by Amanda Heger
“I don’t. It’s fine.”
“Thank the gods.” He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “Because yesterday, standing that close to you, I thought I might lose my cool.”
Eliza’s body temperature rose at least three degrees just thinking about him thinking about her. She cleared her throat. “Don’t want anyone to overheat on my watch.”
“Definitely not.” His gaze locked on hers. Eliza’s skin flashed even hotter, and she slipped off her cardigan, doing her best to not notice the way Jake watched her move.
“Should we get started then?” she asked.
“Yep. Great idea. Let’s go.” He nodded toward the door.
“Where are we going?”
“The range. You said you wanted to practice maiming people, right?”
“Well, I thought I could check out some books about it first, or—”
“Eliza.” He gave her that look again, the one that said, You’re going off the rails, Herman.
She sighed. He was right. If reading books about being a better Cupid was useful, she would have improved her skills long ago. Still, she grabbed a copy of Trouble Shooting for the Modern Eros from a nearby stack. “I’ll just check out this one.”
Jake took a step forward, like he was going to pluck the dusty, old book from her hands. Eliza shot him a warning look, and he fell back just as quickly, dropping his arms to his sides. “That book is at least fifty years old,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s when the Agora library stopped ordering new books for the Erosian Interests section.”
Eliza remembered Mrs. Washmoore’s clear disdain for Cupids. “Oh.”
“If you really want some books, I have some at my apartment. We can stop by after—” He cut himself short. “I’ll drop them off at the office for you.”
She dropped the book back on the stack. “Thanks.”
“After you,” he said.
Eliza gave him a wide berth as she slipped out of the library, and a few seconds later, he stepped out behind her as if everything between them was completely normal. Clearly, these rules were going to work perfectly for him.
Too bad Eliza couldn’t say the same.
* * *
“Bows and arrows?” Eliza looked from Jake—who stood three feet away, of course—to the man behind the counter of Hephaestus Weaponry. “Isn’t that a little on the nose?”
The man barely looked up from his phone, which blared some kind of circus-style music as he swiped quickly across the screen. “We’ve also got knives, darts, throwing stars, twin katana, bō, sai, and nunchaku.”
“So you can pretend to be one of the Ninja Turtles,” Jake said, “or you can practice with the one weapon you know will be on the exam.”
“I’ll take the sai, please.”
Jake crossed his arms. “Eliza.”
“Wait, let me guess. You were always more of a Michelangelo fan. That makes sense.” She turned toward the counter. “I’d like the nunchucks.”
“We’ll take two bows and two quivers, please,” Jake said.
The guy at the counter finally put down his phone. The music kept playing, and a series of white ovals danced across the screen. “Nunchucks, two bows, and two quivers?”
Eliza sighed. She couldn’t avoid this any longer. Time to face her longtime nemesis: the bow and arrow. “Just the bows and quivers.”
“Cupids, man,” the guy muttered before shoving their equipment toward them. “Have them back in an hour or there’s a late fee.” Without another word, he picked up his phone and went back to his game.
“He’s definitely a Raphael,” Eliza whispered as she passed by Jake. He inhaled sharply, like she’d punched him in the gut. She darted away. “Crap, sorry.”
He closed his eyes. “Just go.”
She went.
Her shoes squeaked on the floor of the empty gymnasium, where practice dummies stood at varied intervals across the room. She dropped her things near the closest dummy and looked it straight in the eye. Or rather, where its eyes would have been if they hadn’t been gouged out by weapons long ago. “I apologize in advance for what I’m about to do,” she said under her breath.
“You ready?” Jake called from across the room. He nocked an arrow, raised his bow, took aim, and let go. The arrow flew straight and sure, just barely piercing the dummy’s skin before clanking to the floor. It would have made the perfect enchantment.
If enchanting with a bow and arrow were an Olympic sport (which, side note, it had secretly been in the first three Olympic games), Jake would have won the gold. His skills were going to make her look like a toddler throwing knives. “Um, I need a minute,” she said.
Years ago, her father had taught her how to shoot. Well, he’d tried to teach her. Spoiler alert: It had not gone well. She’d left the building with a black eye, a broken bowstring, and a marriage proposal.
“You good?” Jake asked.
“Maybe we should come back and try this another day.” She glanced around the empty room, grasping for any plausible excuse. “When it’s not as busy.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Not as busy? We’re the only ones here.”
“Trust me, it’s for your own good.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Give it a shot so we can see where you’re at. No judgment, I promise.”
Eliza contemplated her options: pull the fire alarm and make a break for it, lie on the floor and play dead, or pick up the damn bow and get it over with. “You’re going to regret this.”
She grabbed the bow and one of the arrows. Her sweaty fingers made holding on to the whole thing harder than it needed to be, and all she could think about was the last time she’d come to the Agora for target practice.
“No judgment?” she asked Jake as she raised the bow to chest height, nocked the arrow, and said a prayer.
“Definitely no judgment, but maybe you should open your eyes.”
