Page 7

“Too forward?” She laughs, self-assured. “Sorry, occupational hazard. I teach flirtatious banter workshops when I’m not competing for love on national television.”
“I’ll have to hear more about that.”
As Luna glides past, I notice a limo arriving differently than the others. It’s pulled up more discreetly, and Tanya’s whispering urgently into her headset. Interesting.
The door opens, and I swear time stops.
A woman emerges dressed in a skintight Vulcan costume—an emerald green uniform with the Starfleet insignia, pointed ears, and a sleek black bob haircut with straight bangs. She’s wearing glasses that somehow make her look both intelligent and mysterious. Her walk is measured, precise—perfectly in character.
My inner nerd is having a complete meltdown while I struggle to maintain external composure.
She approaches, raises her hand in the Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper, Hayes Burke.”
I return the gesture automatically. “Peace and long life.”
Her eyebrow arches in Vulcan surprise. “Your knowledge of Vulcan customs is... satisfactory.”
“I’ve been known to attend a convention or two.”
She steps closer, and there’s something eerily familiar about the shape of her mouth, the curve of her jaw beneath the costume. Before I can place it, she leans in, lips grazing my ear.
“My pon farr has been triggered,” she whispers.
Oh, shit.
For the uninitiated, pon farr is essentially Vulcan heat—an overwhelming biological mating urge that occurs every seven years. InStar Trekterms, she’s just told me she’s down for anything—and I meananything.
I’m trying to keep my face camera-appropriate while my entire body short-circuits. This woman—whoever she is behind that costume—just shot to the top of my list with six words.
She pulls back, dark eyes studying me through those glasses, and I realize I haven’t responded.
“That’s...” I fumble out. “I hope we can find a logical solution.”
The corner of her mouth twitches—almost a smile, but not quite. Perfect Vulcan control.
“Logic dictates exploration of all available options,” she says, then walks past me into the mansion, leaving me staring after her like a lovesick teenager.
Tanya snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Hayes—three more limos!”
Right. Focus. But my mind keeps drifting back to the mystery Vulcan. Who comes to a dating show dressed as a character fromStar Trek? Someone I desperately need to know better, that’s who.
After I’ve been introduced to all the women, I make my way inside the mansion to join a cocktail party of organized chaos. Thirty women in evening gowns circle me like I’m the last piece of chocolate in the box. I make small talk, accept drinks I barely sip, and constantly scan the room for the Vulcan woman who seems to have disappeared.
“Hayes!” It’s Gabby, tugging at my arm. “Come see the pool area! I heard they’ve got a hot tub.”
Before I can respond, she’s pulling me through the crowd, past Annabelle, who looks crestfallen at the interruption of our conversation about her family’s pecan farm.
“Sorry,” I mouth to her as Gabby drags me away. I catch glimpses of other women—Luna holding court with a small group, Kavita watching us with calculating eyes.
At the pool, Gabby immediately kicks off her heels and takes off her coat so she’s just in her bikini. “Don’t you find these parties stuffy? I’m more of an action girl.” She dips her toes in the water, showing off her toned legs. “The water’s perfect. We should get in.”
I don’t normally care about soaking my clothes, but I also don’t normally wear a five-thousand-dollar Dior tux.
I remind myself that it’s on theGroomsmen to Groomproduction team’s tab, so I just smile before saying, “You first,” hoping she’s not serious.
She grins mischievously, then stands and dives in, splashing water all over Annabelle, who’s just approached with two glasses of champagne.
“Oh, my God!” Annabelle gasps as water soaks the front of her dress. “I was just—I brought these for you—”