Cursed by Cupid

by Wendy Sparrow

  “What about the phone call that night—when I called you after reading your note?” he asked. “I was on your doorstep, and I called you.”

  “I tried to get out of the restaurant to talk to you.”

  “I heard you say to wait for a second, and then all of a sudden, you shouted, ‘No’ at the top of your lungs and hung up on me.”

  “That’s because I’d been knocked onto someone’s lap and had thrown his shrimp linguini all over us. I must have hung up on accident.”

  He grinned. “And later?”

  “My phone shorted out. My filling stung for a couple days, and it burnt a bit of my hair near that ear.” She’d smelled burnt hair for twenty-four hours.

  He laughed.

  She put her hand on the doorknob. Even if it was funny, and he hadn’t laughed in amusement—it still counted as a strike against him with everything else. “My date turned out to be deathly allergic to shrimp.”

  “So, I guess no goodnight kiss.”

  She turned the knob and scowled at him.

  “Aren’t you even going to get what you came here for?”

  She turned.

  He held up the patch.

  She crossed the shop to see it. It was finally the correct patch. Her name. The kicking dude. Second place.

  It was finally right. Maybe she should give him another chance. On the other hand, he hadn’t bothered trying to call her again—he’d sent her a taunting patch instead. Yeah. No. It was a game, and she wasn’t playing it.

  “Keep it. This relationship is more work than earning that patch,” she said, and turned to go.

  He moved fast, jumping over the counter and bolting to the door. He slammed it shut and leaned against it.

  “Tilly.” He made the mistake of grabbing her arm, and she punched him in the stomach with her free hand as instinct kicked in.

  “Hell” he said, doubled over in pain.

  Oh crap, she’d punched Bryant. She’d knocked the wind out of the guy she’d stood up. This might be worse than half the things the curse had managed. “I’m so sorry,” she said, horrified. She was an awful, awful person. And why wasn’t there something sharp in here she could throw herself on? “You can’t grab my hand like that. I’ve been practicing what to do if someone does that. I’m so sorry.”

  “You punch hard.” He tried to catch his breath while leaning heavily against the door.

  “Yeah, my date said that, too.” At least there was that. This had all gone to crap, but she’d had her punch strength validated. It was a lousy silver lining, but she’d take anything at this point.

  “You punch all your dates?”

  Tilly leaned against the front door with a sigh and slid to the ground. “Lately? Yeah.” She dropped her head into her hands. “If you value your life, you’ll run hard and fast, Bryant. I would even consider changing my name if I was you.”

  Bryant sunk down beside her. She could tell he was still out of breath. “Okay, I’ll change my name to Bryan and drop the T.”

  “You can’t tell me that. That doesn’t help you get away. Of course, I don’t even know your last name.”

  “It’s Murphy.”

  She groaned. “You have no self-preservation instincts.”

  “What about the shrimp guy? Did he?”

  “I think so. He didn’t get within four feet of me after the shrimp got dumped on me, and I took a cab home.”

  “But he didn’t call off the date,” Bryant said.

  “I can’t imagine why. You have no idea how bad this date was. Last year, one of my dates was knocked unconscious with a hockey puck, and it broke one of his front teeth. I think that date went better.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. I told you…I’m cursed.”

  “You must be.”

  “It all happened after a chain letter.”

  “I’ve broken chain letters before,” Bryant said. “I think they’re meant to be funny—like a joke.”

  “Not this one. This one was real.”

  “Ahh. I’ll need to see it then.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I never joke about chain letters.”

  She burst out laughing. Then she noticed how close they were—their shoulders were touching, and their shoes were touching. Even her feet sensed how close they were—through her shoes. This was crazy, wasn’t it?

  Someone knocked on the door they were leaning against.

  Bryant looked over his shoulder and shouted, “We’re closed.”

  “No, you’re not,” came the reply.

  Bryant reached up and flipped the sign around.

  Her mouth dropped open. He was closing up early for her. He was turning away customers…for her? Well, it was a bad business practice, first of all, but it was also sort of sweet.

