Cupid for Hire

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Cupid for Hire Page 13

by Lila Monroe


  Or rather, muse.

  Because I just can’t crack this one. Oh, I know, Jasmine is amazing, and Dylan isn’t too shabby himself, but the two of them, together?

  I can’t figure it out. She should be falling head over heels with him by now. Not to be modest or anything, but most women take one look at my love notes and swoon into the guy’s arms. But Jasmine seems totally immune—to me, and Dylan’s charms.

  Of which there are many . . .

  But he’s acting weird too, like he has to pretend to be someone else to get her attention. Which is crazy. He’s smart, and funny, and not too terrible to look at, either. And when he kisses you . . .

  Well, that’s a whole other story. An X-rated erotic fan-fic kind of a story. Which I’m not getting paid to write, but I can’t help imagining all the same.

  Our mouths kissing hungrily . . . Our bodies pressed together . . . Dylan’s hands sliding lower . . .

  “Penny for them?”

  A voice breaks me out of my reverie, and I look up to find the man himself right in front of me. Dylan, in jeans and a soft-looking T-shirt that hugs his torso just right.

  My cheeks burn. Damn, could he see what I was just imagining?

  “Huh?” I manage in a garbled voice.

  “I come bearing gifts,” he says. “And an apology.”

  Phew. OK. He wasn’t drawn by the sheer force of my sexual fantasies.

  “An apology? This must be good,” I say, trying to act casual. Then I spot the bottle of wine—and a cake box. So, he’s a man of his word, after all? Be still my heart. “Better yet, pour that and hand me a fork.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Dylan finds two glasses and settles beside me on the old wooden loveseat. He pours me a glass of wine, and I open the box to find a massive slice of double chocolate cake. Hello, lover!

  “As apologies go, this is a good one,” I say through a mouthful of cake. “What is it in particular you’re so sorry about?”

  “Roping you into that whole canoe trip,” he says, producing his own fork and battling me for a chunk of frosting. “I didn’t realize things with Tyler were so serious. Maybe sticking you in a boat with him may not have been the best move.”

  “You think?” I snort.

  He gives me a grin. “In my defense, I figured you could take care of yourself. But, I’m sorry. Thank you for going along with it.”

  “It got you your alone time with Jasmine, didn’t it?”

  “I guess so . . .” he sighs, and I finally drag my attention away from the cake.

  Big mistake.

  He’s leaning back in the loveseat beside me: feet propped on the porch railing, just casually, breathtakingly handsome.

  Damn.

  My stomach turns a slow flip-flop, and I hate myself for it, but who am I kidding? I’ve always known he was handsome. I just never felt it like this before.

  “Things . . . aren’t going well?” I broach, eating my feelings with another chunk of cake.

  Dylan shrugs. “I don’t know what to do. I just freeze up with her and start acting like a dork. We were talking earlier, and I blurted all this stuff about time travel, and how if we went back, we’d probably all die of smallpox.”

  “Well, duh.” I roll my eyes. “We have zero herd immunity to extinct diseases. Never mind smallpox, just think of the typhus and measles. Ooh, and Spanish flu! Killed millions, but it made for some good letters,” I add. “Nothing like impending death to make a man eloquent.”

  Dylan laughs, then gives me a heart-stopping smile. “Why can’t I talk to her the way I do with you? You’re easy.”

  “What every woman longs to hear,” I quip, and he elbows me lightly.

  “You know what I mean. I don’t get all nervous and tongue-tied with you. Why is that?”

  Because you also have no desire to tear my clothes off and make me come screaming your name.

  Which makes one of us, at least.

  “I don’t know,” I answer instead. “You do fine with other women, too,” I remind him. “Too well. Annoyingly well. Irritatingly well.”

  He sighs. “But Jasmine’s different. At least, I thought she was. Meeting her again after all these years, it seemed like destiny . . .” He trails off, looking vexed, and I feel a surprising pang of sympathy.

  Because as I know all too well, being rejected is never fun.

