WG2E All-For-Indies Anthologies: Viva La Valentine Edition

by Scott, D. D.

  “My neck hurts,” I simpered and shot Ben an injuredprincess look. “Can you give me a neck rub?”

  “Scoot over,” Ben commanded and flopped down on the sofa next to me. Spooning me from behind, he massaged my neck with long kneads and gentle strokes. “So, what would you like to do tonight?”

  “Watch a chick flick,” I said, stuffing my face with gelato.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Roman Holiday,” I cried joyfully.

  “Ciao Bella!” Ben gave a throaty laugh. “That’s such an old movie.”

  “It’s a classic!” I retorted. “Plus, Audrey Hepburn is a star’s star!”

  “Oh alright,” Ben relented. “Since you almost smashed your head into smithereens tonight, I guess I’ll gird my loins and watch a chick flick.”

  Ben popped the DVD into the player and we sat back, immersing ourselves in the beautiful world of black and white. The chemistry between Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck was magnetic and by the time the credits rolled, I was sniffling. “If wish they had DVDs back in the 1950’s; they could have shot an alternate happy ending.”

  “Hey…” Bensoothed, cupping my chin and cradling my face between his hands. “Don’t be sad. You can have your own happy ending … I haven’t given you your Valentine gift yet.”

  I sat up straighter. “Gift?

  “Well, first off, how do you feel?” His eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Does your head still hurt?”

  “It still throbs a little, but I feel fine.”

  “Good! Because I couldn’t wait to give you this …” Ben reached inside his pocket, produced a ring and slipped it onto my finger.

  Gazing at my princess cut engagement ring, my breath caught in my throat. “It’s exquisite.”

  “You’re exquisite,” he deadpanned.

  “Liar!” I flashed a toothy grin. “My front tooth is missing and I’ve got a bruise on my head the size of a cantaloupe.”

  He pinched my nose. “You’re still exquisite.”

  I delivered a solid punch to his arm. “You know I would have been happy and content with just the rubber stamp on my wrist.”

  “I know.” He touched my hair; the tenderness in his voice was overwhelming. “That’s why I love you so much.”

  “So …” My voice pitched higher. “Would you still like to see the surprise I had in store for you?”

  Ben’s lips twisted into a quirk smile. “I’ve already seen you in your dominatrix Wonder Woman get-up.”

  “No,” I protested. “Not that!” I extended my hand, holding up my wrist. “This!”

  Ben took my little hand in his big hand, examining the symbols that decorated my left wrist.

  A mixture of emotions played across his face. “You got it inked?”

  “Yep. I sure did — in Hebrew.” I beamed beatifically. “It’s a permanent tattoo! And you better not make me live to regret this.”

  “I won’t!” His voice was confident and firm. After a slight pause, he asked, “Why in Hebrew?”

  “Well if I’d gotten the words ‘NOT FOR CIRCULATION’ tattooed across my wrist, I’m pretty sure I’d resemble a walking reference book.”

  “Liv, you are my reference book.” He cast me a meaningful look. “I’d be so lost without you.”

  I shook my head, my eyes crinkling at the sides. “OK, you can quit being a cornball now.”

  Standing up, Ben scooped me into his arms and walked toward the bedroom, carrying me over the threshold as if it were our honeymoon night. “This marriage is a done deal in my books.” He added, “And our story … our book will forever be shelved in the non-fiction aisle.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped me. “You’re such a dork!”

  “Shhhhhhhh,” Ben shushed. “No talking in the library of lurrrve.”

  Then he silenced me with a kiss.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This short story was inspired by Ruch E. Chodrow who met her husband while working in a science library.

  If you enjoyed Love In The Stacks, you may also enjoy Confessions of a Call Center Gal: a novel, by Lisa Lim.

  Praise for Confessions of a Call Center Gal:

  “Confessions of a Call Center Gal is a fun mix of Bridget Jones’s Diary and The Office.” ~ Books Etc.

