It’s no secret that the reason we were brought here to the ice planet—or as I like to call it, Human Popsicle Planet—because the single hunters of the tiny tribe were in need of girlfriends. Mates, they say, like that makes it sound better. Thing is, they got the short end of the stick when it comes to me. I’m smart—book smart. I’m also a huge wimp, a worrywart, clumsy, unathletic, and I don’t know how to shut up. Which, I suppose, would be fantastic if one of the guys here was looking for a woman who’s completely useless and doesn’t know when to shut up. But they’re not.
