redeeming cupid 01 - struck by eros

by Jenn Windrow

  I was keeping the ring.

  Two

  Soul Mates? Try Soul Sucking Mates

  Stupid Cupid, by Neil Sedaka, played from my cellphone. Must be 10:13 a.m. Cupid’s daily text with details of who, what, when, and where for our daily soul mate connection. Never early. Never late. I snatched the phone off the nightstand and pushed the mute button before the noise woke my sleeping fiancé, then checked the readout.

  Coronado Beach. 11:30a.m. Purple arrow.—Q

  Great. The beach. The last place I wanted to spend my day, or any day for that matter. My finger hovered over the “f” as I considered texting back fuck off, but I knew from experience my reply would bounce back. I tossed the phone back on the nightstand. It skittered across the antique, black wood then ping-ponged between my book and water bottle before settling.

  Len’s arm brushed against mine. I pulled the cream and gold comforter over my shoulders and cuddled closer, wishing I could stay in bed all day and snuggle. But Cupid’s minions didn’t get sick days or holidays or time off for good behavior. Instead, I got a demanding boss, no pay, and chained to a man-whore till death do us part.

  I’d complain, but I didn’t think Cupid’s minions had a union.

  Leaving the warmth of our bed and Len’s comforting touch, I took one last look at my fiancé. His sandy-blond hair—only messy when he slept—fell across his face, obscuring what they call a Roman nose, something a vainer man would have had a plastic surgeon fix. Not Len. He wasn’t Grayson gorgeous, and for that I was thankful.

  Gorgeous equaled heartache, and heartache equaled another dent in my already battered heart.

  I tiptoed into the bathroom, slipped out of my lavender-silk nightie, and hopped into the shower. The warm water washed over my hand and added more sparkle to the diamonds on my finger. Thump, thump, thump. I banged my head against the swirled beige and white tile. “Fuck,” I whispered, so Len wouldn’t hear my slip of etiquette.

  What had I done? It was hard enough hiding my double life as his girlfriend, but engaged? Married? This took complicated to a whole new level.

  Cupid thought Grayson was my perfect match, but he didn’t realize that if I ended up with a man like Grayson, I would die. Men who only cared about their next conquest, the next woman they could get balls deep into. Men who couldn’t offer more than half an hour of pleasure, but could offer a lifetime of regret.

  I dried off, pulled my hair into a high ponytail, applied a touch of eyeliner to my upper lids, then finished off my makeup with light layer of mascara and lip-gloss. I’d love to go au naturel, but who knew what role I would be playing in connecting our unlucky-in-loves. Wandering into my walk-in closet, I found a black bikini and coral cover up, and stuffed the top into my art tote. Might as well take advantage of sunny California’s golden rays and bake my skin while doing Cupid’s errands.

  But letting Len catch me in a bathing suit and headed to the beach would look way too suspicious. So I found my oldest pair of paint-splattered sweat pants and one of Len’s old T-shirts, my usual work uniform, and covered the bathing suit bottoms.

  My new bauble sparkled from my finger, the diamonds catching the light, creating little polka dots on the walls. Len made the perfect choice. Perfect size. Perfect shape. Perfect man. Too bad his fiancée lived the perfect double life.

  A double life I hadn’t chosen, hadn’t wanted, and certainly would be fleeing from the moment I found a way out. And finding a way out had just moved to the top spot on my to-do list.

  Slipping the ring off my finger, I dropped Len’s declaration of love in the center of my vintage perfume bottle collection on my dressing table, hiding the one thing I wanted to show to the world. But Grayson could never find out I’d gotten engaged. After his comments at the hotel yesterday, it was obvious he didn’t think I should date, let alone promise to love, honor, and obey.

  I went back into the bedroom, planning to slink back under the covers, enjoy a few more carefree minutes with the man I loved before I met the man I loathed, but the gold and cream comforter was tossed aside and the bed was empty. I wandered into the hall and the familiar aroma of Len’s amaretto coffee was like an invisible index finger beckoning me to the kitchen.

  Len stood at the stove flipping bacon in a pair of ripped jeans and nothing else, his bed-head hair now slicked back and tame. I wanted to run my fingers through it and return it to its wild state.

