Just His Taste

by Candice Gilmer

  “What…how?” She tried to move, but couldn’t. Strapped down, her wings hung in slings on either side of her, and loose restraints held her in place on a healer’s bed.

  “Uh… Oh wow, ow ow ow ow!” She tried to work herself free.

  “Uh-oh, don’t do that, dearie,” came a woman’s voice. “You don’t want to aggravate that sprain.”

  “What sprain?” Ava focused on the lady in a blue dress approach her. “What happened?” she croaked.

  “You, my dear, are very lucky. Why, if the FID hadn’t been out—”

  “Oh Jupiter, the FID?” Ava groaned. The FID—or Fairy In Distress unit—patrolled the mortal world, looking for fairies, well, in distress. Injured, usually. The FID protected the fairies, before humans could find them. Because humans can’t know that their mythical creatures actually exist.

  The FID was, in essence, an ambulance service mixed with a kind of police force. They also patrolled for fairies under duress. Or fairies mixed up in things that might not be in their best interest.

  Ava groaned.

  They likely knew all the little details of why Ava wrecked that motorcycle, because they probably scanned her brain with their freaky mind-reading mojo.

  Ava let out a sigh.

  “It will be fine, dear. The injuries are not that bad,” the healer said, drawing Ava’s attention from her inner thoughts. “Not like some of your previous visits.” The healer snorted.

  Ava sighed. “Lovely.” She was screwed all the way around.

  And not in the good way.

  Damn.

  “Is she awake?” came a male voice from the doorway. One that Ava recognized, but she wasn’t sure from where she knew it.

  She blinked, glancing at the man with the short brown hair as he approached the bed. His green wings, bigger than hers, were folded neatly against his back, but his dark uniform tipped her off.

  FID.

  Shit.

  “She’s still very exhausted,” the healer said. The woman narrowed her gaze at the officer. “Do not upset her. She needs rest right now.”

  The man nodded and turned to Ava. “Can you give us a minute alone?” he asked without looking back at the healer.

  “Sure.” The healer touched Ava’s arm. “If you need anything, just ring,” she said. A little silver bell materialized on the small table next to Ava’s bed.

  “Thanks,” Ava whispered.

  The healer’s soft steps were the only sounds in the room as she left. Then the door slid shut, and with a soft click, she was alone with the FID agent.

  He crossed to her bedside and waved his arm. A stool appeared, and he dragged it closer to the bed. He sat down, fluffed his wings, and stared at Ava.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” he said.

  Ava shook her head, which made her skull pound in a horrid staccato rhythm. “No, I don’t.”

  “I’m Ewan’s brother.”

  Ava blinked. And stared. And it hit her. “Your hair used to be really long, didn’t it?”

  He smiled. “Yeah.” He ran his hand over his cropped hair. And it hit Ava—the horrible not-a-blind-date-but-pretty-much-a-setup that Christy and Ewan had put together. It failed miserably. Ava had no—not even an inkling—of interest in him. Fortunately, he hadn’t been interested in her either.

  “Wow, how long has it been?” Ava asked. “A quarter of a century?”

  “Probably longer than that. I think closer to a century.”

  “Wow, that long?” Ava asked, trying hard to remember his name.

  “You don’t remember, do you?”

  “Of course I remember you.”

  “Then what’s my name?”

  “It’s…it’s…Donald.”

  “Duncan.”

  “That’s what I said. Duncan. Duncan Molar.”

  He smiled. He had a nice grin. Heck, everything about him was nice, very much like his brother Ewan. But since fellow Fairy Godmother Christy was practically a sister, and her husband felt like a brother, Duncan only inspired brotherly type sensations.

  “Since when have you been in the FID, Duncan?” Ava asked, trying to sound relaxed.

  “Did a changeup about fifty years ago.”

  “You like it better?”

  “It suits me better.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Now, tell me why you were riding a motorcycle in excess of one hundred miles per hour on an old country road?”

  “Need for speed?” Ava asked.

  He raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms. “And?”

  “I like to ride motorcycles.”

  He shook his head. “Listen, I’m going to be really nice and let you tell me what happened. If you don’t, I’ll have to do my FID thing and find out for myself. And by the way, your aura is really muddled. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

  Shit.

  “I was confused about my charge, okay? So I went for a ride to clear my head.”

  “Your charge?”

  “I’ve just been assigned my new charge, and I wasn’t sure how to proceed with a few things, so I took a ride. The road must have been slick or something because I remember the bike going down, and I tried to go up, but that didn’t work well.”

  While it was pretty much the truth, she left out a few details, hoping Duncan wouldn’t notice.

  From the look on his face, she had the sinking feeling he knew there was more to the story.

  She fought to keep her cool. “So what is the deal? Am I in trouble?”

  “Should you be?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Is there some rule against riding a motorcycle?”

  “No.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “Hunch,” Duncan said.

  “Your hunch is off. I’m not doing anything—”

  “Where is she?” Cupid flew in the door. “Ava? Ava, are you all right?” He darted straight for her.

