Steve growled.
Tanya jerked, straightening with a bit of a wobble.
Bruce bit back his grin. “Check’s in the mail.”
He turned to his phone, but waited until Tanya walked out the door. Steve huffed as she left.
Bruce dropped onto the couch. Steve left his bed and crossed to Bruce. With some effort, Steve snuggled with Bruce on the couch.
The dog practically purred as Bruce rubbed him behind the ears.
“You sound like a cat, old man,” he said with a grin.
The dog nuzzled in next to him.
Pain stabbed in Bruce’s chest, because he could tell the dog was hurting.
“It’ll be over tomorrow. It’ll be all over tomorrow.” Tears welled in Bruce’s eyes, and he inhaled.
“You know, I’d better tell Greta we’re dating, don’t you think? She might like to know.”
Lilly let out a sigh, wiping the sweat off her brow. Even her magic glitter stuck to her like a thick paste. She stroked the dog’s back and he moaned again. Animals could usually see fairies, and Steve had the first time Lilly came into the apartment. Steve liked her, though, which helped. If a dog didn’t, well, they tended to bark a lot.
Lilly might have coaxed the dog to growl at the model a little, but hey, whatever it took to get the message across.
A minion tried to zap the girl, but Lilly caught the pain-in-the-butt cherub, sending it on its way.
“You are a complete menace, Cupid!” Lilly said, hoping the pompous god heard her.
“Now, now, miss Lilly Bloom, you shouldn’t say such things about me.” Cupid appeared beside her—the same small size as her, though no wings. With dark blond hair, in that wavy curl most earth-made statues of the ancient Roman gods depicted, and his bright eyes made him look handsome.
Playful even.
One would think the God of Love would be fun to be around.
Evidently, one was wrong.
“Well, your minions have been a pain in the butt all day.” She crossed her arms, gold flakes fluttering.
“You look stressed, Miss Bloom.” Cupid smiled. “Cup of tea?” He materialized a delicate, brimming tea cup. It fit his ensemble: a men’s formal suit, circa 1818. The tailcoat and tall Hessian boots might have been charming, but the lacy cravat made him look a bit too dandy.
“You look ruffled,” Lilly countered, not accepting the tea.
He took a sip. “I thought you would appreciate the older style.”
“I would appreciate you leaving me and my charge alone.”
“Why, my minions never once raised an arrow to your charge today.” He touched his chest.
“No, they were planning on annihilating the models he worked with.”
“They were not under your protection,” Cupid replied, taking another sip.
“But they would have all fallen for my charge! That only would have made things more difficult.”
Cupid sighed. “Do you not realize I only try to help you?”
“Help me?”
“I know this is a difficult case.” He finished the tea, and the glass disappeared. “You only have one HEA, after all, and I attempted to widen your net, allow you a better chance at finding him what he wanted.”
Lilly snorted. “Your help is neither appreciated or wanted, Cupid. Why don’t you go chase the Hollywood starlets for a while? I hear a member of One Direction went out with his ex. Surely your services will be better used there.”
“But it is so much more fun keeping tabs on you fairies.”
“You need to—how do they say it—get a life, Cupid.”
“I have one. A very fine one. You, my dear, need one far more than I do.”
With that, the god disappeared.
Lilly gritted her teeth, not liking the implications of Cupid’s words. Sure, she was single. Couldn’t find a date if her wings depended on it, but that wasn’t his concern.
It wasn’t anyone’s concern but hers. It only irritated her more, knowing Cupid knew that. Who had he been talking to?
“Gah, I’d like to poke him in the eye with one of his arrows,” she muttered as her charge texted his HEA.
At least he had a bit of a happy glow to him now.
Chapter Nine
Thursday
Can I change my Facebook status to say we’re dating? - Bruce
Greta about spit out her lukewarm coffee. She’d gotten home maybe forty-five minutes ago, and while she hated to admit it, Bruce had been on her mind all day.
She’d texted him as soon as she got home.
“He’s a good person who’s hurting,” she whispered to herself as she wiped off her desk, hoping her coffee didn’t get in her keyboard.
She kept telling herself she needed to stop. The perilous rope she walked with him was getting thinner. She shouldn’t talk to him.
She still couldn’t help being worried about him.
He’d been so upset last night.
And it had been so hard.
He talked about his dog a little, but it obviously was on his mind. He probably didn’t realize how much he brought up the dog in their texting. Still, she’d pushed through. By the end, she’d even quit wincing at every dog reference.
Dogs are not bad.
She had to tell herself over and over. After all, why would she ignore someone in pain?
Though he didn’t sound in pain, considering his last text.
After she’d cleaned up the coffee, she picked up her phone again, to make sure she hadn’t read wrong.
Surely she had…
Wait.
Nope.
He wants to put out there—publicly—he was dating her.
Uh, why? - Greta
Her stomach tied in knots at the prospect. He wanted to say he’s dating her? Her? Of all people? What was he thinking? He’d never seen her.