“Fine.” She’d squeezed them shut instinctively—to protect both her vision and her pride. If she didn’t see how horribly this went, it wouldn’t hurt as bad. She forced her eyes open and let the arrow fly.
It made it halfway to the dummy—the wrong dummy—before clattering to the ground.
Jake opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.
Eliza hung her head. “That was actually pretty good for me. The arrow ended up in the dummy’s general direction, no one died…”
“Stop. You’re going to be fine. Let’s try again.”
She sighed and picked up another arrow. “You’re going to want to back up,” she said. “Assuming you want to keep all your appendages.”
“I’m sure my appendages will be fine.” But still, he took a step back. “Square up your stance.”
“What?” Gods, she wished he didn’t have to witness her shame.
“You’ve got your front foot pointed toward the target. Turn it straight out, like this.” He demonstrated from his position a safe distance away.
She moved her foot, pulled back the arrow, and tried again. This time she got closer to her target. By approximately three inches.
“We’re getting there,” he said. “Slowly. Now don’t squeeze the grip so tightly. You look like you’re trying to strangle it.”
“Maybe I am,” Eliza said.
“You’re not.”
She let the weapon fall to her side. “Okay, but if I were, hypothetically—”
“Herman,” he growled. “I see what you’re doing.”
“Asking perfectly reasonable questions about arrow strangulation techniques?”
“Take your stance.”
She sighed, as amused as she was put out by his no-nonsense attitude, and lifted the bow again. Was her foot supposed to point at the target or away? Elbo
w at her ear or shoulder?
Jake pressed a thumb to the space between his brows and sighed. “I’m going to break some rules right now.”
“What rules?”
“Our rules. The ones we just made. But I swear it’s only because I don’t see another way.”
“Jeez, way to make a girl feel wanted,” she muttered. Ugh, why did this place turn her right back into a surly teenager?
“What?”
“Nothing. Come on, break the rules. Let’s get this over with.”
But the second Jake stepped up behind her, pressed his chest to her back, and wrapped his arms over hers, Eliza realized she did not want to get this over with. At all. Ever. Maybe she’d live here in the Agora, shooting arrows and snuggling into Jake, for the rest of her life. She’d spend all her days buried in his warmth while his fingertips slid over her skin. They’d be completely insulated from the rest of the world raging on around them. It would be pure, unadulterated perfection.
“Earth to Eliza.”
“Huh? Oh, right. Sorry.” She felt him take a deep breath against her back. Gods. Best target practice ever.
“Square up.” He nudged her left foot over with his, and his inner thigh brushed her hip. Eliza’s whole body crackled with electricity.
“Relax wrist.” His words whizzed by, but Eliza barely noticed. All she could think about was the trail of warmth his fingertips left along her arm.
“Relaxed,” she murmured.
He adjusted her arm. “Elbow level.”
What was his deal? Had he lost the ability to speak in full sentences? This whole caveman-archer schtick was really harshing her mellow. She glanced over her shoulder. “Are you…holding your breath?”
Jake’s face was red from the effort. He nodded. “Hair. Pheromones.”
Guilt washed over her. Here she’d been relishing every little touch, while poor Jake did his best to actually follow the rules. The rules she’d insisted on. She stepped away and let the bow fall to her side. “Why don’t we take a break?”
At that moment, Jake’s phone rang, and the sound echoed off the gymnasium walls. “Yeah, uh, great idea,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
She gathered up her arrows, shook out her tired arms, and glared at the dummies. Their blank expressions mocked her. Maybe it was time to try again. Alone. Without anyone to witness her incompetence.
She raised her bow, ready to make those dummies pay. Square stance. Loose grip. You’ve got this, Eliza. But no sooner had she nocked an arrow than the gymnasium door opened. “How tight should I squeeze it?” she asked without taking her eyes off the target. “If I don’t do it hard enough, everything goes sort of limp, but—”
“That’s what she said.”
Eliza tensed. She’d know that voice anywhere. It had been haunting her nonstop for the past week. First in the radio commercials, then in the office. Now here at the Agora. She let the bow fall to her side. “Hello, Vic.”
“I have to say, I’m surprised to see you still around.” Vic pulled his own bow and arrow from a customized case with—of course—his face plastered across the front. “I thought you would have given up by now.”
“What do you want?”
“What do I want?” Mock hurt filled his voice. “What do you mean? I’m here for the same reason as you.”
To prove to yourself and everyone you love that you’re not a total failure? Doubtful.
Eliza lifted her bow, set her jaw, and pulled back on the arrow. Her hands shook—out of annoyance or self-consciousness, she wasn’t sure which—and the arrow skewed sideways, landing on the floor five feet from the nearest dummy.
Vic smirked, nocked an arrow, raised his bow, and without looking at the targets, let his arrow fly. It nicked the dummy in the groin before landing softly on the ground. “Since we’re both here,” he drawled, looking all too satisfied with himself, “we should talk.”
She was very, very tempted to aim a real arrow straight at his smug face, but the last thing she needed was to get the Department on her back about something else. Like manslaughter. “About what?”
