“You only go around once, right? Might as well get good ’n’ dizzy.”
Relief brought a smile to Cupid’s face. “Excellent. Are you free Friday night?”
8
Stalker
It wouldn’t do for Cupid to materialize in Ruthie’s life again before his date with Gail, yet the mechanism inside his chest didn’t wait for Friday night. The gods roused Cupid early Monday morning, barely allowing him time for a shower before compelling him to his car.
Cupid had no address to type into the car’s GPS, but he needed no external guidance. His heart signal yanked him this way and that with zero regard for the paved roadways of Tarra. He held his breath and sped up through the worst of the mismatched navigation, relaxing only when road and heart set him on the same path.
The arduous journey led Cupid in a different direction than he’d traveled to Mia’s, away from the billboards and concrete and restaurants and banks—so many banks. Cupid noted the exit sign for Tarra Heights as his heart-motor steered him off the highway and spun his car in a tight loop before spitting it and its occupant onto Newcastle Parkway.
The homes in this part of town spread their elbows wider and wider. Magnificent fences did the talking for their owners: Everything on this side belongs to me. Even the street accessorized like its wealthy occupants, clothed with broad swaths of tailored grass and dripping with stylish overhead lamps.
The force pulled Cupid into a right turn onto Bridle Lane. He searched the fenced-in properties for barns or horses roaming the vast yards, but the only beast with a bit between his teeth turned out to be Cupid. This highly sobering realization struck Cupid at the exact moment his unseen rider tugged at the reins. Ho!
He slowed the Prius to a crawl and coasted past a mailbox decorated with the face, feet, and tail of a fluffy dog. Cupid smiled to himself. Yes, that feels like my Ruthie.
The driveway offered a welcoming cobblestone entry at the curb but twisted out of sight behind a forest of mature trees just a few meters from the street. Cupid thought better of taking the brazen route to the house in the light of the breaking day. He continued around a slight curve in the road and parked near the next mailbox.
Planning to study Ruthie’s activity from the safe vantage point of his car, Cupid was once again proven wrong by the throbbing in his chest. He shored up his courage, gripped the door handle, and opened the latch. Just then, the menacing growl of an approaching car pinned Cupid in place. A sleek, black car sped past him, nearly shearing off the door of the Prius.
Double-checking his side mirror this time, Cupid stepped out of his car and backtracked to the doggy mailbox. A subtle but effective octagonal sign planted in the corner of the yard let Cupid know he was approaching a home protected by a security system. These mortals and their elaborate machinery designed to keep out danger while doing little to hold in everything they purported to cherish most: love, family, loyalty, honesty.
He lacked Pan’s stealth, but Cupid’s heightened Earth senses allowed him to travel unseen through the natural camouflage of the woods lining the winding cobblestone driveway. At the top sat a massive, pink brick home, a house designed with a big family in mind. Two rectangular garden plots framed the front door with artfully arranged symmetry to welcome invited guests, which Cupid was not.
Mother would love the brightly colored flowers. Cupid checked himself for the nostalgic indulgence. Aphrodite’s preferences were no longer his concern.
On the upper floor, a light switched on. Cupid stole behind a row of tall rosebushes at the side of the house, watching and waiting while the occupants stirred to life. A parade of lights illuminated a figure, definitely Ruthie, moving downstairs to the first floor and across the house toward the garage.
He slipped behind the hedge as the side door opened. Out flew a ball of fluff approximating the size and color of the mailbox. The dog’s tiny nose lifted and twitched. Its head turned toward the exact spot where Cupid was hiding. Skatá!
Cupid shot across the yard to the cover of a broad maple. His heart was hammering so hard, he half expected to see his chest punching against the tree trunk supporting him. He gained control of his breathing before chancing a glance. There she was, sigh, the object of his deepest affection and cruelest affliction. He feasted his eyes on her effortless elegance though it twisted his gut to stand this close to what he could not touch, let alone possess.