  If I had a sketchbook close at hand, I would have loved to take a moment to sketch the way his 501s sat on his hipbone and his Calvin’s peeked out from underneath, but all my drawing tools were safely tucked away in my office to avoid clutter around the house. Instead, I wrapped my arms around him from behind, pressing closer to his body.

  He snaked his free arm around me, pulled me tight, and planted a kiss on my head. He put the spatula down on the spoon rest, turned, and looked at my work attire. “Going out?”

  “I’m off to the studio to work.” The lie tripped over my tongue and the betrayal tripped over my heart.

  He pulled the T-shirt away from my neck and kissed my collarbone. “Sure I can’t persuade you to stay home?” His fingers wandered to the edge of my sweats.

  It killed me to stop him from exploring further, but I knew better than to be late for my matchmaking session. “I have to work on a new piece for the mythology project.” Not a full lie but still, another lie piled on top of a hill of lies.

  “You can’t work from home today?”

  “All the supplies I need are at the Rail Yard.”

  “How about postponing for a couple of hours?” His hand grabbed my backside and squeezed. “I took the whole day off to spend with you to celebrate.”

  I’d give anything to stay and be seduced by Len, but if I refused to do Cupid’s bidding, bad things happened. I’d tested the boundaries once, just once, and swore the hours spent huddled over the toilet praying for the swift death Cupid promised wasn’t worth repeating.

  I turned around, snitched a piece of toast off the plate so I wouldn’t have to face him with yet another lie. “I wish I could, but it’s an important job. New client. Big commission.”

  He wrapped his arms around me from behind and hugged me closer. “Dinner tonight to celebrate? That new Italian place?”

  My head leaned against his chest, and I sighed. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  He slapped me on the rear. “Then get to work lady, so you can come home, and I can make love to you before our night out.”

  Closing the door and leaving Len behind felt wrong. The way my libido picked up at the thought of seeing Grayson felt wrong. This whole Cupid-screwed situation felt wrong. Totally fucking wrong. I put Doris’s soft top down and hopped in. San Diego’s cool, ocean air helped calm the anger to low level irritation.

  Pulling in behind Grayson’s black Audi R5, my first instinct was to ram it up the rear, but the damage to Doris wouldn’t be worth the tiny temper tantrum. Instead, I grabbed my bag, and pulled out my bathing suit top. Without being indecent, I pulled my arms through the sleeves of my T-shirt. Wrangled my bikini top under my shirt. Clasped it, and made sure it covered all my womanly bits, before pulling the shirt over my head and tossing it in the back seat. I wiggled out of my sweats, slipped into a pair of flip-flops, and stepped out of the car.

  The car door closed with a creak and a slam, imitating my feelings for the next couple hours of my life. I walked past the large, jagged rocks that separated the sidewalk from the beach in search of my co-worker.

  The morning fog ebbed, and the sun peeked between the clouds. Joggers ran through the shallow water, families searched for seashells, and ten feet away, a gaggle of girls surrounded Grayson like seagulls circling a kid with popcorn.

  I trekked through the warm sand, threw myself into a chair underneath the rainbow-striped umbrella, and scared away Grayson’s entourage. “Let’s find our lonely hearts and get this over with.”

  “Hello to you too, sunshine.”

  Pulling a book out of my bag,
I cracked it open and settled into my time-to-ignore-Grayson pose. A pose that took me weeks to perfect. “Let’s not pretend we enjoy each other’s company.”

  “Don’t you get sick of always being…” He waved his hand back and forth in my direction like a conductor guiding an orchestra. “You?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that if the stick in your ass got any higher we could hang a flag over your head and declare you your own state.”

  I peeked over the top of my book. “Go get eaten by a shark.”

  “Better than sitting on the beach with a crab.” Grayson hopped off his towel, jogged down the seaweed-covered sand, and got lost in the distance. I’d see him again when he located our wayward couple with the bobbing purple arrows over their heads.

  Comforted by the sound of waves crashing on the shore, I tried to get interested in the story of a man and woman who managed to find love no matter how many obstacles life put in their way.