Greta touched her scars.
And as soon as he did, he’d run for the hills. He saw perfection. Why would he ever want to see someone deformed like she was?
Long story short—chick pissed me off. Told her I was dating someone. Thought of you. - Bruce
Greta shook her head. Even for pretend, she couldn’t deal with the thought of him being her boyfriend. They should at least talk on the phone or something…
It felt so weird.
You know, dork, you can change status to “in a relationship” without saying who. - Greta
Already got two emails calling me on it. - Bruce
Greta sighed.
I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that, sorry. - Greta
It’s cool. I have one other person, though she’s more of a business contact, thought maybe she might. If you didn’t. - Bruce
Too weird. Not exactly the easiest way to begin anything. And they weren’t beginning anything.
No, not going to go there.
Didn’t matter her heart fluttered at the thought.
You wanna Skype? - Bruce
Greta stared at the invitation. He wanted to Skype? To video chat? Panic welled.
Chest pains.
I’m having my first official chest pains…
Holy crap!
Her phone beeped again.
I want to talk, don’t want to text all night again. - Bruce
My webcam doesn’t work. - Greta
Would he buy that? Would he be okay with it? How could she let him see her? No. She couldn’t.
Don’t care. Voice will be fine. You got a mic? - Bruce
Yes… - Greta
“Can you do that? Just voices?” Greta muttered. Then she remembered a conference with her editor a while back, using a mic. Yeah, it would work. Still, it made her very nervous.
Very, very nervous.
Perfect. Talk to you in a bit
. - Bruce
Greta took in a deep breath, her hands trembling as she clicked on the Skype. It would be her voice. Nothing more.
It’ll be okay. He wouldn’t have to see her.
The odd singsong tone of Skype filled the room as she started the call. She made herself take a few more breaths, to stop completely freaking out when—
Boom. The image appeared.
Bruce.
His short dark hair, a bit of a five-o’clock shadow, and the warmest smile she’d ever seen. Sure, she’d perused his pictures on Facebook, but she’d never thought about it before. Even through the computer, his smile made her toes curl.
“Hey there,” Bruce said.
“Hi,” she answered back. How could such a handsome guy be her friend? How had this happened? She knew he couldn’t see her, even though the Skype prompt kept coming up for her to turn on her webcam.
“You sure you don’t have a camera?” Bruce asked.
“It doesn’t work,” Greta said.
He snapped his fingers. “Darn. Was hoping I’d get to see your face finally.”
She smirked. “Well, not today.”
“That’s okay, this is better.” He adjusted whatever it was he used. A panorama of his apartment, she guessed, zoomed by.
“This is a computer?” she asked.
“My tablet. Got it a few months back. I really like it. Do you have one?” As he positioned it, she got a good shot of his crotch—and darn, she had to bite her tongue. Those jeans looked really nice.
“Whoa,” she whispered. Like really nice. Bruce was getting a nine. Maybe a ten.
“What?” Bruce asked as he sat back on the couch.
Her cheeks warmed. “Nothing, sorry. Didn’t think you’d hear.”
“Aha, you were checking me out, weren’t you?”
“Any girl would,” Greta replied.
“True, I am a hottie.”
Greta laughed. “And rather proud of that, aren’t you?”
“Hey, I was blessed with good genes. Flaunt it when I can.” He held his arms up in that bodybuilder pose, and did a manly “grunt.”
Greta giggled. “Bet you get all the girls.”
“Not all of them.” He shifted, and that’s when Greta saw his dog. The big, golden Labrador—he’d told her the breed yesterday—came up, nuzzled Bruce, and lay on Bruce’s lap.
He petted the dog’s head. “And this is Steve. Say hello, Steve.”
Steve let out a growl-bark, yawned, and rested his head on Bruce.
And to Greta’s shock, she didn’t jump.
“Wow, he’s pretty.” Pretty, shiny golden fur, though graying around his snout. He looked like one of those dogs a kid would cuddle.
“He’s a great dog,” Bruce said, one hand not leaving Steve.
“So what did you want to talk about?”
Bruce shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Just didn’t want to text. My fingers need a break.” He waved them.
She smiled. And felt a little sad because of her fears. A part of her knew Bruce’s business, knew he dealt with perfection, and would not be impressed by the scars. It made her sad, because she had hoped he would be different.
But didn’t she think that of every guy she met online? That they’d be different, and she’d finally meet someone worthwhile?
She shook off the thought. Had to get away from the morose place the thought was going. “So explain to me why you need me to be your girlfriend.”
He smiled “Yeah, okay.”
He had such a handsome smile. Greta couldn’t help grinning back.
“Well, it’s like this… You know I’m a photographer, right?”
Greta nodded, and realized he couldn’t hear it. “Yes.”
“Well, I work out of my home.” He looked away. “And, well, in the past, I’ve uh, used that to my advantage.”
“Go on.” Greta wasn’t sure she liked where this headed.
He squirmed in his seat as he spoke. “Anyway, I have this, kind of, reputation.” He waved his hand.
