by Staci Hart
“Oh, shit.” Lex spun around and turned the heat down, blowing on the water while she stirred it.
Kara shook her head, confounded. Lex always maintained the illusion of having her shit together, particularly in the kitchen. And Kara would say Lex was generally cheerful, but giddy? Never. Especially not over a guy.
And just like that, she desperately wanted to meet the singer in the band, curious as to how he’d gotten Lex all flailing and giddy and unhinged.
Lex flitted around the kitchen, multitasking noodle-cooking and vegetable-chopping while Kara pulled out the dishes and silverware to set the table. She set the plates down and folded the napkins, lost in the routine, thinking about her friend.
Alexis Greene had broken hearts throughout the Lower East Side from the minute she turned sixteen and started dating. She’d been through a string of guys over the course of ten years, ranging in seriousness from fling to the occasional long-term relationship, confident enough to date nerds or playboys. Lex had no fear, as long as her heart wasn’t involved. So many of them had tried to break in, but she was completely unavailable, which was funny because she almost always had a boyfriend. She was the girl who guys wanted and chicks hated even though she was never a bitch to anyone. Except Ramona James, but that skank had it coming.
But Lex had never been able to get close to any guy, always running when things got sticky. And it was no big shocker, not after dealing with her mom for so many years. Kara and Lex had walked into Lex’s apartment many times after school to find her mom sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, staring at the wall, her eyes red and face tear-stained and puffy. She was a good mom, and she and Lex were close, but the woman forever wore her loneliness like a badge.
I’ll never be like her, Kara, Lex would say. I will never give a man that kind of power over me.
So to see Lex infatuated for the very first time was bizarre to witness, but Kara couldn’t help but be a little hopeful. Travis’s end was near — she’d known that since she’d first called Lex out on it — and now that the unflappable Lex had found a man to shake her up, Kara wondered if he might be the key to getting through to Lex’s heart.
And with that thought, she smiled to herself and she set down the last fork, turning to help Lex salvage dinner.
Day Six
Roe tuned his bass, twisting the machine heads and automatically picking the strings as he sat on a stool in the warehouse, waiting for the rest of the band. The sound from his bass echoed, the solitary sound comforting as he thought about Dean, who had been aloof on a whole new level lately.
Dean had been distracted and unfocused, which was unlike him — especially when it came to their music.
But he was still quiet as ever, which made it hard to decipher what was wrong, though he had a pretty good idea.
Roe had always been able to read Dean, the result of being friends since grade school. The minute Roe had found Dean sitting on the steps of the school, his black hair in his face and green eyes flashing at that jerk McCoy, Roe had known Dean needed someone.
Roe was that someone.
Within a few weeks of meeting, Dean had started coming home with him. Roe had sensed Dean didn’t want to go home, though it had taken months before he would hint at why and years until Roe had gotten the whole story. Roe’s mom had tried to help, though as a night shift nurse, she hadn’t been home a lot. But Dean was always welcome, anytime. She’d cook special meals when Dean was there, and always got him a few gifts at Christmas and candy at Easter, trying to give him some small joy in his life, some sense of family.
Roe was forever grateful that his mom had been on board with Dean living with them after his mom died. If Dean had been put into the system, it would have meant a whole extra layer of fucked up on top of his already fucked up self.
They’d gotten jobs at a record store in high school, and Dean had saved for two months to buy his first guitar. Roe had gotten one too, and they’d taught themselves how to play, though Dean was much better. It’d come easy for him, and he could listen to pretty much any song and have the chords figured out before the song was over. He’d always written, and once he’d learned how to play, his poems had turned into songs.
Roe had picked up the bass, they’d hooked up with Kevin, who’d worked at the record store with them, and Paper Fools had been born. The first show they’d played had every chick in the bar at the stage, big-eyed and ready to throw panties, and on that night, Roe had known they had something.
They’d lived at Roe’s until just after they graduated. Since his mom had worked nights they had been, for the most part, free to do what they pleased.