  Choking out a laugh, I dropped the book in my lap. “What a crock of crap.” If finding the love of your life were so simple, Grayson and I would be leading ordinary lives far away from each another, instead of providing divine intervention for wayward soul mates.

  Twenty minutes later, Grayson jogged back, snatched a towel, and wiped away the coat of sweat that covered his perfectly chiseled abs. I couldn’t help but notice the way his black board shorts showed off his Apollo’s belt, that lovely little “V” indent by his pelvic bone. Just because I didn’t want to spend eternity with him didn’t mean I couldn’t admire the spectacular view.

  “Found our mark.” He grabbed a water bottle and took a gulp. “I’ll need your help.”

  I tossed my book on the sand. “Anything to move this day along.”

  With another gulp of water, Grayson grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the chair. “Scenario Sixty-Two?” A couple at odds.

  “No. Not Sixty-Two. I don’t have the mental fortitude to fake a fight with you. How about Eight?” I pulled my hand out of his before the lust ignited and we ended up on a Serta sleeper with post-orgasmic guilt.

  “Eight won’t work. He’s not exactly… handsome.” Grayson scrunched his nose, which only made him look more adorable.

  Not what I wanted to hear. “How about Thirteen?” I wasn’t in the mood to hit on anyone today, but the lesser of two evils and all that.

  “Thirteen it is.”

  We approached the lavish, red and white beachfront hotel most people found beautiful. It reminded me of the ex-asshole playing hide-the-sausage in the honeymoon suite with his assistant while I stood groomless under a hydrangea-covered trellis on this very same beach.

  Cupid delighted in finding new ways to torture me.

  We walked down the stone path to the beachfront café where a purple arrow floated over a man in his late twenties with a receding hairline, pockmarks, and a shirt that read, “I’m not a geek, I’m a level nine warlock.” No wonder Grayson wanted Scenario Sixty-Two; he had a soft spot for the desperate.

  Grayson reached out and unbuttoned three buttons on my bathing suit cover up, exposing a lot more cleavage than a level nine warlock deserved. “Better than your personality.”

  I shoved his hands away. “Just go find his other half.”

  Grayson blew me a kiss and wandered off.

  I closed one of the buttons, slid into the empty seat next to him at the bar, and held out my hand. “Hi, I’m Noel.”

  He took a gander of the goods, then knocked over his drink in a hurry to shake my hand. A foamy white substance smelling of rum and coconut crept along the wood. His stare wandered between the crawling liquid and back to me, but he finally made the decision to ignore the mess and talk to the hot girl.

  “Norm.” He ogled my abundant cleavage, then remembered his good manners, clasping my hand in his, shaking vigorously.

  Thank God for divine intervention, or this poor shmuck would never get laid.

  But today was Norm’s lucky day. Today he’d meet his other half. The ying to his yang. The milk to his cookie. The peanut butter to his jelly. And he might even have sex.

  “Do you play Warcraft?” He looked hopeful.

  I shook my head.

  “It’s a great game. See, the elves hate the orcs…” Norm started his very detailed explanation.

  At the twenty-minute mark of the ins and outs of The World of Warcraft, I developed an irritating twitch. Another moment and I was going to find a BFG, otherwise known as a Big Fucking Gun in geek speak, and shoot myself.

  Norm rambled on and I answered and nodded when appropriate, but my scope of vision zeroed in the surrounding area in search of Grayson and Norm’s ladylove.

  Grayson walked up with an attractive blonde in a pale-yellow bikini, Norm’s matching purple arrow bobbing over her head. He settled her at an empty table and came to the bar. I ignored my partner and studied Norm’s mate. She was a seven out of ten, way better than my geeky friend deserved. The boy must have done something wonderful in a previous life. Either that or she had killed a puppy and he’s her punishment.

  Showtime.

  I excused myself to go to the bathroom, happy to be away from Norm and his post-nasal drip. Cranking the polished chrome faucet to on, I splashed water at my eyes, letting it drip down my cheeks. Presto—instant tears. Wiping the excess with a piece of toilet paper, I left to convince Norm’s girl to embrace his geeky glory.