  “Shouldn’t you…?” she asked, gesturing behind her.

  “Nah, it’s somebody I know. He’ll understand.”

  Sure enough, a car started up behind them, and the person drove off.

  “So…” She glanced around, unsure of what to say.

  “We should try again—the date, I mean,” he said.

  “Are you crazy? Another attempt to get anywhere near me might kill you.”

  He grinned. “I like to live on the edge, to take chances. You can show me the chain letter, and we can try to break it.”

  She bit her lip and stared at his counter. Then, his fingers tip-toed into hers.

  “C’mon, Tilly. You gave shrimp guy a chance.”

  She had.

  “He at least got one date with you.”

  One very lousy date that flirted with anaphylaxis.

  Her gaze dropped down to where his hand held hers. He was the kind of person who wrote notes on his hands as reminders. There was a note to pay the power bill. A random number that looked like an account number, and then her phone number.

  “That’s my phone number,” she said, pointing.

  “Yeah, I was going to call you if you didn’t stop by.”

  “Because you were mad?”

  “No, because I was confused as to what happened, and I was starting to wonder if I was being an ass.” He squeezed her hand. “C’mon, Tilly. Give me a chance. I swear it’ll be better.”

  “Okay, but I warned you.”

  He laughed. “You did. Six o’clock again?”

  She shrugged with a heavy sigh, which made him laugh again. He must be a masochist.

  …

  He was punctual—which she’d never put high on any lists, but there was something about a guy anxious enough to see you that he watched the time. Her doorbell rang at 5:59, and she was dressed except for her shoes. She was wearing her lucky green socks. Mostly, she’d kept the socks lucky by never wearing them on any dates and, thus, jinxing them, but she was taking this chance. Unfortunately, the slick, front entryway of her condo, her fuzzy favorite socks, and her cat deciding to make a last minute dash in front of her meant that she slid into the door, body-slamming it.

  With a wince, she opened the door to a grinning Bryant.

  “What is it with you and doors?” he asked.

  She considered slamming it, but he slid his foot forward and gave her a challenging look.

  “I told you, this is dangerous. The curse could take you down at any moment,” she reminded him.

  “I have been warned,” he agreed. “I’m taking my life into my own hands by coming here, but it’s worth it. Let’s look at this chain letter first, and I’ll show you what’s in the bag.” He held up a small, black, plastic sack.

  “Okay, I printed it out. It was an email.” He followed her through her condo to a computer she had off her kitchen. “I got the email three years ago, and ever since, it’s been obvious.”

  “Obvious?”

  “I haven’t had a second date since. Plus, I was never clumsy before. Now, if there is a single guy within a mile, I’m guaranteed to make a complete fool of myself in front of him. I’ve fallen into two fountains, three pools… A dock
collapsed while I was on it last year. I was at a benefit for the local animal shelter. All of a sudden, kaboom, I was neck-deep in water, and the strap to my dress broke. Luckily, there were lily pads, otherwise, I would have been charged with indecent exposure.”

  “See, there, that doesn’t sound so unlucky. I would have enjoyed being there for that.”

  “I broke my wrist.”

  “I take it back.”

  “My pride was hurt worse.” She handed him the printout. “When you have to use lily pads for makeshift pasties—trust me, you don’t notice your wrist is broken until you’re running away screaming for other reasons.”

  He tilted his head and stared at her, rather than the paper she’d handed him.

  “You really are incredible, Tilly,” he said.

  She blushed and gestured at the email. “Wait until you’ve read what you’re getting into.”

  He held up the paper to read. “I can’t believe you’ve kept emails from three years ago.”

  “You’d do the same if it started coming true.”

  His eyes skimmed the chain letter, and he muttered aloud: “Dear Reader, this letter is to inform you of Cupid’s curse which will fall upon you if you don’t pass this email on to three friends within three hours. Carl Forest didn’t believe in the curse and didn’t forward this on. Four hours later, he found his fiancé with another man in his bed. Betty Carruthers thought she could outrun the curse on May 15th, 2003.” He tapped the paper. “The date is a nice touch. It adds authenticity.”