For Dean, that mostly meant girls.
Ever since their freshman year in high school, girls had thrown themselves at Dean. It was like they could smell Dean’s damage, and when mingled with his good looks and charm? It was just too much for them to resist.
Roe had witnessed everything from tears to slaps to flying milk cartons in the lunchroom over Dean, even the occasional catfight. Dean never talked about any of the girls he hooked up with, not even Audrey, but the behavior of his conquests had indicated the level that it ended on. None of it fazed him.
After high school, they’d worked their asses off on their music, though they had occasionally been set back by Dean’s fucking around. It had been ten years since they founded the band, and they’d finally gotten a real record deal. The contract had initially been for Dean alone, but he wouldn’t sign without Roe.
And that was really the heart of their relationship. Roe knew Dean would do anything for him, and he would do the same. He forgave Dean for his bullshit on a daily basis, knowing that Dean was doing the best he could with the sad set of tools he was equipped with to deal with his life. But the record deal was their future, and Roe couldn’t just sit back anymore, not with everything on the line.
What Dean didn’t know was just how far their rep was up Roe’s ass about them getting into the studio. When he’d found out they lost Elliot, he’d tripped, and all of the pressure was on Roe. He hadn’t even told the guys, deciding instead to just keep pushing them, not wanting to burden them with the stress.
Roe wasn’t quite sure what had been going on with Dean lately, but he thought he had a pretty good idea. As entertaining as it was to see Dean lose his cool, Roe suspected that the behavior had been brought on by the one person that Dean absolutely could not pursue.
The minute Roe had seen Travis’s girlfriend walk in, with her long, dark hair, and her shocking blue-green eyes, Roe had watched Dean like a hawk. Dean had walked up to her, and when she glanced up, he looked like he’d been hit by a bus before he quickly recovered and threw on his swagger. Roe only had to watch the two interact for thirty seconds before he knew he had reason to be concerned. Their attraction had been visible from across the room. And Dean’s smile … Roe hadn’t seen that smile in ages.
When Roe had turned to look at Travis tightening his drumheads, he’d shaken his head. They’d warned Travis about Dean, but Roe didn’t think he understood the pull Dean had. Girls got sucked into Dean’s gravity like rogue meteors, only to go down in glorious flames.
Dean and Lex couldn’t happen. The band couldn’t afford to waste any more time searching for drummers, not to mention the shitstorm it would cause with the label. Roe wasn’t keen on losing Travis, especially over a girl. He’d had enough of that drama.
Light poured in as the door to the warehouse swung open, and Roe turned to see Travis, Lex, and a short, curvy brunette walk in. The girls giggled.
Maybe this chick can distract Dean from Lex, he thought. Until he got a good look at her.
Her hips swung wide in a short, black skirt as her shapely legs walked a tight line toward him. She flipped her hair, laughing as she set down her bag and shrugged off her jacket, her black, lacy bra showing through her ripped-up Slayer tank top. She scanned the room, her gaze falling on him, openly appraising him with cool blue eyes. A slow smile crept onto her full, h
ot pink lips.
Or not.
He smiled back before clearing his throat as Dean and Kevin walked in.
Dean crossed the warehouse, staring at the back of Lex’s head. She straightened in her seat, seeming to feel his eyes on her.
Roe realized his face was screwed up in disapproval as he watched them react to each other. He tried to relax, hoping he looked composed. Dean was trying, he knew.
Dean’s shrouded eyes were locked on her, his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders bent as he walked. But the second that he came into Lex’s eye line, he stood straight, his hands slipped out of his pockets, and his expression dissolved into a mask of indifference.
He dropped his bag next to the amps and pulled off his jacket before picked up his guitar and began to tune it, appearing to concentrate on his task. Roe knew better.
