Crazy Cupid Love

by Amanda Heger

  “I humbly suggest we take that approach here.”

  She grinned. “Do you?”

  “We could sit here all night and rehash what the Johansens told you.” His finger slid from her collarbone to the V of her shirt, sinking just low enough to send a rush of tingles to her breasts. “Or we could give our brains a break and see what happens.”

  The more they talked, the more they touched, the more sense this approach made. And the less apocalyptic the Johansens’ problems seemed. She swung a leg over his hip and straddled his waist. “What exactly were you thinking we could do to give our brains a break?”

  He ground his hips just a little, but the way he pressed up against her left no questions about the thoughts flickering through his mind. Jake sank his right hand into the back of her hair. His fingers splayed against her scalp, warm and gently tugging. “We have a few options,” he said. “Option one: We have a replay of last night. I strip you naked, lay you on this couch, and taste every part of you. From here”—his left thumb brushed her temple—“to here.” It skimmed her throat. “And here.” He traced a line from her neck to her nipple, teasing through the fabric of her shirt. “Then here. Lots of time here.” His thumb slipped down the seam of her leggings, lingering as heat flooded through her. He tightened his grip on her hair. “Hours even.”

  Eliza rose up, giving his hand room to caress the space between her thighs. “I choose that option. Option one, please.”

  Jake’s low chuckle reverberated through her chest. “You don’t want to hear about option two?”

  She grinned. “I’m listening.”

  “Option two is bending you over the kitchen table and fucking you until you come around my cock. Then, I’ll flip you over and do it again while I stare at your gorgeous face.”

  Eliza pushed harder against his hand. “Option two definitely has its benefits,” she murmured. She leaned her head down until her body arched over his, and she caught his bottom lip with her teeth. Everything about this—everything about him—shined with perfection. The washboard abs. The hard line of his jaw. The thick bulge in his pants. The total confidence he exuded when he described exactly what he intended to do to her.

  “Don’t forget about option three,” he whispered.

  Eliza sank her mouth into his, sweeping and teasing his tongue with hers. With a flick of her wrist, she undid his pants and slipped her hand inside. She slid a finger along the underside of his throbbing erection and enjoyed every bit of the shudder that ran through Jake’s body.

  “My, how many options are there?” she asked when they finally broke apart.

  His eyes locked on hers. “Infinite.”

  Gods, Eliza was coming undone. Slowly but surely, with every word from Jake’s lips, he was unraveling her. When he was done, she’d be woven into something entirely new or left as a useless heap on the floor. Either way, there was no stopping it now.

  “Option three,” she said. “Definitely option three.”

  “I haven’t told you what it involves.”

  The sheer force of the happiness inside her nearly knocked Eliza to the floor. Jake was right. She wasn’t a relationship killer. She’d enchanted him, and look what had happened. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I know it’ll be amazing.”

  “Good choice.” Jake pulled her shirt over her head, undid her bra with one hand, and palmed her breasts. Her nipples became tight, little buds under his touch. “Because option three is actually option one followed by option two.”

  * * *

  The salty, smoky scent of bacon drifted into Eliza’s dreams, slowly pulling her from sleep. She sat up in Jake’s bed, drawing the down comforter up to her chest. Unruly hair escaped the knot at the base of her neck, and a thin line of dried drool stretched across her cheek. She rubbed at it with one hand while taking in the reality of what she’d done.

  She’d stayed the night. Again.

  She, Eliza Herman, had—after a night of stunning sex—settled into the nook between Jake’s chest and arm and fallen asleep. Now she sat alone in his room, wearing nothing but one of his T-shirts, while he cooked her breakfast downstairs.

  Once was an aberration. Twice? That was the kind of thing people in Love did.

  Shit.

  “You’re awake.” Jake stood in the doorway, shirtless with a pair of plaid pajama pants hanging low on his waist. It was like something out of a damn magazine. Playgirl meets the Sears catalog.

