Her heart was beating too fast. Too fast for simple anticipation. Too fast to be rational.

Bracing a hand against the confetti-strewn bar beside her, Thea resisted the spin of laughter and colored lights. The space-dock lounge, usually so utilitarian, sparkled with festive costumes and high spirits. Happy shrieking periodically broke out as planetary colonists, fresh from ground-to-orbit shuttles, joined their ship-based loved ones in the crowd. The last fifteen minutes of the new colony's fifth year was on its joyful, drunken countdown on the C.S.S. Shepard.

But no matter the party atmosphere and no matter her pulse rate, meeting her ex-supervisor, Dr. Rhys Navin, for a drink on his arrival wasn't a—

"It's a date." A whirl of white fun fur, glitter, and hot-pink yoga gear slammed into the bar beside her. A grin painted luminescent blue bloomed mere inches from her face—dutifully tracked by the cameras of a hovering 'follower' drone.

"Trixie, respectfully, piss off." Letting dark hair hide her grimace, Thea turned to the bar's glowing menu icons to order a soda water. She'd finally limped to the end of her PhD; had just sent her resume to Surface Recruitment. Their HR snoops would be up in her socials in the new year, and Trix-Licious, wannabe 'stream queen,' did not produce family friendly content. Ironic given a good number of her small but loyal following were actual family.

"Can't." Trixie tossed flame-red hair. "You being deliberately blind. Like one of them Earth birds that stick their head up their own asses."

"Ostriches. And the saying is 'in the sand'."

"Well, you one dumb bird either way." Cocking a hip, Trixie aimed duck-pout lips at her drone. "Trixsters, beautiful party people, what do you think? Why would a handsome, sexy xenobiologist organize to meet his single, past student for a drink at ten to twelve on New Year's Eve? Post your super intuitive comments to chat. Kisses!"

Thea tapped her smartwatch to make payment; grabbed her drink from its delivery slot. "How about, the highly respected academic, who shall not be objectified, could only catch the day's last shuttle, and rather than see in the new year traveling on the intership tube, decided to have a drink with an ex-student who is loser enough to still work at a fast-food joint in the arrivals' lounge."

Trixie rolled eyes. "Your negativity killing the NYE vibe, babes. But at least that ugly uniform exploitive enough to give your ex-teach something to look at. Hugs them tiny tits nice, and them low-rent shorts... Babe, I'm all about shoes, but I'd do you despite those ragged-ass sneakers. Trixsters, feel free to 'objectify' our girl in the chat, boost her tragic ego."

Murdering her friend with a glance, Thea tugged down her 'Belching Bear Burgers' T-shirt and stifled regret about not changing after her shift. Rhys Navin wasn't there for her tits. In the four years he'd mentored her research, he'd been friendly and interested in her life—but only so far as how outside demands might affect her studies. On the few times they'd met in person rather than via surface-to-ship vid-link, he hadn't once glanced below her neck.

She couldn't claim the same.

But that was her problem, and she wasn't about to risk her newly launching xen-bio career by making it his. When her former mentor strode in on his rangy—and yes, damnit, 'sexy'—jeans-clad legs, he was going to shake her hand, warmly congratulate her on her PhD, then politely sit his surface-gravity–toned ass down and let her interrogate him about any and every xenobiology job on the surface.

She wasn't going to be 3D-printing beef-burger protein in the new year.

A reference and a job lead, that's all she wanted from Dr. Rhys Navin.

A glimpse of tawny hair under swirling disco lights. Then a wide, fast grin amongst waving hands and confetti-bombed heads at the lounge's entrance.

Thea's pulse bounced—then sprinted. Shit. Who was she kidding?

"Oh, babe." Trixie's fur-covered arm hooked around her neck. "If you don't buy that 'respected academic' a drink and get your class A flirt on, Trix-Licious's going to be deplatformed for kicking her best friend's ass on live stream."

Thea gritted teeth. "Best go limber up."

"Whatever, babes. Chat just spotted a hot-fire sports celeb on the dancefloor. I'm off to schmooze with someone less tragic and more in line with my channel's love-thyself-or-anyone-else-who-super-cute vibe."

"Great. Good luck."

A negligent hair toss. "Don't need it." And Trix was gone.

Bracing herself, Thea turned back to the academic heading her way. Humor of the self-loathing kind pulled her lips as her pulse tripped again. Hell, the man had a grin on him—instant death to common sense. The lean body weaving through the crowd, clad in a smart black shirt and synth jeans, wasn't exactly conducive to intellectual focus either—as she well knew after four years of mental blanks in the middle of alien-soil-chemistry discussions.

But she was just going to have to deal.

Because it didn't matter what her pulse or Trix believed.

This. Was not. A date.

The toe of a polished boot hooked out the barstool beside her, allowing that lean body to park itself a mere two feet from her.

"Dr. Thea Koray." The unadulterated pleasure in clear green eyes turned the formal address into a tribute—a teacher thrilled for his student. "Congratulations on already getting your thesis cited in five papers. You're a rock star on the xen-bio stage."

Thea kicked her respiration out of the ditch and dragged up a smile. "Dr. Navin, I've reviewed your community socials. If the number of new alien-botany fans messaging you is any indication, you're going to sell out your next public lecture."

Rhys winced. "Thank your influencer friend and her 'Making It Grow' interview last month. She has a talent for turning innocent plant science into wild, eyelash-batting innuendo."