  “Look, not to go all amateur psychology on you,” I say gently. “Because, for starters, a therapist would be charging you way more than I am right now. But have you ever thought that maybe the real reason you’re so fixated on winning over Jasmine isn’t because you’re crazy about her and destined to be together . . . but because you’re trying to prove something to yourself about how far you’ve come?”

  Dylan doesn’t reply, but it’s been something I’ve wondered from the start. “I mean, high school sucks for everyone,” I continue, “but it sounds like you had a pretty rough time back then. It would make sense if you see dating Jasmine as a way to wipe all that away—like, on some level, you believe if she fell for you now, it would fix everything you struggled with? Show that you won, after all.”

  Dylan narrows his eyes. “You’re right, you’re not a therapist,” he says, and I brace myself for some defensive snap-back. But instead, he gives a slow, rueful sigh. “Am I really so obvious?” he asks, resting his head back. “That’s like armchair Psych 101!”

  I relax. “Please, it’s easy to figure other people out, but none of us can see our own shit, even when it’s right in front of us.”

  He turns his head and gives me a lop-sided smile. “I guess . . . It really did feel like fate when I saw her again. I mean, she’s amazing: beautiful, and kind-hearted, and talented . . .”

  I try not to wince. Kick a girl in the teeth when she’s down, why don’t you?

  “Someone can be the greatest person in the world,” I say, “just not the greatest person for us.”

  Like a certain dark-haired hotelier with a smile that makes my knees go weak, and a kiss that makes other places do interesting things.

  “Chris Hemsworth, for example,” I say instead. “Great guy! I’m sure he’s a regular dreamboat. But funnily enough, not destined to be with me.”

  Dylan chuckles. “How can you be sure?”

  “The wife and adorable kids are kind of a giveaway,” I joke. “Also, I don’t deal so well in the sun—as you can probably tell right now.” I gesture at my red, peeling shoulders. “So all that time surfing on Australian beaches wouldn’t really work for me.”

  He smiles, eyes dark in the moonlight. “You’ll find someone.”

  I already have.

  Our eyes catch, and my heart does that inconvenient flip-flop maneuver again. Only this time, I don’t look away.

  The moment stretches.

  Even though I can hear the faint sound of music coming from the main lodge, it’s like we’re completely alone out here. Just the noise of the crickets, and the moonlight reflecting silver off the lake.

  Dangerously romantic.

  I shiver.

  “Cold?” Dylan asks, and I don’t protest, not when he tugs a blanket down from the back of the loveseat, and drapes it across my lap.

  “Thanks,” I say softly, but my heart is still pounding in my chest. What is happening right now? Something unexpected.

  Something tempting.

  “Is this what you pictured?” I ask, nodding out at the lake.

  “The hotel, you mean?” Dylan asks, taking another sip of wine.

  “Everything,” I say, curious. “Your business, your life . . . Is it what you imagined?”

  He smiles slowly. “Yes.”

  “Come on, you have to give me more than that,” I tease, and he smiles.

  “OK. Back when I was in high school—being dorky and miserable—”

  “Here’s to the dorks,” I interrupt, toasting my glass to his.

  He chuckles. “Amen. Anyway, I always had a picture of the life I wanted, for when I wa
s finally grown up. I guess it helped me stay focused, knowing I was working towards something. That I wasn’t always going to be dorky and miserable. I wanted a business,” he says, “something I could build for myself. Good friends, independence . . . And someone to share it with. Eventually.” He gives me a wry smile. “What about you?”

  “Did I picture myself taking an icy dip in the lake to help a client get a romantic canoe ride with his true love?” I ask. “Funnily enough, no.”

  Dylan gives me a gentle nudge. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do,” I agree, snuggling deeper under the blanket. “And . . . no, I never had a clear picture of how I wanted things to turn out. I guess I always thought that things would find their way eventually. If I just did good work, tried to help my clients . . . Everything would happen in time.”

  “You’re an optimist,” Dylan says, looking at me with a new curiosity in his eyes.

