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Thanks to a few alien technologies, combined with her own natural abilities in spotting a good match, they’d had a ninety-five percent success rate in the last quarter. If Heather got any better at this, she’d have to award herself a gold star and maybe a few days off with a steamy e-book and a box of chocolates.

Nell Saunders, another matchmaker at My Single Alien, stomped into the office. She was smart, funny, and usually cheerful, although maybe not today.

Heather placed her tablet down. “What’s up?”

The look on Nell’s petite, pale face suggested her latest intake of aliens had not gone well. Her hair was pulled off her face in a messy ponytail, and her dark brown eyes looked tired. “If I have to explain to another alien what all our different holes are used for, I might have to stun myself with a laser. Why are they so obsessed with whether their appendages will fit into our holes? We know our own holes. If they stick it in one we don’t want them to, they will know all about it.”

“Because they’re all horny male aliens,” Vegas said. “You can give them horns or tentacles, but if they have something vaguely resembling a cock swinging between their legs, it will dictate their thoughts eighty percent of the time. The rest of the time, they operate in neutral, but the cock can take over at a moment’s notice.”

“There must be one alien race where the males don’t think with their reproductive organs.” Nell slumped into a seat and covered her eyes with her hands. “One of them suggested my ear lobe would be a good place to place his tentacle. My ear lobe! It’s a tiny hole. Why go wriggling about in there looking to plant your alien sperm?”

Heather laughed. “What did you do?”

“I smacked his tentacle so hard it went numb.” Nell dropped her hands into her lap. “Vegas, just a heads up, he said he was going to complain about the assault.”

“I’ll be sure to put that in our Ear Violation file. You won’t hear about it from me.”

“Hilarious. I warned him that his unwanted tenticular investigations broke the rules of My Single Alien. If he wanted to meet his matched female, he needed to be on his best behavior. After that, his tentacles disappeared inside his clothing, and my ears stopped being violated.”

Nell worked as hard as anyone at My Single Alien. She had an uncannily empathic way of figuring out if an alien and human were a good match. Anyone would think she was alien, she was so good. But she’d arrived on the same space ship as Heather and Vegas, all terrified about living on a space station and meeting all the weird and wonderful aliens who shot through the Glory Hole at regular intervals, intent on probing female holes and having offspring.

“Threaten to take away their fertile human and they’re putty in our hands.” Vegas’s brow furrowed as she stared at her tablet. “This match is odd. I’d never have paired this alien with this human.”

Heather glanced at her tablet. “I was thinking the same with the match I was looking at. It matched an older Lillip with a high-strung young female. I can’t see that working.”

“This one’s got a Yeknod with a woman pushing forty. I know they like their females no older than mid-twenties.”

“Ageists,” Nell muttered.

Vegas grinned at her. “It’s not that. It’s got to do with their genetic material not pairing with humans over a certain age. The tech geeks know all about it. They would never adjust the algorithms to create this kind of match.”

Nell stretched her arms over her head. “Are you working much longer? I need a drink to unwind after my close encounter of the tentacle kind.”

“Yes. We’ve got more aliens to match. These ones are useless.” Heather scanned the next match, shaking her head as she did so. “Maybe there’s a glitch in the system. These are the worst pairings I’ve seen since we started. Do you remember when that poor girl, Vicky, was paired with the enormous Plincar? He chased her around for a week, hunting her like she was something he wanted to eat.”

“Didn’t he eventually do just that?” Vegas arched an eyebrow. “She wasn’t complaining after she realized how long his tongue was.”

Nell chuckled. “That’s one good thing about that race. They’re scary predators until you get them turned on, then they’ll do all sorts of incredible things to you. I wouldn’t mind trying one out for myself.”

“We haven’t had a decent Plincar on the books for months,” Vegas said. “They’re too busy hunting prey to get us pregnant. Do you want me to put your name down for the next one who comes in?”

“Not a chance.” Nell shook her head. “Despite the long tongues and hot bodies, they’re too much like hard work. And I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night for fear I’d wake up dead!”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Nell laughed. “You know what I mean. I’d have to sleep with one eye open in case my lover turned hunter.”

“Who would be your ideal mate?” Heather asked.

“Someone who’s great at back rubs and loves romantic movies. And who likes to cook and eat cake.”

“You’re describing a woman,” Vegas said.

“I’m so not.” Nell poked her tongue out. “He’s also got to carry me over his shoulder when I’ve had one too many in the Enchanted Captain.”

“The perfect alien,” Vegas said. “They don’t exist. Just like the saps we left behind on Earth, they all have their annoying habits.”

“Isn’t Solan your perfect alien?” Nell grinned and winked at Heather.