  “Cupid,” Duncan said.

  Cupid stopped dead and glanced at Duncan. “Oh lovely, an ambulance.”

  Duncan narrowed his gaze at Cupid.

  “She’s here now. Be gone.” Cupid waved his arm at Duncan.

  Ava grimaced—regardless of being in trouble, she’d rather have Duncan asking uncomfortable questions than Cupid right now. Unfortunately, Cupid liked to use that godly status of his to order fairies—even the FID—around.

  The two males glared at each other. For a second, Ava thought she’d have to intervene, but Duncan broke the glare first, and faced Ava again.

  “I will be keeping an eye on this, Miss Avalynn.”

  Ava rolled her eyes, hoping her aura didn’t reveal more than necessary. “You’ll be wasting your time.”

  Duncan nodded and left. She doubted he believed her.

  Just perfect.

  Cupid watched him leave and didn’t speak again until the door closed. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Ava replied. “Just an accident.”

  “If you are sure.”

  “Of course I am,” she said, not looking at him.

  Cupid came to her side and ran his hand over her forehead. “I was worried.”

  Ava pulled away, suddenly feeling cheap, because she knew she didn’t care for him. Not in a way that required affection. Sex wasn’t affection. And Cupid was good at sex. Not at affection.

  Even now, as she glanced back at him, he looked strained attempting to be affectionate.

  He said her name again.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she told him.

  “Why not? You are my friend.”

  She snorted. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “Time for what?”

  She waved her arm, wincing as p
ain shot through her shoulder. “You. This. We shouldn’t even be aware of one another.” There were a lot of things she shouldn’t be aware of—like how her charge kissed.

  “You never cared before,” Cupid said, drawing her out of her thoughts and her memories.

  “I’ve never been in a healer’s bed with FID hanging around either. I can’t afford to screw up my place, Cupid. I’m not even three hundred years old yet. I can’t have a blotched record.” Or worse—lose her place as a Fairy Godmother. What would she do? What would the Council do to her? Retirement—like Christy faced—was one thing. Being fired would be horrible. She’d trained to do this for decades. Had been doing this for a couple hundred years and hadn’t considered doing anything else.

  Where would she go?

  What would she do?

  “You do not want me here?” Cupid asked.

  Ava nodded. “I can’t have you or your minions meddling. I have enough on my plate right now.”

  Cupid snorted. “I can help you.”

  “Isn’t that how all this got started?” Ava said.

  Cupid grinned. “True enough. Though I still find it fascinating that you came to me instead of your trio for help.”

  “Yeah, well, we all do desperate things from time to time.” Ava hadn’t been with Christy and Lilly long when she’d gone to Cupid. She’d been desperate, hadn’t known her trio well yet. They had bonded with each other, but Ava had been new, and she had to prove she was as good as they were. Harder than it sounded, what with them having over a hundred years more experience.

  Cupid had agreed to help her. For a price. At the time, Ava had been glad to pay—after all, he was the God of Love. And he was good at the making-love part.

  It wasn’t constant, or even monogamous—not that Ava cared. At least she never had, not until now, anyway. Not until she’d met Jason. Feeling that connection, Ava didn’t want the empty physical relationship she had with Cupid.

  She wanted more.

  While it would never be with Jason, she could find someone, somewhere, and feel that deeper emotional connection.

  Maybe Christy could set her up with someone again.

  Cupid sighed. “You should rest. Would you like Christy or Lilly to be notified of what happened?”

  Ava shook her head. “It’s bad enough you know I’m here.”

  “I’m hurt.”

  “Whatever. Now get going. I have to rest so I can get back to work.”

  “Of course.” Cupid caressed her hand. “If you need me—”

  “Not likely.”

  “Hmm. Be careful. You may need me before all is said and done.” He started to leave.

  “Wait, Cupid.”

  “Yes?”

  “Keep your minions away.”

  “You are no fun.”

  “Cupid, I mean it.”

  He smiled and disappeared.

  That was rather foreboding.

  Chapter Eleven

  Thursday Morning

  Jason cranked the level up on the elliptical. Tension increased on his jog-swing-run-step thing. Didn’t care. It was his favorite cardio machine. Strong workout, minimal stress on his bad knee.

  All good.

  At least something was good, normal and routine right now. Because he needed normal. Challenge the crazy obsession that had hit him out of nowhere. This insane attraction to Tessa. Just thinking about it brought images of her, and he wanted to stab his eyeballs out to make them go away.

  Overkill, probably.

  Erase the images? Not likely.

  It didn’t make any sense. It hadn’t started when he pretended to be her date. He didn’t remember any attraction at all.

  He’d even told—

  Shit.

  Who had he gone for drinks with?

  He couldn’t remember.

  Damn!

  He couldn’t remember whom he’d been out with after the wedding. He knew he’d gone out, and had taken her—it had to be a her—back to the car. After arriving, he sort of recalled a conversation, and whenever he thought about it—though he couldn’t remember a word of it—he felt that lump in his gut that signaled distress. But it still remained fuzzy.

