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She unlooped the cord, now having to get up earlier to return it to its clasps.

A grin formed. A morning leap sounded like bliss—one way to test Pierce’s system.

Chuckling at her wicked plan, she removed her boots—keeping the ankle harnesses on—then peeled off her company-issued space suit to reveal a sweat-stained tank top and well-worn jeans that were butter soft.

Station protocol stated that all personnel had to wear magnetic boots, even during downtime.

On strippers, the clunky shoes made them look badass.

She stomped hers on again, huffing when she clipped them in place.

Without time to shower, she swapped tank tops, deodorized, and ran a brush through her hair.

She caught her rainbow-haired reflection in the porthole above her bed. “Sorry, Mom, I’m not wearing clean underwear.”

It was just Anthony Pierce she was meeting, and she wasn’t about to get herself hospitalized or laid. Besides, coffee came first. She’d shower before bedtime.

She tapped the flashing light while considering whether she could risk a shot of splice.

Mom’s voice stuttered on. “Are you avoiding my calls, Wren Marie?” Mom huffed. “Just make sure you’re behaving. I wouldn’t put it past you to sweet-talk poor Anthony into lying for you.”

Anger tightened the knot in Wren’s stomach. Her hand began to shake, her need for splice ramping with every word Mom uttered.

A scuffle sounded with Mom saying, “Wait, I’m—”

“Sweetheart,” Dad said, his voice coming through stronger, kinder. “We called just to thank you for the tokens. Love you lots, as always.”

Before the recording ended, Wren dug out a flask hidden behind a loose panel.

She took two swigs of splice, tension easing as it slid down her throat.

Sometimes, the splice was sweet, pale gold, and tasted of apple cider.

Other times, she was lucky it didn’t strip the lining off her stomach.

Then it had the flavor of degreaser and licorice.

Beggars couldn’t be choosy. She tried not to think about her reliance on the stuff.

When she was ready, she’d quit. That wasn’t today.

That wasn’t until she could figure out a way to avoid her mother.

With her insides ablaze, she jog-walked, hurrying to reach the busy shopping level that was home to a quaint coffee stall.

At this time of day, it would be busy, filled to the brim with those splurging on a good cup of joe from Ganymede.

Pierce waved at her when she arrived. He’d managed to steal a seat by the solid glass windows staring out at the construction.

Additional funding had fueled an expansion, with the science conglomerates needing more lab space.

Blah, blah. It meant a job for her, and that was all she worried about.

“I ordered for you,” he said when she climbed onto the bar stool.

“Thanks,” she said, resting her chin on a palm and an elbow on the table.

“I’m glad you joined me. I wanted to talk to you.”

She dragged her gaze away from the cranes, cargo-barges, and one-man hovers. “Sounds serious.”

“It is. You’ve been doing these jumps more often. You okay?” He smiled at the waitress who served their black coffees. When she blushed, he beamed.

“I’m fine. Just itching to be free.” Wren sipped her coffee, smacking her lips at the smoky flavor.

Not that he was paying her much attention, his focus elsewhere. She bounced her knee, frustration, a splice craving, and impatience hindering her ability to sit still.

“Get her number already,” she snapped. “Life’s short. Get laid.”

“Whoa, that escalated quickly,” he said after the waitress swiped her wrist across his, triggering his O.D.I. or optical data implant. It flickered a light just under the skin on his left wrist.

She had one, too—company policy and all that. Thankfully, that meant she could have one. But she could only use it for emails, banking, and reading.

“I worry,” Pierce said, resting his boot on hers in yet another failed attempt to stop her fidgeting. “I don’t want to tell your folks you’ve died. So be careful when you’re out there, please.”

“Staying on the station is more hazardous than off it,” she said, hating to have to curtail the best part of her day.

“If your tether snaps—”

“I have my boosters. I can comm you, Dallas, Clemence… Now, quit it. I came for the coffee, not a lecture.” She stiffened, her cup halfway to her mouth, her gaze locked on his.

He fell silent, lashing her with pangs of guilt. She was so tired of being watched, even on behalf of her family.

“I get it. Leon put you in this untenable position of babysitting me, and now you report my every move under obligation.” She sipped her fast-cooling coffee. Another would be too much for her bank account to handle. “But see it from my side, please, Pierce.”

He slumped. “I can’t… I refuse to tell your family you died under my watch.” He tossed her a lopsided smile. “Losing a limb? That they can handle.”

“Do you really have a man on Turner duty?” She stared at her dwindling coffee, reminding herself that this was a treat, and those needed to be few and far between; otherwise, they’d lose their appeal.

“Yup.”

She cradled the cup to her chest and gazed through the window, tears burning behind her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. What E.A.F. did to you was brutal.”

She laughed, on the verge of losing her shit. “It’s Earth Armed Forces. They can do whatever they want, and the little people be damned.” She set her empty cup down and rose. “You know my roster, what time I end my shifts. Send Clemence to my location.”

“Shit, Wren. Please—”

“Goodnight, Pierce.” She swiped her wrist over the paypoint and left him. As far as she was concerned, everyone could fuck right off.

The short shower did nothing to cool her anger.

The few minutes pruning and spritzing her bonsai named ‘Charlie X’ did.

She crooned to it, telling it how beautiful it was, what a wonderful green its leaves were, amid apologies when she clipped a few branches.

Neither mentioned the nine that had died before it.

She sipped from a flask of splice as she read from her latest read: Help! An Alien’s Found My G-Spot! Her cheeks flushed as the intimacy deepened, but she couldn’t help the snigger when she highlighted sentences she was sure would draw the agent’s attention.

Gailiqon spread her thighs, his forked tongue a gift from the gods. What he could do with it…

His dual-cock hit the G-spot every damn time, merging her breathless cries with moments of awe. Never had such pleasure saturated every inch of her body.

Wren sighed, wishing she could activate her O.D.I.

and summon droolworthy images of Etterians—the only sexy aliens the news reported on.

She gazed out her window with a smile twitching her lips, her mind filled with a bronze-skinned alien worshipping her body and summoning a wealth of orgasms. Hell, she’d settle for one glorious explosion of ecstasy not instigated by her own fingers.

But these days, what would she have to do to get a little action?