  “Yes, but did you see how she died?”

  “Yes, but she was hitchhiking…and who has a computer to receive email but no car? Why was she hitchhiking? So, if she’d completed the chain letter, would she have met her true love on the highway and not an axe murderer?”

  “I don’t know. Probably.”

  “Harold Chambers completed the email chain letter and later that day found out that his dog-walker had always harbored a secret crush on him. He asked her out, and they were married three months later. They’re still together today and have seven kids, a house in Aspen, and a houseboat.” He blinked and asked, “Was the seven kids thing supposed to be positive?”

  “I like kids.”

  “I do too, but…seven? I think after the third, you start naming them Thing Four and so on.”

  “Three kids are enough.”

  “Yep. Besides, are we to assume that the amount of procreation speaks to how in love they are?”

  She poked the bag clutched in his other hand. “What’s in there?”

  “Not yet, Tilly. Good things come to those who wait.”

  She dropped into her desk chair with a sigh. “Not to this person. I’ve found that the curse grows more lethal every year. I’d sworn off dating when my karate instructor, Master Ito, told me that he wanted to set me up for Valentine’s Day. He’s so sweet, and I couldn’t say no. I should have.

  Then, I was practicing my kata while waiting to speak with Master Ito, and this guy walks into the dojo and tells me I’m doing it wrong—which, okay, set my back up. I have a blue belt, and he has a yellow belt, but I thought maybe he was joking. I said I was worried about my punch strength, and he offered to spar with me. A minute later, I’m punching him in the face by accident right after he told me he was my blind date.”

  “You punch plenty hard.”

  She blushed. “Thanks.” Shaking her head, she shrugged. “He had two black eyes on our date. He looked terrible.”

  “Does that make it a double-blind date?”

  She groaned. That was awful.

  “He probably told everyone he got jumped by a gang of Samoans. Or thin mints.”

  Glaring, she hit his shoulder. Though, admittedly, she suspected Cody wasn’t bragging about what had really happened.

  He rubbed his shoulder, but stayed focused on the paper. “I think we can break this. We just have to overcome whatever hex you enacted here and also send on the chain letter. Even if it’s late, it could work.” He tapped the paper. “This chick, Amber Crawford, who sent it to you?”

  “Yeah, we’re not friends anymore. Who does this to someone? I can’t do this to someone. Even if they send it on, I’m perpetuating this horror in someone else’s love life.” She spun in her desk chair. “You know, when I first got it, I was engaged.”

  Bryant froze. “You caught him cheating on you?”

  “No, he came over drunk that night and tried to beat on me. I’d never seen him like that, and I never wanted to again. I threw him out and told him it was over.”

  “It sounds like you had a lucky escape then,” Bryant said. “I’m glad you didn’t marry him.”

  “Me too,” she admitted. She’d never thought of it that way. It had mimicked the chain letter so much she’d felt like it was bad luck, but maybe seeing her fiancé that way had saved her a lifetime of worse.

  “So, that’s when you started karate?”

  “Yep.”

  “And now you’re a lethal machine, ready to take down any guy who crosses you?”

  “Do you think maybe I’m sabotaging myself because I believe in this chain letter?” she asked, looking up at him.

  He set it next to the computer but continued to stare at it with a frown. She saw he’d scrubbed the ballpoint pen ink off his hand and replaced it with new notes. “Call Tom.” “Ask about discount.” “Find out cat’s name.”

  “I don’t think you are sabotaging your dates, but if we cover our bases, maybe you’ll stop doing that, too—if you are,” he said.

  She tapped his hand. “What cat’s name?”

  He blinked, looked down, and flushed pink. “I’d meant to wash that off.” He went to her sink to do so.

  “Whose cat?” she asked curiously, following him.