  There’d been a motorcycle…and mile-long legs wrapping around that motorcycle. Who those legs belonged to, though, remained a mystery.

  Then the van had a flat tire.

  Tessa showed up.

  Lust. Lots of lust. Innuendoes. Kissing. But even in the heat of the moment, something about it didn’t feel right. Somehow, with the blessing of a tiny bit of rational control, he’d pulled away.

  Sunday, he’d tried to write the whole thing off as drunken hormones getting the best of him. He was slightly hungover—unusual for him—and felt like a total ass all day. He had considered entering a one-day cook-off, but decided not to because it was right after the wedding.

  As crappy as he felt today, he was glad he hadn’t. Though barbecuing always made him feel better. Hell, maybe if he had, he wouldn’t feel so shitty.

  Jason assumed his sudden interest in Tessa would blow over, and his head would clear up. Yet it hadn’t. Even when he was working, it didn’t fade, and he couldn’t find any perspective.

  If Tessa was having the same problems, she kept it to herself. He hadn’t gotten one text/email/call from her since Saturday. Probably a good thing.

  His head was so cloudy—maybe it was best if he didn’t remember.

  The elliptical beeped, and Jason realized he’d been in his head for the entire session on the machine.

  Sad.

  “Routine, that’s what I need,” he muttered. Climbing down from his machine, he wiped the sweat from his brow, and realized his hair was getting precariously close to needing another buzz. He padded into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Gatorade, repeating the mantra in his head.

  Routine.

  Routine.

  Back into my routine.

  His smartphone lay on the counter, and he pulled up his day’s schedule.

  “Oh yeah. The job for Bruce.” He needed a few more photos—he’d already gotten a few of the subject entering and leaving her work.

  Jason shook his head.

  This was not the kind of stuff he liked to do. It was one thing to follow a cheating husband or wife around. At least then, there was purpose.

  Bruce’s request, however, didn’t sit well with him. Especially after he’d learned why the gal didn’t post pictures of herself. She had a reason. One that, if she really was good friends with Bruce, she’d tell him when she was ready.

  Things were never what they appeared.

  He shook his head, downed the rest of his Gatorade.

  Time to—

  His phone started to ring.

  Jason cringed. It was Tessa. And immediately he was torn—part of him was happy to hear from her; the other part, very unsure about it.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Tessa,” she said, her voice low.

  “What is going on?”

  “I need another date.”

  “What for?”

  She sighed. “You have a tux?”

  “Uh—” He had one. He thought. Maybe.

  “It’s black tie.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, do you or not? I need this,” she snapped.

  “Yeah, I have a tux. What’s going on?”

  “Fundraiser for the mayor. I can’t go to the fundraiser without a date.”

  “Kinda late, isn’t it?”

  “Look, I just…the thing is—”

  “Is what?”

  “Lucas will be there. I just can’t go alone, when I know he’s going to be bringing some floozy to the fundraiser.”

  Jason sighed. “You know, maybe it’s time you moved on. Let him see how a
wesome you are without him.”

  “You think I’m awesome?”

  “Sure. Anyone would.”

  “Thank you.” Clattering through the phone told Jason she’d switched sides, and must have been wearing big earrings. “Now, about tonight.”

  “Yes, I’ll come. When and where?”

  “Can I pick you up at five?”

  “That early?”

  “There’s a dinner.”

  “Oh.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ava watched her charge from a distance. She still wasn’t allowed to leave the healers’ ward. They said maybe she could today, but so far no one had come in and dismissed her. She was anxious to get down there and really see if her charge was okay.

  Yeah, that was what she told herself. It didn’t have anything to do with him personally, and wondering if he…

  Well, if he thought about their little moment together.

  “Stop it,” she muttered to herself, and focused on her crocheting. Six unfinished stocking caps hung in midair, crochet hooks paused in the hats, waiting for her to continue with the one in her lap. It resembled the dancing brooms in Fantasia—as she worked, the hats making themselves, all mimicking what she did.

  But it passed the time.

  So she had a weird hobby. Everyone did. Ava crocheted. But one of the bonuses of being a fairy was she could make seven stocking caps at a time, instead of one. It was awesome when she was making an afghan with different pieces. She could crochet a bunch of pieces at once, and it took no time to finish the blanket.

  Over the centuries, she’d mastered the art of tackling multiple projects. Even now, the simple stocking hats would all be adorable, but she didn’t give them to her friends.

  They’d probably never believe that she rode motorcycles, wore leather bodysuits and crocheted hats.

  How’d that song go?

  One of these things doesn’t match the other…

  Something like that, anyway.

  So, as Ava resumed her shell pattern—chain one, double stitch, half stich, double stitch, chain—the other needles moved, and each stocking cap continued. So adept at this, she could crochet and watch her charge on the little screen she’d opened. At least she’d know if Cupid had started shooting arrows at Jason.

  So far, no arrows that she’d seen.