First Quiver

by Beth C. Greenberg

  She exaggerated her words, enunciating as if speaking to a foreigner. “Have you EV-er taken any kind of YO-GA class?”

  Stupid with awe, Cupid shook his head. He was the lovestruck cartoon skunk, heart bursting from his chest on an overworked spring, eyes popped out and spinning in dizzying circles. All he lacked was the tongue unfurling to the floor. Pan almost felt sorry for the guy, but only almost because without a doubt, Cupid would get this girl. It was simply a matter of time—and not very much of it, from the way these two were slobbering over each other.

  “I’m Mia,” she told him, “and you are . . .?”

  “Cup—”

  “Q,” Pan answered over Cupid’s near gaffe, startling them both with his appearance.

  “Q?” Mia cast a doubtful glance at Cupid.

  Pan babbled on, stalling until Cupid could regain his senses. “Yes, it’s short for Quentin. My name’s Pan. I’ve done yoga before, but it’s his first time.”

  “Ah. In that case,” Mia said, turning to her eager novice, “I’ll need you right up front, so I can keep a careful watch. Take off your socks and shoes and grab a mat and a couple of bricks from the closet.”

  Cupid nodded obediently and floated behind Pan to the closet.

  “How’s your heart?” Pan asked.

  “Lighter than air. Isn’t she perfect?” Cupid’s longing gaze was locked on Mia as Pan loaded Cupid’s arms with supplies.

  Pan shook his head and chuckled to himself. “Don’t hurt yourself, okay? This stuff’s harder than it looks, although I have a feeling you’ll be getting plenty of personal attention.”

  Cupid bounded to the front row and plopped down his mat right in front of Mia. The ladies on either side of him happily obliged, sliding over to make space. Pan knew better than to count on the same accommodation. He settled for a spot along the perimeter.

  Once class began, Cupid took the instructions seriously, even closing his eyes for the Pranayama exercises while Pan kept a vigilant watch for him on Mia’s form. So vigilant was Pan, in fact, he could have graphed the rise and fall of Mia’s chest as she emptied her mind and filled her pipes with each new breath. He wasn’t masochistic enough to entertain any thought beyond appreciation now that Cupid had his hooks in her, but Pan enjoyed the scenery just the same—the scantily clad, sculpted body flowing like liquid into all kinds of improbable positions.

  Damn if Cupid wasn’t impressive too—the model pupil, earnestly pushing each stretch and pose to his full potential. Pan had to admit his friend moved with a flexibility and grace belying the novelty of his human physique. Mia fulfilled her promise to keep an eye on him, even adding a solicitous hand or two, but there was certainly no deficiency in Cupid’s form requiring assistance.

  Nope, there was nothing at all deficient about Cupid’s form.

  Pan’s heart rewound to that awkward wait while Cupid had considered whether Pan might be “the one.” Damn Aphrodite for raising Pan’s hopes for that split second; would she ever stop torturing him for winning Cupid’s loyalty? While Pan harbored mixed feelings about being Cupid’s potential punishment, he certainly didn’t hate the prospect of Cupid regarding him with that helplessly lost, incurably infatuated, desperate need, which was now aimed full force at Mia.

  The boys were Year Ones at the academy the first time Cupid, then called Eros, brought Pan home after school—the day the prince of Aphrodite’s palace declared they would be best friends forever, the same day Pan understood he would never be good enough.

  Pan had been well warned by his father not to mix with the full–gods, and for the first several weeks of school, Pan had quite contentedly heeded the advice. What did he care, anyway, about a bunch of entitled brats? A precocious seven-year-old, Pan was dealing with a more consuming problem—a confusing but thrilling sensation that started as a tickle between his legs and bloomed into an ache whenever one of those sweet-smelling, bare-breasted nymphs came anywhere near him. Sadly, those exotic creatures, who seemed engineered for the sole purpose of tempting him, were as repelled by Pan as he was drawn to them. He chased; they fled. The all-male gym class became his only relief from his nonstop libido, though the wrestling unit presented a formidable challenge that confused Pan even more. He might have been too innocent to fully understand the jolts of pleasure that came when his groin met the behind of a classmate on hands and knees, but he knew enough to wrap an extra band of material between his legs on wrestling days. So it happened that Pan found himself actually looking forward to the first day of the track unit, as much as he could have been said to look forward to anything that happened at the academy. Running, at least, was not a contact sport.

  Pan already knew he was a natural before the boys took off for their first lap. He pulled easily into the lead, his powerful hind quarters giving him a ridiculously unfair advantage over the other boys—a first inside the academy walls. He galloped around the track until he lapped the slowest of his classmates. I’ll show them all, Pan was thinking as he pushed toward the heart of the pack, prepared to whizz past every boy who’d scored higher on an exam or given an impressive answer in class, and that’s when he caught wind of the mocking and laughter.

  At the center of the clump, a set of dove-white wings appeared and disappeared in brief, spastic spurts. None other than Eros. Of all the divines to steer clear of, this kid’s pedigree topped the list: bastard child of the Goddess of Love and the God of War, grandson of Zeus, Himself. Keep on running, common sense told Pan, and arguably, his path would have been easier if he had listened.