Just like every day since Lex had started coming to practice, Roe stressed throughout the entire session, watching the two of them, worrying over something he knew he couldn’t control. Dean wouldn’t look at Lex, but he sang every word to her, and she hung on every word like she knew. Occasionally, Roe would look back at Travis, who was either staring intently at his drums or had his eyes pinched shut. He honestly didn’t have a clue.
When Roe wasn’t giving himself a coronary about the hormones flying around the room, he watched Lex’s friend, and she watched him. There was something about her that spoke to something inside of him, a hot flutter in his ribs that compelled his eyes to find her, his feet to want to move, his lips to speak. He wanted to know her.
It wasn’t until after practice that he had his chance.
Dean held his guitar by the neck as Lex and the girl walked up.
Lex tucked her hair behind her ear, starting with Dean — no surprises there. “Kara,” she started timidly, her cheeks flushed, “this is Dean.”
“Hey, Kara.” Dean flashed a small smile.
Lex’s brow dropped a hair. So did Roe’s.
“This is Kevin,” she said as she touched his shoulder.
Kara laughed. “Nice T-shirt.”
Kevin looked down and pulled his shirt with his fingers to stretch out the phrase I have six words for you. “I actually have six more for you: Hi, my name is Keys Kevin.”
Lex and Kara giggled, and Kevin looked like he was in heaven as he turned to pack his gear.
“And this,” Lex put a hand on Roe’s arm, “is Roe.”
Travis called over to her, “Lex, can you grab this?”
“Yep.” Lex turned to Kara. “Meet you out front?”
“Okay, sure,” Kara said.
Roe could practically see the exchange of pheromones as he watched Lex walk past Dean, their eyes like lovesick tractor beams on each other. He turned to Kara and caught her staring after Lex as well.
“Man, they’ve got it bad.” Kara raised her eyebrows in mock pity.
Roe’s brows dropped along with his stomach — he hadn’t been imagining things. A little part of him had really been hoping he was wrong. “I’d say that’s an understatement.”
“What are we gonna do with them?”
Roe sighed. “Keep them as far apart as humanly possible.”
She frowned, and he felt a surprising shock of guilt for disappointing her.
“I just mean that she’s with Travis, and the band can’t take another setback.”
She nodded. “That’s fair. But Lex and Travis aren’t what you think.”
“Oh?” Roe smirked. “Maybe you can enlighten me.”
Kara laughed at that. “I’m sure I could, and about many, many things.”
Dean walked up, and Roe hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “Uh, I have to, um—”
“Yeah, me too.” Kara gave him a playful smile and turned to walk back to the couch. She bent over to pick up her bag in her short skirt, cunning enough not to show him her goods but knowing full well what she was doing, winking over her shoulder at him in parting. “See you around, Roe.”
He watched her walk away as he wound up the amp cord, hoping she would.
Dita stretched out on the floor of her library and ran her fingers through the silky furs under her. A romance novel about time-traveling vampires lay split open in front of her, and a cozy fire crackled at her back. Eros sat across from her in a low-backed tangerine armchair, preening his wings with his legs crossed, thankfully. He was naked.
“I will never understand why Psyche lets you walk around completely naked.” Dita rested her head on her hand.
“I’m not always naked.” He released his impossibly soft pearly white wing, and it stretched out long before folding up behind him.
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Okay, I’m usually naked. Psyche doesn’t care. In fact, I’m pretty sure it gets me laid three times more frequently than when I’m wearing horribly confining clothes that chafe.”
Dita rolled her eyes.
“What? I have very sensitive skin. And anyway, I will never understand why it bothers you so much, Mom.”
“Ugh, don’t call me that. I have literally asked you a trillion times. I really will start calling you Cupid if you don’t cut it out.” She pushed herself up to sit.
“Sure you will. So, I saw your player. She’s pretty foxy.” Eros waggled his brows.
Dita flipped her hair over her shoulder as she laughed. “That, she is. And have you seen Dean? This should be a cinch.”