He let another arrow fly, this one straight to the poor dummy’s gut. “You should come work for me.”
She nearly dropped her bow to the floor. “Excuse me?”
“Come work for me.”
“Why in the world would I do that?”
“Let us count the ways, shall we?” He let an arrow fly, and it headed straight for the dummy’s head. “One”—thwack—“your parents’ business model is outdated and floundering. I’d be surprised if they don’t go out of business before you get your license.” Another arrow, aimed straight for the dummy’s eyes. “Two”—thwack—“big changes in tech are coming. I’ve been working with a Tokyo-based firm to stay on the cutting edge, and I’m poised to make a lot of money. You would be too. Three”—thwack—“a certain subset of my clientele would really love working with a pretty, young Cupid.”
Her rage intensified with every one of Vic’s words. By the time he’d accentuated his last point with another perfectly placed arrow to the dummy’s mouth, Eliza had to restrain herself from transferring each one of those arrows to Vic’s balls. Sure, there was some truth buried in his comments—her parents’ business was old-fashioned, and she was certain a few extra-special creeps would get their jollies off by sexually harassing a female Cupid.
But the old-fashioned mom-and-pop Cupid shop was part of what made her parents’ business so important to her. And, unlike Vic, they prioritized quality matches over making the most money possible. That had to count for something. Not to mention she was not about to willingly step into Vic’s maze of misogyny. He’d probably make a female Cupid dress in a negligee and recite “sexy” limericks in all his horrible commercials.
“Wow. What a great offer. Unfortunately, I’d rather gouge out my ovaries with a rusty spoon.”
He shrugged. “Your loss, kid.”
He turned and began packing his bow away, and for one beautiful moment, Eliza thought he was going to leave her alone. But then he was back. His hands clasped hers as he made her lift her bow. Eliza froze, and he took the opportunity to force her hands into the movements. The arrow flew from her bow and nailed the dummy straight in the heart.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” he whispered.
“Eliza?” Tension ran through Jake’s voice. “Everything okay?”
No, everything was not okay. Eliza wanted to stomp Vic’s insole and follow that with a kick to the groin, but that would risk an enchantment. “I will be once this creep leaves me alone.”
Vic took a step back and smiled at her. Call me, he mouthed.
“Get lost, Vic.” Jake came between them—barely in the safe zone—his arms crossed and anger lighting his eyes. “Now.”
“Relax, kid. You’re wasting your time. She’s hopeless.” Vic slung his bag over his shoulder, and five seconds later, the door slammed shut behind him.
A beat of silence passed while Eliza tried to tamp down the anger rumbling inside her. How dare Vic say those things to her? How dare he touch her without her permission? And, worst of all, how dare he dismiss her abilities as if she wasn’t standing right there?
“Eliza?”
“I’m fine.” She wasn’t hopeless. Or a failure.
“He’s an idiot.”
“I know.” Hot tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She stared at the ceiling, trying to force her tears back where they belonged. When she lowered her eyes, Jake stood less than a foot away.
“Jake, if you don’t want—”
He hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m fine. Now listen to me. Please.”
She started to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. She nodded instead.
“You are not hopeless. Vic Van Love cares about one thing: his busi
ness. You threaten that, so he’s trying to get under your skin.”
“How am I a threat?”
“You’re the strongest Cupid anyone has seen in decades. Once you get better at controlling your enchantments, you’re going to put us all out of business. Why would anyone pay a Cupid to draw blood when you can gently tap them and have the same effect?”
“No—”
“Yes,” he insisted. “Why do you think I got so good at arrows, Eliza? I have to be, because I’m not half as strong as you. My last enchantment for the Corps involved more blood than anyone should have to lose, and it barely worked. But you show up here, drop a candy dish on my foot, and I’m a goner.”
His words were like a balm. Vic’s condescending, smug face fled her mind. In its place, something much brighter blossomed inside her. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.”
She looked up into his kind, dark eyes. If it were socially acceptable, she’d stare at them for the next hundred years. “Also, I bet he doesn’t know as much about Ninja Turtles as I do.”
Jake’s lips pulled into a wide smile. “No one knows as much about Ninja Turtles as you do.”
“Fair.” She couldn’t stop staring at that grin. She didn’t want to stop staring at that grin.
“Now, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to break the rules again and give you a hug. A totally platonic hug. Like friends do when one of them is sad.”
Eliza smiled up at him. “It hasn’t even been an hour, Sanders, and you’re already asking to break the rules a second time?”
He held up his hands in surrender. “If you don’t want—”
“I do want.” Eliza wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face against his chest. His embrace was warm and wonderful and breathlessly good. And she couldn’t help but wish it was anything but platonic.
Chapter 10
“When you’ve lived inside the Cult of Cupid, like I did, the conspiracies between the CIA and the Cupidistas become obvious. The moon landing, Weinergate, McRib seasonal availability. The connections could not be clearer.”
—“About” section, the Cupid Cabal