The little dog yipped, and Ruthie traipsed after, tying the belt of her knitted sweater over a pair of plaid lounging pants. “What is it, Pookie? Did you find another bunny, silly girl?”
Cupid had thought her beautiful on Saturday night, but the natural look appealed to him even more. Unaware of the eyes following her every move, Ruthie didn’t carry the burden of worrying how she looked. No creams or artificial coloring marred her skin. Cupid felt jealous of the sunrays kissing her cheeks.
Hmm, he’d thought her taller. Hadn’t her hips lined up just below his when Cupid grabbed her from behind? The puffy height on top of Ruthie’s head last night was absent now, but could it really just be the hair lying flat? Ah, of course. She’d traded in her high heels for the low slip-on shoes now shuffling toward him.
Surely, it was wrong to wish she’d discover him here; no good could come of that, especially with Cupid’s inability to weave a lie. As the driveway sign and window stickers attested, these mortals were serious about trespassing. Pan would be furious if Cupid entangled himself with the authorities again. Still, Cupid registered disappointment when a passing squirrel stole the dog’s interest and steered Ruthie toward the backyard instead.
He didn’t realize it then, but that moment of near discovery would be the closest Cupid would come to Ruthie all day. Except for brief outdoor jaunts with the dog, Ruthie spent her whole day inside the house. Cupid’s heart signal kept him tethered within visual range until well after sundown, when that growling car that had nearly hit him returned to Ruthie’s garage. At least one of Pan’s assumptions appeared to be true.
Cupid spent the next three days observing Ruthie’s routines: dog walking, grocery shopping, meeting friends for coffees and meals, visiting the town library, spending several hours on two different days at a place called “Brighter Tomorrows,” and doing whatever it was she did alone inside her house. Each day, he extended his hours with the aim of tracking Ruthie and her husband outside their home, where he’d be able to read their heartbeats.
In four days, the couple never once left together.
9
DAY JOBS
After four days of fruitless stalking, Cupid returned to Pan’s late Thursday night with nothing but sleep on his mind. Judging by the wild ruckus coming from Pan’s bedroom, his friend had other ideas. The two had barely spoken all week beyond Cupid answering Pan’s texts with progressively sadder emojis until Pan had finally sent, Write back when you have an update.
Cupid climbed under the covers and curled the pillow tight against his ears, but there was no blocking out the carnal activity. That is definitely a man in there. Most likely, Pan had brought home the stripper again, but Cupid was too exhausted to bother sniffing out the scent. He tried to be happy for Pan—at least someone was getting some action—but the lack of sleep piled on top of the lack of sex left Cupid seriously grumpy on Friday morning when chest pains dragged him out of bed just after six. At least the house was finally quiet. Either Pan’s partner had left, or they were still asleep. Pan wouldn’t have let an opportunity go to waste.
Cupid stumbled into the kitchen with his eyes half closed. A man sat at the counter, his back to Cupid. “Morning,” Cupid mumbled.
The man spun around on his stool. Blond hair, nice smile. It was him all right, Jagger. “Hey. Hope it’s okay I grabbed a yogurt. I have to go straight to work.”
“The club’s open now?” Cupid held the coffeepot under the faucet. “You want some coffee?”
“Coffee would
be great, and no, I have a day job.”
Cupid glanced up from the sink and took in the logo on Jagger’s navy T-shirt, a cartoon refrigerator with little white legs running past the words “Speedy Appliance Service.”
“Ah.” Cupid busied himself with coffee grinds and cereal boxes and silverware while the other man watched him move around the kitchen. “Pan still sleeping?”
“Yep. I finally wore him out.” The stripper shot Cupid a brazen grin.
Cupid’s spoon clanged to the counter. “So I heard.”
The accusation was met with an unapologetic shrug. “Maybe you should join us next time.”
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” In fact, Cupid could hardly think of a worse idea than a three-way with the hot stripper Pan was sleeping with to get Cupid out of his system.
Another shrug. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I don’t,” Cupid replied, knowing full well the blame was his own.