He eyed her. “Doesn’t really look like a cinch. The girl has a boyfriend, and the guy is a complete slut. It actually looks to me like a challenge. Too bad you can’t use my arrows.”
“Ah, dearest Eros, I don’t need your help.”
“I know you don’t, but it couldn’t hurt,” he said with a shrug.
“I already have a blur spell on the boyfriend, so he won’t see me working my magic. And the man-slut, well … he’s ready for a woman in his life. He’s been without for far too long. Plus, who do you think got the old drummer’s girlfriend to sleep with Dean anyway?” She gave him an expectant look.
“Well, it sounds like you’ve got this all wrapped up then. I’ll just tell Apollo to give up.”
She laughed. “Yeah, right. I’m sure he’ll just give right in and give up a token.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“How is Psyche?” she asked politely. Eros was sensitive about his wife. Dita and Psyche had never gotten along, but Dita did try.
“Oh, she’s good. She wanted to ask you to have lunch with her, but she was afraid you’d say no.”
It took every ounce of willpower not to roll her eyes again. “Gods, Eros. She’s so dramatic. Of course I would go.”
“Good. I’ll tell her you’ll be there tomorrow.”
Dita shot him a rude hand gesture, and his laugh filled the room.
His laugh always reminded her of Ares. Her eyes ran over Eros’s features — he had Ares’s brow and jaw, and her golden hair and big eyes. His mouth was a cross between the two, full with a slight pout.
Luckily, he had her temperament and not his father’s. She and Eros had always been close, unlike she and her twins, Phobos and Deimos. They were more like Ares — mischievous on a good day, terrifying on the rest.
Ares loved Aphrodite, and Aphrodite loved Ares — they were Mars and Venus, Man and Woman. The connection between them, the elemental depth of their love, was something she’d never been able to deny or escape, even though she wanted to.
They were volatile, explosive, fueled by possession and lust and jealousy.
Where Adonis was bendable, moldable — outside of Apollo — Ares was immovable, unflinching. She hated her love for him as much as she craved it.
From the minute she and Adonis began, Ares set his sights on the human, and she knew that if she didn’t secure Adonis’s safety, Ares would kill him. And so she devised a plan to use her greatest power against the god who threatened her happiness.
Aphrodite paced in her chambers that afternoon, the trap set. All she h
ad left to do was wait for Ares.
Her plan was simple, though shrewd — the shackles Hephaestus forged were hidden under her pillows, and the mosaic of her and Adonis on display in her entry.
Ares would be too angry and intent on possessing her to question anything.
But she wrung her hands, smoothing her robes, nervous. She had one chance, only one opportunity for surprise. And if he didn’t agree to her terms, Adonis’s life would be the price she would pay for the challenge.
The door opened, and she stopped in her track across her bedroom.
Ares called her name, the word a demand on his lips.
Aphrodite lifted her chin, her face a mask, her heart fluttering like wings against her ribs as she glided into her entryway.
He stood, towering and dark, his shoulders wide and jaw sharp, with his eyes on the mosaic on the wall, his plumed golden helmet on the marble table.
The look on his face — furious and fuming — said all.
The trap is sprung.
Fury and desire rolled off him as he stormed to her, blood-red cloak whipping behind him, but she didn’t move. Instead, she stood defiantly, telling him without a word that he should come and take what he wanted, that he should make his move. She would not bend to him.
As soon as he was near enough, he grabbed her tight around the waist, pulling her into his bronze chest plate, his cuffs rough against her back, but before she could take a breath, his mouth crushed against hers with a force that claimed her, marked her his.
His greatest failure was that his claim was not permanent.
Seconds later, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to bed, tossing her on the feather mattress with a thump.
Ares crawled up to her, pressing her into the bed, kissing her hard, as if he could pin her down, keep her still, make her his.
She was, but what she gave was never enough.
Aphrodite wound her leg around his waist and twisted, flipping him over, and she sat, chest heaving and lips sore, nestling her hips against his.