  She pulled the covers closer to her chin. If only she’d gotten her lazy butt out of bed and into the bathroom, she would have had five minutes to pull herself together. Instead, she sat between his soft sheets wondering where her morning breath fell on a scale of pleasant mint to sewage fire. “You sound disappointed,” she said.

  Jake stepped into the room and crawled into bed beside her. His hand slid under the covers and up her T-shirt, running a line from her belly button to the tops of her thighs and back again. “Only because I was hoping to wake you up myself.”

  “Really? Because I could pretend—”

  The roar of her stomach cut off her words.

  Jake grinned. “After last night, you need sustenance.”

  After last night, she needed a lot more than sustenance. She needed more of Jake. All of him. And that scared the holy Hades out of her. “You’re probably right,” she said. “Give me a few minutes to find my clothes?”

  In the span of a breath, Jake straddled her thighs. “Eliza Herman, that is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had.”

  “Are you sure? Because, once, I tried white-water rafting.”

  “You did?”

  She nodded. “In college, during my face-all-my-fears phase. I accidentally enchanted the guide, and he got so distracted that our raft ended up stranded at the edge of some falls. Zero out of five stars, do not recommend.”

  Jake peeled back the comforter and took her in. The plain white shirt she wore had bunched along her thighs, and the thin cotton didn’t leave much to the imagination. “You putting on actual clothes—instead of wearing my shirt—would be worse. One could even call it a tragedy.”

  Her insides melted into a warm puddle of gooey goodness. When he looked at her like that—talked to her like that—she felt less like a crusty blob and more like a sex goddess. Look out, Aphrodite.

  “Besides,” Jake said, “once you’ve had something to eat, I fully intend to bring you back up here to explore option number four. It involves you, on top of me, wearing this.” He thumbed the hem of the shirt.

  “Hmmm. That sounds promising.” Eliza sat up and pulled him close. “Although I’ve come up with some options of my own that I wanted to run by you.”

  Jake gave her a naughty grin. Hopefully, he hadn’t left anything on the stove, because if Eliza had any say in the matter, they weren’t coming down anytime soon.

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

  Eliza’s phone shimmied as it vibrated on the nightstand, and her pulse kicked into high gear. What if it was one of the Johansens? What if they’d decided she was out of time to fix this? She grabbed the phone just before it vibrated onto the floor.

  “Hello?”

  “Elllllllliza.” Sobs punctuated the woman’s voice, followed by a loud hiccup. “Elllllizzzzza Herman?”

  “This is Eliza.”

  “He’s gonnnnne.”

  Eliza’s heart rate ticked up to the speed of sound, and she feared she might experience a sonic boom in her chest. Someone had to be hurt or dying.

  What’s wrong? Jake mouthed as he climbed off her.

  She shrugged. “I’m sorry. Who is this?” she said into the phone.

  “Yoooooooooooolanda. He’s gonnnnne.”

  Oh. Oh. “Hi, Yolanda.” Eliza went into 911 operator mode. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

  A sharp,
shaky inhale came through the other end of the line.

  “That’s great,” Eliza said. “Now, who’s gone?”

  “Charleston.” She sniffed. “My baby, he’s gonnnnne.”

  “Your pig?” Not that she didn’t feel for the woman, but why in the worlds had Yolanda decided to call her about this? At eight in the morning, no less. And how did the woman get her cell phone number in the first place?

  “Pignapped. Eddie took him, that monster, and he told me all about what he paid you to do, with the groceries.” More sobs filled the line.

  Eliza groaned. “Where is Eddie now?”

  “I don’t know. If I knew, I wouldn’t be calling you. I’d be out there getting my baby back.”

  Suddenly the smell of bacon wafting from the kitchen made Eliza feel very guilty. “Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll be right over, okay?”

  “If he hurts Charleston, I’m going to sue your family for everything they’re worth. He’s a prize-winning pig, you know. Three-time Northern California Swine of the Year.”