  “Yours. I talked with my brother, and he said you should always ask about a girl’s pets. You mentioned you had a cat—or something with claws that killed mice anyway. Cat seemed logical.”

  She grinned. He wouldn’t even meet her eyes he was so embarrassed. It was the sweetest thing ever.

  “His name is Hell’s Fiend or Fiend for short.”

  He nodded, still scrubbing at the note. “That’s good. I’m glad it’s not like Bootsy or Mr. Snickers or something.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  He’d set the bag to the side, and she dove for it when he turned to put soap on his hands.

  “Hey!” He made a grab for it, but she dragged it to the other side of her kitchen counter and opened it. Laughing, he shook his head. “You’re fast.”

  “And I punch hard. Never cross me.”

  The first thing that caught her eye was a jewelry box…a flat, square box…not a ring or pendant box. She opened it curiously as he shut the water off and dried his hands. Inside was a silver bracelet with small horseshoe charms and number sevens hanging from the links. She swallowed and bit her lip. Wow. Not expensive, and that was what made it okay. If it’d been something expensive, she might have run screaming from the condo.

  His stillness alerted her that he was waiting for a response.

  “It’s perfect,” she whispered, looking up.

  He looked embarrassed, but said, “It’s for you. I thought it looked lucky.” Stepping closer, he reached across the kitchen counter to help her put the bracelet on. It jingled softly when she turned her wrist back and forth to admire it. It was sweet that he’d bought her good luck charms. Even if he didn’t believe her, he was pretending he did.

  She sighed contentedly. When she inhaled, she caught the scent of his cologne. He smelled so good. Whatever he was wearing made her want to throw the bag to the side, leap across the counter, and tackle him.

  “I feel luckier already,” she said. Her voice sounded so high-pitched and nervous. It was silly, but her heart was pounding from his proximity.

  “Me too.” He leaned on the counter and nodded at the bag. “Go ahead.”

  Next, she pulled out an actual horseshoe.

  “That goes above
your door. I found it when I was eight on a family camping trip, and I think it’s lucky.”

  She set it to the side. Then, she pulled out a plastic sprig of mistletoe. She held it up. “Mistletoe is lucky?”

  He laughed and took the mistletoe from her hand. “I stole that from my neighbor’s front porch. They’ll have their Christmas lights up until May, but I figured they didn’t need this.”

  “It’s lucky?” she asked again.

  He shrugged and looked at her. “I wanted to kiss you, but you don’t seem like the type of girl who kisses on a first date. So, I brought that, hoping I’d get lucky.”

  This time it was her turn to blush. Oh, wow. She’d never had a guy try to steal a kiss with mistletoe. She set it to the side and opened the bag again. Finally, there was a four-leaf clover encased in plastic on a keychain.

  “That’s all I could think of. I don’t have a rabbit’s foot. It’s always seemed a bit ghoulish to have one.”

  She nodded in agreement. “We have rabbits that come into the vet’s office. I don’t think I could have a rabbit’s foot—even if it was lucky.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t have to be from a dead rabbit. Maybe the next time you have a rabbit come in, you can go rub its foot.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I can imagine the teasing I’d get from my coworkers. They’d think I’d developed a fetish or something.”

  Bryant leaned back and held his hands out. “Here I am, trying to help, and you’re not even willing to go rub a rabbit’s foot?”

  Laughing, she caved. “Fine! I’ll rub their feet…if no one else is around.”

  “That’s all I ask—for you to do your part.” He gestured at the nearby computer. “Now, let’s send off your chain letter and go out and see if it worked.”

  “I can’t do that. I can’t send it to someone else, not after what happened to me.”

  He produced a piece of paper with a flourish. “I thought of that. Meet Ava, Elena, and Olga—the Russian mail order brides who want me to call them for a good time. They’re most likely sixty-year-old men running porn sites, preying on idiots who click on the links in those emails.”

  Tilly took the paper with the printed-out emails on them, and her mouth dropped open. “These are—” she pointed at a line, “wow. That’s not legal.”