The coffeepot beeped. Cupid filled two mugs and set one down in front of Jagger.
“Thanks,” said Jagger. “So, what kind of work has you up at the butt crack of dawn?”
“Oh, I, uh . . .” Surely, what Cupid had been doing all week counted for work. It certainly wasn’t fun. “Surveillance.” The word popped into Cupid’s head, courtesy of the police shows he’d binge-watched after fixing up Mia with Lieutenant Goode.
Jagger glanced up from his coffee. “You a cop?”
Pan’s deep guffaw preceded him into the kitchen. The skimpy, white underwear barely concealed Pan’s morning wood, a fact that did not go unnoticed by any of them as Pan strode immodestly over to Jagger and slipped a possessive arm around his shoulders. “No, babe. Q is most definitely not a cop.”
If Pan’s aren’t-you-jealous-of-my-new-toy smugness left any doubt as to what the two had been doing all night, the pungent air plugged in the gaps. Cupid bit his tongue and battled the urge to jump them both.
Jagger shrugged out from under Pan’s arm, slid off the stool, and patted Pan on his belly. “You trying to make me late for work, hot stuff?”
“Maybe. Is it working?”
Jagger shook his head and grinned. “You’re what my momma calls a bad influence.”
“Said the stripper,” Pan replied with a chuckle.
“Whatever, dude.” Walking steadily toward the front door, Jagger called back, “Thanks for the coffee and the nice visual.” The door closed behind him, leaving the two gods alone together in the awkward aftermath.
Cupid avoided eye contact, focusing all his available concentration on mixing his cereals and slicing his banana. “I guess I don’t have to ask what you’ve been up to this week while I’ve been gathering information on Ruthie.”
Pan pivoted around, mug in hand, and leaned back nonchalantly against the counter. “Well, for starters, Euphrosyne fell yesterday.”
“Our Euphrosyne, the goddess of merriment and mirth?”
Pan chuckled. “Yeah, it’s not a real common name down here.”
“Wow. I didn’t even know the Graces could fall.”
“I guess if you live long enough, there’s a first time for everything,” Pan said with a pointed look.
“I suppose. What could she have done to earn her punishment?”
“I don’t know yet,” Pan said. “I intercepted her and got her settled in over on the South Side, but I haven’t had a chance to loop back and check on her.”
“Yes, you’ve been quite the busy boy.” Cupid’s sarcasm was meant to sting, but Pan shrugged it off.
“Speaking of getting busy, you have that date tonight with Ruthie’s friend, right?”
“Yes.”
“Time to get back on the horse, eh?”
Cupid’s glance rode down Pan’s bare chest and lingered a beat too long below the coffee mug. It wasn’t a stretch to picture Jagger all saddled up between Pan’s legs. Not helpful.
“It’s not really about that, Pan.”
Pan shrugged and sipped his coffee, leaving unsaid what Cupid heard loud and clear: Better do it while you can.
10
DATING GAIL
Gail looped her arm around Cupid’s bent elbow as they strolled together toward his car. “Thanks for dinner. That was surprisingly nice.”
“Surprising, huh?” Cupid grinned at her. “I’m not quite sure how to take that.” Though if asked right then, he might have answered exactly the same way. This Gail was different from the version he’d met at the club—still the brutally honest, fierce woman he’d spoken to on the phone a few times now, but more relaxed, not trying so hard. He liked her.
She was no Ruthie, but then, Cupid couldn’t have Ruthie. Ever. Unless the gods had another nasty surprise in store for Cupid, Gail did not appear to be off-limits. There was something to be said for Pan’s suggestion. Why shouldn’t Cupid have a little fun?
“Take it as a compliment,” she answered.
He teased her without a trace of malice. “Why would you agree to go out with me if your expectations were that low?”
She slowed and turned to face him. “I wasn’t sure we’d have anything to talk about over dinner, so that part was a nice surprise.” Gail reached up to cup Cupid’s cheek. “Just so you’re aware, my bar for the rest of the evening is extremely high.”