  Wow. Yolanda had turned the corner of desperation and rage at full speed. Eliza took a deep breath. “I understand you’re upset. I’ll be there—”

  Click.

  She looked at the phone, then up at Jake, then back at the phone.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure yet, but I’m going to need a rain check on option four.”

  * * *

  Eliza crammed the last bit of toast into her mouth—Jake had packed them breakfast to go—and slammed the car door behind her. The morning breeze cut through her light jacket and yesterday’s leggings, and she fought the urge to hunch against the cold. She needed to stand up straight and exude confidence.

  “You’re here!” The front door swung open before Eliza could press the bell, and an arm yanked them both inside the house.

  Yolanda stood in the entryway, looking a lot the worse for wear. Strands of hair poked out in all directions, and puffy eyelids nearly hid her green eyes.

  This was more than just a pignapping.

  “Look what he sent me. My poor baby!” Yolanda shoved a phone under Eliza’s face.

  A photo of Charleston stared back at her. Except the “poor baby” didn’t look so poor at all. He sat in a plastic kiddie pool that brimmed over with bubbles and ladies in bikinis. The damn pig even wore sunglasses.

  The text beneath the photo read: Boyz will be boyz.

  Eliza had had her doubts about Eddie from the beginning, and his “boyz will be boyz” comment raised all her feminist feathers, but she couldn’t understand what was happening here. “So, Charleston is fine?”

  “He’s not fine! Do you think Eddie bothered to fill that pool with dye- and fragrance-free soap? No. My baby is going to get hives. He has very sensitive skin.” Yolanda’s voice grew shriller with each syllable. “And do you know how many infections you can catch in a communal pool?”

  Charleston looked perfectly fine to Eliza, but she wasn’t about to chime in with her two cents while Yolanda continued her rant.

  “Charleston gets very nervous around new people. He’s probably miserable and anxious, and when he gets anxious, he gets diarrhea.”

  Eliza looked at the photo again. The pig did not look anxious. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying his swine equivalent of spring break. “Yolanda—”

  “Don’t Yolanda me. Do something! Eddie’s left me. And he’s taken my baby.”

  Jake’s hand clasped her shoulder. “Yolanda, can you tell us a little more about what happened? Were you and Eddie getting along before this?”

  She shuffled into the living room and flopped onto a nearby recliner. “For about two or three days after we met, things were perfect. Then he started getting jealous of Charleston. Saying I cared about Charleston more than I cared about him. Saying I babied Charleston too much. I tried to tell him there was room enough in my heart for both of them, but he wouldn’t listen. Then I came home from work yesterday and Charleston was gone! Eddie left me a note saying what he’d done with you”—she glared at Eliza—“and then he started sending me these.” Eliza’s stomach grew heavy with fear. This sounded suspiciously like the Johansens’ problem.

  “Look!” Yolanda held out her phone. On it were a half dozen photos of Charleston. Charleston wearing bunny ears. Charleston in the front seat of a convertible with his whiskers in the breeze. Charleston and Eddie playing a game on a tablet…

  “He seems okay to me,” Jake said.

  “He has strict screen-time rules!” Yolanda screeched. “I should have listened to my family. You’re an abomination.” She looked at Eliza with a half-hearted shrug. “No offense.”

  “Well—” Eliza started.

  “I’ve been so alone for years. Then Charleston came along, and—” She pounded a hand on the arm of the chair. “And I wasn’t alone anymore. Then Eddie came into our lives, and I thought I’d finally done it. I’d made my little family.”

  Eliza’s heart softened. “Have you tried to call Eddie back?”

  “Of course I tried to call him. I want my baby back! I even want him back.”

  “Eddie?”

  “Of course, Eddie! Who else could I mean? He betrayed me, but I still love him. I can’t just turn off my feelings, you know. I’m not a monster.”

  “Okay, okay.” Eliza stood beside Yolanda and rubbed small circles on her back. “What did he say?”

  “He won’t answer. He just keeps sending the photos.”