  “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Not bad, just . . . rare,” Dylan says. “Everyone seems to take pride in being jaded these days.”

  “Like Tyler,” I sigh. “That was one of the things I couldn’t deal with. He always had to be so aloof, like enthusiasm was a crime.”

  “Is that why you broke up?” Dylan asks.

  I slowly shake my head. “No. He . . . could never settle for just one woman,” I say tactfully. “And I couldn’t stand feeling that way, like I was just his backup choice.”

  “Good.”

  I blink. “What?”

  “Not good that he was an asshole,” Dylan clarifies. “Good that you didn’t stand for that bullshit. You’re nobody’s backup. You deserve better than that.”

  I swallow hard, because damn, the look in his eyes is so fiercely protective, it makes me melt.

  “Thank you,” I say softly. “And also, I know.”

  He grins. “I figured you did. You don’t seem like the kind of woman to take that kind of bullshit.”

  “Not anymore,” I agree.

  These days, I just choose to spend my time falling for men who are oblivious to me, instead.

  I reach for the wine bottle at the same time as Dylan. Our fingers graze, and I pause, feeling the electricity surge through my skin.

  I glance up. Our eyes meet.

  My heartbeat slows.

  Oh God.

  The world seems to contract to just this porch, right here. The two of us. Dylan’s body heat radiates, so close I can almost feel him. Just a few inches away.

  If I leaned a little closer . . . If I tilted my lips . . .

  Dylan suddenly clears his throat. “It’s late,” he says, lurching to his feet. “I should get going.”

  “Of course!” I blurt, flushing. “Thanks for, umm, stopping by.”

  “Anytime.” Dylan nods and then high-tails it out of here so fast, he almost trips on the porch steps. “See you tomorrow,” he calls behind him, before he disappears into the dark.

  I sit back and exhale a long breath, my pulse still racing.

  That was a close call. But not close enough. Because I can still feel the heat from his body. Still feel my blood pounding in my veins.

  I want him, and the feeling isn’t going anywhere fast. Did Cupid ever get hit by his own damn arrows?

  Because I need a cure for this crush, and fast.

  16

  Poppy

  I toss and turn all night, going over that moment with Dylan on the porch, when the air sizzled between us and everything I wanted seemed close enough to touch.

  I mean, kiss.

  What are you thinking?

  I stifle a groan. Because seriously? Dylan has told me in a hundred different ways, he has no interest in me. Not like that. We’re just friends . . . and he is pining for somebody else.

  Someone who should know just how amazing he is. Someone he hired me to help him win. Someone I should be focused on winning over, via the power of my all-conquering pen.

  If I can’t be happy, then at least Dylan should be—with Jasmine. And then maybe once I see them together, all in love and paired off, my traitorous heart will get the message that he’s off the menu for good. But how? I’ve tried the usual cute flirty notes, and I’ve let Dylan call the shots about how he’s going to win her over, and he’s made zero progress at all. Jasmine is still on the fence about him . . . which leaves me kicking up my heels in the paddock, or some other tortured metaphor like that. So how am I going to get myself out of this particular romantic pickle?

  I do what I always do: when in doubt, write.

  I grab my notebook, and by the time dawn rolls around, I have three pages of the most heartfelt, honest and authentic declaration of love I’ve ever written. From how Jasmine made Dylan’s time in high school bearable, all the way to now, feeling like he’s finally ready to make a real connection with a woman and share his true feelings, I use it all.

  It’s moving, and swoon-worthy, and damn well sweeps the reader off her feet.

  Hell, if I got a letter like this, I’d fall in love with me, too.

  But it’s not me sending it . . . It’s Dylan. So after typing it up on the vintage typewriter he so thoughtfully placed as room décor, I scribble an approximate fake of his signature on the bottom and stuff it in an envelope.

  There.

  My work is done. Because it is work, a fact I can’t let myself forget. My growing feelings for Dylan, the mess with my ex . . . it’s all just a distraction from the real reason I’m way out here in the woods, battling mosquitos and the painful after-effects of sunburn, just to give true love a chance.