“In that case,” Cupid said with a breaking smile, “we better get out of here.”
“You read my mind.”
Truth be told, he’d read her scent, but that was the kind of detail Cupid had learned to keep to himself. “Home it is,” he said, tucking her into the passenger side.
“No.” Her hand blocked the door from closing. “I can’t bring you home. My kids . . . they’re teenagers. I have to set a good example.”
“I understand. Hmm . . .” Cupid leaned on the roof of the car as he contemplated their options. He’d picked up Gail for their date; he knew how she lived. Pan’s bachelor pad was no place for a lady like Gail. “I don’t think you’d appreciate the ambience at my place.”
Gail giggled. “That’s why god invented hotels.”
“They did?”
With a tilt of her head, she asked, “How much wine did you have?”
He’d been careful. He knew better than to drink more than he could handle. “About a glass and a half. Why?”
“Never mind. Get your hot little bod inside this car, and I’ll direct you.”
Direct him she did, and her instruction didn’t stop once they reached the Hickory Hotel. Gail knew exactly what she wanted and how and where she wanted it, and Cupid was more than eager to deliver—multiple times. What Gail lacked in elasticity, she more than made up for in experience.
He’d had enough sexual encounters by now to appreciate Gail’s intimate knowledge of erogenous zones—his and hers. Even more exciting was her enthusiasm. Every inch of Cupid’s body thrilled her, and she was delighted to return the favor. After nearly two weeks of self-imposed celibacy, Cupid made up for lost time with a stamina that leapt Gail’s high bar with plenty of room to spare, and she wasn’t shy about letting him know.
Flopped onto his back next to her, Cupid chuckled. “Well, I’m so glad to hear that.”
“Would you mind foraging for some protein in the minibar?” she asked.
“Sure.” He hopped out of bed without the slightest clue what he was looking for. Minibar? He needn’t have worried. Gail turned on the bedside lamp and pointed him to the spot below the TV.
He crouched down and read aloud the contents of the cabinet. “What would you like?” he asked, craning his neck around to the bed.
Gail had scooted to a sitting position against the headboard and gathered the sheets up to her chin. “Trail mix, I guess. And a water bottle?”
Cupid grabbed the provisions. Her eyes locked on his midsection as he stood, and he stirred t
o life. Feeling playful, Cupid gripped the cellophane bag between his teeth and crawled up the bed like a tiger stalking its prey. Gail giggled as he dropped the bag into her lap and leaned in for a kiss. While their tongues danced, Cupid curled a finger around the edge of the sheet and tried to slide it downward, but Gail held on tight.
He pulled away from the kiss. “Why are you all covered up?”
“It’s bright in here.” It was the first he’d seen of her confidence flagging.
Cupid rolled off to her side and propped up his head in his hand. “Okay,” he said softly, “as long as you know you’re beautiful.”
“Please. Let’s not go overboard here.” She tore open the bag with her teeth. “Want some?”
“Sure.”
She filled his hand, and they watched each other while they snacked. Cupid had yet to encounter modesty from a partner, and it made him curious. “Mind if I ask you something?”
Gail tipped the water bottle away from her lips. “Not sure. Ask me, and I’ll tell you if I mind.”
“Fair enough. Have you been with many men since your divorce?”
“A few,” she answered carefully.
“Were you shy like this with them?”
“I’ve never been a fan of keeping the lights on.”
“Would you like me to turn the lamp off?” He rolled over and reached for the switch, but Gail grabbed his wrist.
“No. Please—” Startled, he pulled back. She released his hand. “I want to see you.” She cringed as the words left her mouth. “Is that creepy?”
Cupid smiled and traced a finger along her shoulder. “No, it’s sweet.” He wanted to see her, too, but not if it made her uncomfortable.
“I’ve never been with anyone like you before.” Her confession made her blush. “I mean, even when I was young, I never . . .” She waved a hand in front of her face as if to erase the babbling. “I just want to enjoy this while it lasts, as long as you don’t mind.”
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