  “Think Chelsea Handler, plus the politically incorrect show The Office, plus chick lit. Are you already laughing? ~ Precision Reviews

  “Confessions of a Call Center Gal is a chick-lit approach to the call center.” ~ The Wall Street Journal

  “The chick lit version of ‘Office Space’ for a new generation. ~ Chick Lit Central

  ABOUT LISA LIM

  Lisa Lim is the proud mom of two little girls and three rescue dogs. Lisa is also a chick lit junkie and author of chick lit novel Confessions of a Call Center Gal(ranked Top 100 in Kindle Humor). She is currently writing a sequel to Confessions. Lisa received a B.A. in Journalism from the University of Wisconsin, Madison and she was a former Technical Writer for a software company and Copy Editor for an IT publication. You can follow Lisa on Twitter: @LisaLim8. Lisa blogs at: http://confessionsofacallcentergal.blogspot.com/

  What others are saying about Lisa Lim’s work:

  “Confessions of a Call Center Galis a chick-lit approach to the call center. This book is a reminder that the call center predates globalization and outsourcing.” ~The Wall Street Journal

  “Lisa Lim is a great new voice in chick lit. Confessions is funny, romantic and realistic. It’s a strong debut novel about real issues with lots of heart and humor.” ~Chick Lit Club (AR)

  “Confessions of a Call Center Gal is Chelsea Handler, plus the politically incorrect show The Office, plus chick lit. Are you already laughing?” ~Precision Reviews

  “Guaranteed to make you laugh-out-loud. Fans of Sophie Kinsella will love it.” ~bestselling author Sibel Hodge

  “A fun mix of Bridget Jones’s Diary and The Office.” ~Books Etc.

  CHERUB’S CHOICE

  By MG Ainsworth

  One.

  Dara felt an unusual sense of contentment as she walked along the riverfront path holding Steve’s hand. Fog hung damp in the air, enveloping them in their own little world. They’d had a romantic dinner date at a small seafood restaurant and Dara had decided it was time to take their relationship to the next level. They’d been dating for almost two months and for Dara, it had been far too long since she’d reached the point of intimacy in a relationship.

  Her large extended family always did their best to mess things up. Sure, they meant well with their meddling but they just didn’t understand that she wanted a guy to like her for who she was and not because Cupid’s arrow had struck. Literally.

  Dara was both blessed and cursed to call Cupid her grandfather. So did several dozen cousins since dear old granddad had been a bit prolific as a result of his conquests. The whole sweet, baby-faced little angels that Cherubs were commonly depicted as couldn’t be further from the truth, particularly with regards to Cupid himself. Instead, granddad was six and a half feet of handsome tanned muscles, resembling Adonis rather than an infant.

  Ironically, if anyone resembled a Cherub, Dara thought it was herself. She measured a whopping five foot one inches tall, with a fair complexion and a face that had never lost the baby fat in its cheeks. She sometimes felt all that separated her from the classic paintings were wings and a harp. In a funny twist of fate, she really could play the harp. Most cherubs had an affinity for music, but the wings were just a myth. Dara couldn’t even stand to fly in an airplane.

  She liked to think that was where the resemblance to her family stopped. For the most part, the rest of them entered the family trade, meddling in the love affairs of mortals when not leading a life of leisure and hedonism. They also enjoyed meddling in Dara’s relationships despite her pleas that they stay out of them.

  They were definitely not descended from the Biblical Cherubim, but instead were the Cherubs that the ancient Greeks and Romans so loved. During the
renaissance there was a movement within the church to separate the Cherubs from the Biblical Cherubim and they were renamed Putti, but thanks to a campaign launched by some of her older aunts and uncles, the name didn’t stick and faded into history. “I’m a Putti” sounded even more ridiculous than “I’m a Cherub.” They’d remained Cherubs ever since and commercially appeared in full force each year around Valentine’s Day.