Her stomach started to roil, but not in a good way.
“You’re a man-whore.” Greta slapped her hand over her mouth.
Bruce burst out laughing. “In a way, yes, I kinda am. Man-whore.” He snorted. “Yeah, that would make sense.”
Still filled with embarrassment, Greta tried to get to the point. And couldn’t believe he hadn’t disconnected. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s cool.” He waved again.
Gah, he used his hands a lot. Lots of gestures. Was he one of those people who did everything with his hands?
This vague warmth flooded Greta, not exactly concrete thoughts about what hands could do, if used a lot, but more the general feeling of… well… those feelings. Those ones she wrote about all the time, but hardly ever experienced.
Is this what it’s supposed to feel like when a guy turns you on? She felt it all the way to her toes, her cheeks so warm she could fry an egg on them.
And his eyes—wow, they were really green—stared right at her. Well, at the screen. Like he knew her thoughts.
Greta cleared her throat. “You had better get to where this has to do with us pretending to date.”
“Yeah, that.” He inhaled a breath, and Greta noticed how his chest filled out.
Good grief, he was good looking!
“Anyway, I used to date a lot. Haven’t been into it for the last, oh, I don’t know, six months or so.”
Six months? How long have we been talking? Wait. Six months. Holy crow.
It must be a coincidence. Has to be.
“So to make a long story short, one of the models—a very short-lived relationship from a while back—offered to ‘console’ me today.” He made little quote marks in the air. “You know, this would go so much better if I could see you.”
“My camera’s broke.” Greta hoped her voice didn’t crack in the lie.
He tipped his head to the side, his brow furrowing.
Maybe it had cracked a little.
Crap.
“Really? Because I think you’re lying.”
She should be mad for him calling her out. But she also knew she could never hold onto a lie when someone point-blank caught her. “Fine it works. I admit it. But I’m not turning it on.”
“Please?” He did the puppy-dog-eye thing.
Greta clicked on the webcam settings. And found something. A feature she didn’t know she had…
“There, are you happy?”
Bruce sat up, stared at the screen, then his face contorted, like he tried to focus. “Your face is pixelated out. I can’t see you.”
“And you’re not going to.” Greta grinned. Not that he could tell. Blurred out like an informant on TV, even she couldn’t see her face beyond the pixilated blocks.
“You have brown hair. Long brown hair.”
“Not really.” Greta pulled some onto her shoulder. From her side, she could see a little block, where it went past her shoulder. “It’s a little longer than the camera shows.”
Bruce nodded. “I like it. This is a little better, I guess. I can see where you are. Is that your apartment?”
Greta nodded. “I live in my parent’s basement.”
Bruce made an overly exaggerated nod. “I understand why you want to move now. I wouldn’t be able to live with my parents anymore.”
“It’s that, but there’s also more to it.”
“So enlighten me.” Bruce leaned back, arms crossed, and Steve crawled more into his lap. He stroked the dog’s head.
She shook her head. “There’s a lot of bad history here for me. This is a small town. I want to get into the city, be anonymous.”
“Small towns do have that going for them—the gossip.”
“You have no idea.”
&nbs
p; He shrugged. “I sort of do. Not so much small town, but I grew up wrestling. A very tight-knit community. Even now, I mean, I’m thirty-two. Some of my best friends are wrestlers. We still see each other every month.” He glanced at his watch. “In fact, I think Saturday is our monthly beer night.”
“That sounds fun,” Greta said.
He shrugged. “Not sure if I’m going to go. Don’t know how I’ll be feeling.” He stroked Steve’s head.
Oh, tomorrow, that’s when he’s…
“I couldn’t blame you if you didn’t go.”
He shrugged. “I sort of have to. Keep up appearances and all.”
“Why?”
He paused, blinked. Got a funny grin on his face. “You know, I don’t know. Just I’ve always kept up appearances. Not sure I know how to not have my game face on.”
“Do you have it on now?” Greta asked.
He shook his head. “No.” He smiled into the camera. “It’s funny. With you, I don’t usually put it up.”
“Ever?”
He shrugged, this kind of impish way Greta knew in a moment probably got him about anything he wanted.
“When we first would talk on Facebook and stuff? Probably a little. Not so much now.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I don’t, well, feel the need to be, uh, something else.”
“I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”
Bruce laughed. “Compliment. You get to see the real me. Though it could be hard to look at sometimes.”
“Said the guy who begs to see my picture,” Greta replied.
“We’re moving forward. I got to hear your voice, and look at a pixilated version of a face.”
Greta snorted. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
He stroked the dog’s head before looking back. “Can I call you sometime?”
“Sure,” Greta said. “What, is texting no good for you anymore?”
“It’s not that,” Bruce said. “Sometimes, you need a voice.”
Greta understood what he meant.
He kept stroking the dog. “And I think tomorrow, I may need a voice.”
“Yeah, I bet you will.”
Guys and Godmothers Page 18