  Eliza looked at Jake. His expression said it all: this was the first time he’d actually considered that Eliza might be the relationship killer she’d claimed to be. “Why don’t you forward those photos to Eliza’s phone?” he suggested. “We’ll see if we can piece together a timeline and figure out where they are.”

  Yolanda’s fingers flew over her screen. “There.”

  Within seconds, Eliza’s phone vibrated in her pocket. “Thank you. Are you going to be okay when we leave?”

  Yolanda answered with another sob.

  “Do you have someone you can call to sit with you? Maybe a family member or a friend?”

  Yolanda shook her head so violently her face reddened. “I can’t tell anyone about this. I can’t.”

  Right. The abomination thing. “I’ll call and check back in on you soon, okay? Do you have something to occupy yourself in the meantime? Maybe just surf Facebook for a little while or something? Anything to keep your mind off things.”

  Yolanda looked up, gripping her phone in one hand. “That’s it!”

  “What’s it?” Had Eliza unlocked the secret to Charleston’s whereabouts by suggesting the biggest time waster of all: social media?

  “Eddie was always playing this stupid game on his phone. Maybe if I just download it, friend him on the game, and try to start a round, he’ll fall back in love with me and bring Charleston home.”

  Eliza bit the inside of her cheek to keep her skepticism in check. “Or maybe you could scroll through Instagram for dinner inspiration? That’s what I do sometimes.”

  A fire flickered in the Yolanda’s eyes, and once again her fingers flew across the screen. “Too late. I already downloaded the game. This is going to work. I know it.”

  Eliza sighed. As long as Yolanda had something to keep herself occupied… “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  But circus-style music poured from the speakers, and Yolanda’s attention had already been commandeered by whatever was happening on her phone. Eliza pried open the front door and was half-in, half-out of the house when Yolanda finally spoke again. “Don’t forget what I said earlier.” Her gaze didn’t leave the screen. “If Charleston isn’t back home soon, my first call is to my lawyer.”

  Chapter 19

  Calif. CCR § 303.025. No Cupid shall practice within this State without proof of insurance or other f
inancial ability to respond to liability for malpractice and accidents arising out of the provision of love or affection services.

  Eliza tried Eddie’s phone for the seventeen-millionth time.

  “Yo, you’ve reached Eddie. I’m probably out enjoying my life. Why don’t you go out and enjoy yours? Don’t leave a message. I won’t call you back.”

  She hung up and tossed her phone onto the passenger seat. As she drove, Eliza caught a glimpse of the clock and panic seeped into her skin. She and Jake had spent all of the previous night driving around Gold Lea in search of a disgusting pig—oh, and Charleston.

  They’d found nothing. And this morning, when Jake went to work delivering a few certified letters and packages for the Department, Eliza had set off again. So far, she’d found a half dozen old lottery tickets (losers, just like her), her old high school principal, Mrs. Broteck (who looked even older than Eliza felt), and enough Vic Van Love ads to wallpaper a prison (where she’d probably end up if she couldn’t get this reverse enchantment under control). But still no Eddie or Charleston.

  The phone buzzed beside her on the passenger seat. Eliza pulled over and glanced at the screen. Yolanda. Again. “Hello?” Eliza tried to sound as pleasant as June Cleaver.

  “Where is he?” Yolanda’s voice had dropped several octaves since yesterday. Instead of sounding like a panicked socialite, she sounded like an enraged seventy-five-year-old smoker who’d failed anger management.

  “I’m out looking right now. I have some good leads.” Complete and total lie. She could barely manage the duties of a Cupid, much less a private eye.

  “Like what?”

  “Uh, well.” She grasped for a way to make her aimless search sound professional and organized. “I’ve driven by his house, and now I’m, um, looking for stores that have kiddie pools for sale. I figure this time of year, someone will probably remember a guy buying—”

  “You don’t have any leads, do you?”

  Eliza stared at a smudge on her windshield. Busted. “No.”

  “Are you even trying? Because from here, it sounds like you aren’t.”