  Seeing life as one big party, members of her Cherub family favored the French Riviera and all-inclusive resorts in the tropics to the damp and rainy Pacific Northwest where Dara had settled down. When she’d announced she wanted to go to college and have a career, they’d looked at her like she was daft and wrote it off to her youth. At just over a century old, she was one of the younger family members.

  But she’d done it anyways. She’d gotten a degree in mathematics before pursuing actuarial training. At the completion she was proud to pass her actuarial exam and to find a job with an insurance company in a field dominated by men. Predicting trends and the probability of loss, was intellectually satisfying for her.

  She’d met Steve, also an actuary, at a conference and had been very careful to not mention a word about him to her family. Portland in January was not a place her family would willingly visit, so Dara felt certain that the attraction between them was genuine.

  This had not been the case in her few previous relationships and Dara had good reason to be cautious. Somehow Cupid’s arrow had found each and every one of her prior mortal beaus. Over the centuries, Cupid’s arrow had evolved. Gone were the early prototype bows and arrows. The lethal shot was now delivered by specially designed guns that would shoot a miniscule dart at their intended target from either short or long range, depending on the device. The target would feel nothing more than a small sting or bite. The next man or woman they laid eyes upon would become the object of their affection. The love potion they delivered was ineffective on Cherubs but almost always successful on humans. Dara’s older sister, Corazon, was particularly proud of her tiny pink gun disguised as a tube of lipstick.

  Dara thought it was ridiculous. In her interactions with humans she’d found them perfectly capable of making their own choices about whom they would love, sometimes better than those of her family. She had an uncle, Fabio, who took joy in matching polar opposites and claimed he’d coined the phrase “opposites attract” long before Paula Abdul put it to music. Unfortunately, the relationships he created stood out for both their sizzling passion and their explosive fights.

  Her brother Romeo was a master mischief-maker. He’d seek out a happy couple and intentionally split them apart by setting the sights of one of them on a stranger. The Cherubs were honor bound not to not interfere in relationships consecrated by the sacred vows of marriage, but prior to the alter they had no constraints. If a marriage failed it was sometimes the result of a defective batch of love serum or simply human nature, as it is flawed at best. The only antidote to the love potion was also held by the Cherubs, but rarely used.

  Dara had spent most of her adult life keeping an eye out for her meddling family. She’d deflected several darts from striking her love interests in the past ten years and had to use the antidote four times. Her sister Corazon, or Cora for short, was particularly fond of selecting muscle-bound jocks for Dara with her lipstick gun. One glance at Steve, her current beau, made it clear that he spent more time in the office than the gym, but he had a handsome face, a great smile and warm brown eyes. Even at only five foot 11 inches he towered over her. Dara was content in knowing that he was with her because he truly liked her and not because of some silly love potion.

  Dara caught a glimpse of her appearance in the light reflecting off a puddle as she stepped around it and was satisfied that her hair was still in place. It was long and golden, and she felt it was her best feature. This was fortunate because she could never change it. If she ever chopped it off it would grow back overnight. She had to resort to ponytails or up-dos to change her style.

  Her eyes were two-toned, ice blue jewels with a golden ring around the iris that seemed to sparkle with intense emotions. Her lips were full and pouty. While she liked her eyes and lips, she thought her good features were spoiled by her round face and cheeks - the kind of face that made her an adorable child but not a glamorous woman. Judging by the way Steve pulled her closer as they approached her apartment complex, he didn’t seem to mind.

  One thing Dara genuinely loved was her apartment. It overlooked the Willamette River’s swirling currents. The rent was steep, but she refused all help from her family, which would be given under the condition she someday join the family trade. Fortunately, her new actuary position meant she finally had the money to afford the apartment.

  Reaching the door, she let go of Steve’s hand long enough to reach into her purse for her keys and felt tingles run down her spine as Steve leaned in to wrap his arms around her and place a kiss at the nape of her neck. She quickly unlocked the door and tugged Steve inside.