  When I put it like that, it’s almost noble. Not, you know, achingly pathetic.

  I lace up my sneakers and throw a bottle of water—and sunscreen—in my bag. Since there seems to be no place on this property I can successfully avoid humiliation and/or inconvenient romantic feelings, I figure I’ll just have to leave it behind. For the morning, at least.

  “Are there any hiking trails—away from the property?” I ask at the main lodge desk. “Easy ones,” I add. “Very, very easy ones.”

  She laughs. “Sure. Let me show you. There’s a great loop through the woods, around the lake. You just follow the shoreline, you can’t get lost.”

  “Thanks!” I take the map she offers. “Oh, and could you please make sure this gets to Jasmine?” I ask, handing over the letter.

  “Of course.” The reception girl takes it with a smile.

  I go steal some fruit and muffins from the dining hall, then slip out the back pathway, hoping to escape before anyone can—

  “Poppy!”

  Dammit. I wince as Tyler cuts across the lawn to intercept me. “Sorry, can’t wait,” I say, speeding up. “Busy day ahead!”

  “Hold up, I need to talk to you,” Tyler insists, following alongside. “Listen, what you said yesterday . . . Did you really mean all that?”

  “About you being a terrible boyfriend? Yup!” I almost break into a jog, but clearly, Tyler’s been working out, because he barely breaks a sweat keeping pace alongside.

  “Come on, Poppy, I mean it. Did I really hurt you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know! That’s why I’m trying to talk to you.”

  I finally pause, and I turn to face him. “Seriously? Why are you acting like this is news to you?” I demand. “We went over this. Like, a hundred times! Remember, those fights that just wouldn’t end? We needed bathroom breaks and dinner time-outs!”

  “I know.” Tyler frowns, looking concerned. “But, I never thought you really felt that way.”

  “You thought I was just telling you how much you hurt me for funsies?” I shake my head. I can’t do this right now. And the great thing is? I don’t need to! “Look, you were right, it’s water under the bridge,” I say calmly. “We’ve both moved on. I don’t know why you need to keep talking about it.”

  “Because I’m sorry,” Tyler says. “Really. I had no idea . . .”

  “Well, now you do.” I
hitch my backpack up on my shoulders. “So go, be a better person. I release you!”

  I stride away again, and thankfully, this time, he doesn’t follow.

  * * *

  I keep to the path on the map, and soon, I’m a mile from the lodge, alone in the sun-dappled calm of the woods. It’s shady and cool here, I can see the lake sparkling in the distance, and the only sound is the birds chirping merrily in the trees and twigs snapping underfoot.

  Now, this is more like it.

  No chance of running into any pesky exes, or current crushes, or said current crush’s object of affection. I’m all alone, just me and the open trail. I’m able to clear my head and let my imagination take flight . . .

  Except all I can think about is Dylan.

  I pull out my cellphone and call up the emergency squad. “Natalie? Help!”

  “What’s going on?” she asks, sounding far away.

  “It’s a disaster.” I trample harder on the trail, trying to put more distance between me and the emotional mess waiting back at the lodge.

  “Oh no! I thought you were living it up in the lap of rustic luxury,” she says. “While us mere mortals are sweating it out in the city.”

  “The hotel is gorgeous,” I reassure her. “But everything else is a mess. Dylan is striking out with Jasmine, which just gives me more time to pine over him. And guess who showed their superior hipster face?”

  “Who?”

  “Tyler!”

  “No!” Natalie gasps. “Hold on, April just got here. Let me put you on speaker.” I hear a muffled rustling, and then the sound of Natalie succinctly filling in April on all the latest developments.

  “I knew it!” April squeals. “You and Dylan have a spark.”

  “More like a sputtering ember, about to be stamped out,” I sigh. I reach a fork in the trail, and decide to head to the right, further from civilization. “What was I thinking, agreeing to come up here in the first place? I was crazy to think my chemistry with Dylan would just disappear!”

  “Because on some level, you wanted to spend more time with him,” April offers.

 

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