"And other people's embarrassment into paid endorsements—sorry. But don't sweat it. Of the eighty thousand souls on the Shepard, Trixie's following barely covers three hundred. Ninety percent of the salacious comments on your profile are from her grandmother."

"That knowledge alone calls for a bourbon." Rhys turned to the bar to tap in his order. "What are you drinking?" His gaze flicked to her water—then to the belching cartoon bear emblazoned on her T-shirt, before sliding to shorts, down bare legs, to sneakers that'd seen too many nine-hour shifts. Coolly amused eyes flicked back up just as her cheeks flared hot. "You still on call for burger emergencies? That's rough on the eve of our baby colony's fifth anniversary."

"I forgot to bring a change of clothes." Deliberately. Just like she'd 'forgotten' to shave her armpits—to send a message to her subconscious about the likelihood of anyone ever being in a position to care. An accurate prediction, it seemed. The first time Rhys Navin acknowledged she had legs and it was to sympathize with her New Year's Eve lameness.

She smiled; ignored the sting. "Tell me Surface Recruitment is clamoring to offer me a job so I can burn this T-shirt."

Rhys retrieved his drink. "Your thesis on adapting the Shepard's hydroponic cultivars to the planet's soil has people impressed. That said, it's 'cherry celery' that's caused the most animated discussions in the office."

Thea's smile wavered, pride veering toward unease. "I'm sorry, what?"

"On your friend's botany special, she mentioned you'd created cherry celery when you two were kids. The story intrigued more than a few people." Rhys's lips twitched. "Marketing was thrilled to see 'teenage mutant vegetables' trending on general ship and colony socials."

Thea cringed, recalling exactly what Trix had said: "Trixsters, science a tool to combat naturally occurring evil. Now, you all know my thoughts on the Devil's string stick and my mother's obsession with it. In an act of pure love, my best girl, Thea, created a cherry-flavored kind—saved my young life. A girl does that at twelve, she got the talent and class to get whatever she wants at twenty-eight, am I right?" The last had been followed by a head-to-toe pan of the bemused, tawny-haired academic she was interviewing.

Thea's stomach slithered away as certainty hit: Rhys had watched back the stream. Even worse, others in his team had watched it. Panic fluttered. If they'd taken Trixie's salacious hints even halfway seriously... Goodbye, academic respect. Hello, humiliation. And welcome home, eternal student debt.

"Dr. Navin..." she scrambled to formulate an apology.

"Is Trix alright?" Rhys frowned at the bouncing, arm-waving chaos of the dancefloor. "What's with the fight-dancing?" He checked his smartwatch. "Ah—there's a countdown to the New Year on your friend's stream, but also one ticking down the seconds to her kicking your 'giant girl-brain out of your chicken-ostrich ass." He looked up, brow raised. "That mean anything to you? Because apparently you've only got three minutes to live."

Thea's gut lurched as Trixie held a martial arts pose—arms spread wide like a bird—and a few other friends on the dancefloor made kissy faces. God, who needed enemies when you knew idiots? Her love for them twisted into queasy horror. "Ignore it. That's nothing intelligent lifeforms should waste neurons on. Tell me about the blue algae your team found on planet. I hear it might have potential for biofuel production."

"Sorry." Rhys held up a finger, eyes back on his watch. "Just spotted Professor Tang on the chat. She's a fan of Trix's—of any PR that might bring in investors. I wouldn't be surprised if Trix-Licious gets an invite to the surface to do another botany special. Oh—and it looks like Trix might not be the only one invited. Tang just messaged the chat, 'Thea, it's a D-A-T-E.' Well, congratulations, Dr. Koray. Looks like you have an appointment with the big cheese of xen-bio in the new year."

Every millimeter of Thea's intestinal tract withered. The head of the colony's xen-bio team watched Trix's channel; was currently watching and had just messaged—

"Oh, my mistake." Rhys frowned. "Dr. Paul and Prof. Genji just corrected me. Looks like the boss was referencing a viewer poll blowing up on your friend's stream. Zero percent voting Option A, 'It's just boring academic networking,' and one hundred percent getting behind B, 'Kiss the man already, you daft emu'."

Every cell of Thea's body locked—full cringe. Did a professional woman politely excuse herself so she could eject herself into space, or stay and murder her best friend? Rhys's colleagues were watching? God. They'd never take her seriously. She'd be a joke forev—

A countdown warning sounded: thirty seconds to midnight.

Confusion hit. Thirty seconds to—? Why would Rhys's team be wasting those last seconds voting on an idiotic poll?

"While Option A sounds eminently sensible, it's a holiday." Rhys tapped his watch. "I've got to go with the rest of the team's votes. FYI, Prof. Genji's leading the chat on suggestions for fun side projects for you in the new year. Proposals so far include chocolate broccoli, beans that make peppermint-smelling farts, and something about 'putting his best guy out of his damn misery after four years of compliance with academic staff–student interaction guidelines'."

Thea stared as the crowd roared, the final seconds of the year starting their countdown. Her pulse hammered—then jolted as Rhys's smirk faded to a serious line, his gaze meeting hers. The bar's drunken chant hit 'Five,' then 'Four'—

She went with her heart's quicker countdown; stepped forward—pressed her lips to Rhys's.

The new year hit with a bang and fluttering confetti she felt, not saw.

As the crowd's whoops finally died down, she pulled back to catch breath and resuscitate brain cells. "Dr. Navin." She feigned a frown. "I'd like more data before drawing any conclusions, but there's this wild theory going around—"

"It's a damn date, Dr. Koray."