  In a move that would make the fire marshal cringe, she’d left dozens of votives burning in jewel colored holders, leaving the air fragrant and creating an ambience she hoped would set the right mood for the evening. She’d cast a minor charm upon them to prolong their life in case their dinner was long, but it hadn’t been necessary. Steve had been anxious to finish dinner tonight, which was unusual. It was something she hadn’t stopped to ponder until that moment.

  Tuning out the warning bells that rang in her head anytime a date behaved unusually, she reassured herself it was just nerves making her question Steve’s behavior as she admired her handiwork with the votives. It was dark enough to be romantic but light enough to see what they were doing. She enjoyed using all her senses, sight included.

  Ready to get things started, she slipped her shoes and coat off and watched Steve do the same. She sighed with contentment when Steve returned to her and drew her into an embrace before placing a soft kiss on her lips. Since getting this close to someone was a rare occurrence, Dara intended to savor every moment. Intimacy with Steve was more of a slow building fire than a raging inferno, but she prided herself on her self control and her ability to suppress her desires. Steve allowed her to maintain her precious control.

  She’d worn a clingy short black knit dress with a wrap around top that accentuated her curves without drowning her short frame in fabric. It also allowed for easy access. All she had to do was slip it down her shoulders and shrug out of it. She registered Steve’s intake of breath and was surprised to find him blushing. When she moved to unbutton his dress shirt, he halted her.

  “Maybe we should go to the bedroom, it’s kind of bright in here,” he stammered.

  Dara considered telling him there were more candles than the Vatican in her room, but in only a few short steps he’d discovered it for himself. In the bedroom, she moved to unbutton his dress shirt again but he quickly stepped away mumbling that he had to use the restroom. Dara sat down on the edge of her bed, dissatisfied with the way things were progressing, She knew Steve was modest, but not this modest.

  Dara waited as five, then ten minutes passed and she heard the sounds of drawers opening and closing in the bathroom. She finally walked to the bathroom and called through the door, “is everything OK?”

  “Just looking for a Band-Aid. Found one!” came his quick reply.

  Before Dara could move away from the bathroom door, Steve flung it open. Dara had just a moment to register he was now completely naked before she was pulled into his embrace. He mumbled, “I love you,” a phrase they’d yet to use, before bringing his lips to hers.

  Dara was shocked by his sudden passion, and her shock increased as he pressed her back against the wall and began grinding himself on her and mumbling repeatedly that he loved her. Her body was screaming at her to accept his sudden passion but she couldn’t help herself from wondering how finding a Band-Aid would have worked as an endorphin.

  The warning bells in her head began to peal in full force and ever
ything fell into place. The Band-Aid. Band-Aids cover wounds. Wounds can be caused by little darts. Little darts come from meddling family members through open restaurant windows. Using her supernatural strength, she yanked Steve into her bedroom and flipped on the light switch, flooding the room with light.

  “What’s going on, baby?” asked Steve.

  Dara realized that he’d never in his right mind call her baby. His eyes had taken on the appearance of a sad puppy dog. More importantly, stuck on his chest just above his heart, was a Scooby-Doo Band-Aid.

  Wasting no time, Dara responded, “Come here, loverboy. Let me kiss your boo boo,”

  And look for the telltale mark she silently added.

  Steve obliged all too easily and Dara bit back a curse at the tiny raised purple welt he’d tried hide beneath Scooby and Shaggy. Clenching her fists, she wondered how they’d discovered him? Which of her family members was it?

  Sensing her retreat, Steve began to babble, “I love you” and tried to draw her in for another kiss.

  Taking a step back, she flicked her wrist at him and commanded dormire, causing him to collapse onto her bed in a deep sleep.

  She hated using magic on mortals but she had no choice. There was a limited window to administer the antidote and she couldn’t risk discovery. Once she’d administered it, she’d also end their relationship (he’d no longer remember her anyways) and leave Portland in order to confront her family. If Steve ever laid eyes on her again, it could cause the memories to resurface and she couldn’t risk it.