw is part of what has me on the H.E.L.P. website. The settlement would be enough to solve all of my financial problems and give me a truly fresh start. Something I desperately need.
It's been a rough one. After a year of battling brain cancer, I lost my mom in the spring. It was then I realized how bad things had gotten financially. I'd been too consumed with her care to pay attention, but she'd been drowning in debt. There had been just enough from the sale of her house and car to pay her debt off.
Selling the house meant I'd had nowhere to live since I'd moved in with her after my divorce from Betty. Which made it a strange circle of events that found me living in Betty's spare bedroom with her new husband for the last six months.
I am drowning in student loans on a part-time salary while hunting for a position in what may be the worst job market of all time. Betty and Craig are so understanding, but I need to not be living with my ex. And I don't see a way out. H.E.L.P. and Rexus might be my only answer.
"Rosie, don't do anything crazy."
I go back to the bio of the alien I matched with and hit accept.
"Too late."
Chapter 2
Rosie
Seeking escape from human life. I don't know why you're looking for someone who isn't interested in romantic entanglements, or kids, but I'm here for it. What's your favorite position?
"You didn't," Craig says, reading over my shoulder. Yet another reason I need out of their house. Betty and Craig lack boundaries. They're great, and I love them both, but boy I could do without their commentary on my every choice.
"What else am I supposed to ask?" Actually, I really wanted to know. I had three months of messages with Rexus before the first trip to WLN269 (snort) would happen and I have no clue what to talk to him about. He made it clear what he was about.
"I don't know. His favorite color?" Craigruffles my hair and goes back to the pot of pasta on the stove.
"Maybe next time." Definitely not next time. Who cares what his favorite color is? I want to make sure he's not going to want to fuck me in some impossible position. I'm a tea pot–short and round–not a pretzel.
"How was the interview today?" Craig asks, doing something with the pot of sauce. I don't know. I don't cook.
"I walked out. They're looking for one person to fill three positions at a barely minimum wage salary. Let some twenty-two-year-old do it." The receptionist position I'd interviewed for that morning was really a receptionist, website manager, social media marketer, with a side of security. All for thirty thousand a year. No, thank you.