  Grayson waited at the bar, so I slid into the beige rattan chair next to her, hidden from Norm’s view behind a large pillar. I let loose with a chorus of loud, attention-getting, hyena-like sobs, ones she wouldn’t be able to ignore.

  “Are you okay?” Her tone shared the tiniest bit of concern, but her gaze flicked around the beach. Probably looking for the fastest escape from my large bucket of crazy.

  “No.” I slumped in the chair and swiped at the imaginary snot running out of my nose. “My boyfriend just dumped me.” I pointed at Norm. “He was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

  Norm’s mate took in all his geeky glory. “Really?”

  I wouldn’t have believed me either.

  “Amazing.” I buried my head into my hands, hoping to hide my laughter with some more overly obnoxious crying. The girl gave me a quick pat on the shoulder. I slapped my hand on her retreating arm. “Would you go talk to him for me?”

  She looked at Norm, a spoon in each hand reenacting an imaginary elf versus orc battle. “I don’t know.”

  “Please. Convince him to give me another chance.” I dabbed at my eyes with a torn piece of tissue and blew my nose again. No one could say no to a snotty mess.

  “All right.” She pushed her chair back. “What’s his name?”

  “Norm.” Here’s to hoping Norm would be so enamored by his soul mate that he would never question her motivation for approaching him in the first place.

  She walked over to the bar and tapped Norm on the shoulder. He jumped, almost falling out of his seat. She looked back at me, and I gave her a double thumbs up.

  Grayson’s cologne filled the air, and his butt filled the vacant seat. “Poor Courtney.” He placed my favorite frothy concoction with a pink paper umbrella sticking out of the straw in front of me.

  Sometimes connecting soul mates was easy. All it took was a chance encounter, a bump, a nudge, that love-at-first-sight moment. Those were the easy ones, the Scenario Eights. But most of the time, Grayson and I had to give them a shove in the right direction, a subtle push to approach someone who they felt was beneath them. If it weren’t for our intervention, Courtney would have never given someone like Norm a chance.

  Courtney turned and pointed at me. Norm looked over, but shook his head. Courtney frowned, and I thought I was busted, but she didn’t leave. Instead, she sat on the stool next to him and he ordered her a drink. But the arrows remained, which meant they hadn’t fully connected.

  Grayson nudged my arm. “Why don’t you believe in soul mates?”

  “I never said I didn�
�t believe in soul mates.” I spun the umbrella in my glass, swirling the ice cubes, causing them to clink on the side. “I said I didn’t believe you were my soul mate.”

  “Why couldn’t I be your perfect match?”

  Perfect match? He couldn’t even be my semi-okay match. He shouldn’t be my anything match.

  “Because you are the exact opposite of what I look for in a man. You’re egotistical, self-absorbed, and just looking for the next, one-night stand. I want a man who will love me and me alone.” I snatched the glass off the table, causing the liquid courage in my hand to slosh around, and twirled the ice faster, the liquid spilling over the side. “I’m looking for monogamy. A word pretty boys like you and my ex don’t even know how to pronounce.”

  Pretty boys. Couldn’t marry them and sure-as-shit couldn’t trust them.

  “You might be surprised if you stopped being a defensive shrew.” He leaned back against the striped cushion, his smile playful, his eyes gleaming. “Maybe it’s time we got to know each other better. It’s been a month and the only thing I know about you is you prefer to be on top during sex.”

  Get to know him? I didn’t want to get to know him. I wanted to tie him to an anchor and sink him into the darkest part of the sea with all the other bottom feeders.

  “I don’t need to get to know you.” My voice rose along with anger. “I’ve dated plenty of guys like you. Gorgeous on the outside, hollow on the inside, like those foil-wrapped chocolate bunnies. Guys who don’t care who they hurt as long as they get their dicks wet.”

  “You think I’m gorgeous?” His once playful smile now full of mischief.

  “That’s what you took away from that statement.”

  “It’s the only part that interested me.”

  Of course it was.

  He placed his elbows on the table and something glinted in his eyes. “Bet I could change your opinion of me.”

  “Never.”

  “We’ll see.” He said it as if I had just laid down a challenge.

  I decided to let the conversation end and returned to watching the mating ritual between Courtney and Norm.