  But Pan was a creature of instinct, and his instincts told him to do something. His hooves kicked up a cloud of dust as he penetrated the mean crowd with their taunts of “Mama’s boy” and “Flybaby” and all manner of creative suggestions of where Eros could stick his magic arrows. Pan pulled up right next to Eros and matched his pace. This was the closest Pan had ever been to the winged archer, and he was more than a little surprised to see Eros’s odd gait for what it was: not a child of privilege using his wings to cheat the assignment, but rather the exact opposite. Every time his shoulders lifted and the wings would try to flap, Eros would set his jaw and drive his hands toward the ground. With his startlingly blue eyes set dead ahead, he’d force one foot in front of the other. He clearly wasn’t built for running, but he didn’t seem to know how to give up.

  It was the boy’s legs furiously fighting the wings, caught between running and flying, that aroused Pan’s pity. He knew what it was to be made of two halves that didn’t quite form a whole.

  Eros puffed out raspy breaths while sweat rolled down his red cheeks in fat rivulets. The strain was obvious, and still the kids mocked him, right up until Pan bellowed at the top of his lungs, “LEAVE HIM ALONE!” His voice shook the ground. They all stopped dead in their tracks, their faces twisted in awe and fear, covering their ears in case he got the bright idea to scream again. Pan scanned their stricken expressions, and he figured his own probably looked about the same. Their gazes met, and the boy blinked up at him. Pan blinked back, holding his breath. Eros’s mouth curled into a huge, contagious smile. A friendship was sealed.

  Eros thought nothing of inviting his new friend home that day. Pan had never been invited anywhere, let alone the royal palace of Aphrodite. Pan’s dad had it all wrong about the gods, and he couldn’t wait to set him right. The cook set out a dizzying feast, and Pan was busy enlightening Eros as to the finer points of olive pit–spitting technique when Aphrodite came upon them in the dining room.

  “Mother, look what my new friend taught me!” Eros raised his chin and launched a pit high into the air. Three heads followed its flight from one end of the dining table all the way across to the opposite edge, where it skidded to a stop. Beaming with excitement, Eros said, “My best yet, wouldn’t you say, Pan?”

  “Very impressive, indeed,” Pan said, as both boys turned for the mother’s approval.

 
Pan had never forgotten the look of contempt on Aphrodite’s face. She yelled for the sentries to “put the livestock outside,” and locked Eros in his room for five days straight. After that, the boys were inseparable. So what if Pan had to sneak through the mouse-infested cellar and dark passageways of the palace just to hang out with his best friend? All of Aphrodite’s blatant and brutal efforts to drive a wedge between the two had only strengthened their bond. The Goddess of Love could be a raging fire breather, but Cupid was worth it. Still was.

  Pan angled his body so he could watch Cupid’s Savasana pose, certain his friend would be restless and disruptive. When had Q ever sat still in class? Cupid surprised him again by completely settling into the hypnotic meditation as Mia guided the group through full–body relaxation and mindful focus. Pan wondered if Cupid had matured over the years they’d been apart or if his love interest provided sufficient motivation to conquer his tendency toward perpetual motion. Whichever the case, Cupid was disturbingly corpse–like.

  Pan felt like a voyeur watching the shared “Namaste” between teacher and newest disciple, sensing the act of mutual honoring reached a far more intimate level for the two of them than anyone around them might suspect. As they lifted their bowed heads and beamed at each other, Pan saw Cupid’s smitten expression, and he wondered at Aphrodite’s diabolical scheme.

  14

  Ask Her

  Cupid couldn’t say if it was the heat, the intense workout, or the breathtaking girl, but he was adrift in a euphoric haze when Pan came up behind him at the supply closet and slapped him on the shoulder. Cupid stacked the last of his exercise bricks on the bottom shelf, turned to face Pan, and burst out laughing.

  “What?” Pan demanded.

  “You look like a drowned rat—a redheaded, red–bearded, drowned rat.”

  “I guess you haven’t looked in a mirror lately.”

  Following Pan’s gaze, Cupid took in his own sweaty shirt. “Oh. I’m disgusting too.”

  Pan jerked his head toward Mia. “So? What’s the deal with you two?”

  Cupid spun around to gawk at Mia, who was busy with a line of students battling for her attention. Just then, perhaps sensing his intense gaze, Mia glanced up and caught Cupid’s eye, filling him with a giddy rush.

  Cupid’s long and aimless life had a clarity of purpose he had never known before, a simple and pure truth that answered every question that ever stretched out behind or ahead of him. “I’m in love with her, Pan.”

  There was no doubt in his mind; this was that experience that had always been denied him. This drive, Love, transcended the urgent physical need he’d felt with Layla, though certainly Mia stirred his passion. This mystery, Love, was not Rho’s confusing game, though Mia was a wondrous world to be discovered.

  “Okay,” Pan said with a simple nod that filled Cupid with relief. Cupid was right about the arrow, even if he couldn’t quite work out how he’d been nicked, but he wasn’t prepared to convince Pan of something he barely understood himself. “How’s the heart feeling now?”

  “It still feels like a chariot race is going on inside me, but that agitation settled down. It feels like I’m in the right place.”

  Pan tossed a clean towel to his friend. “You should go talk to her. Ask when you can see her again.”

  “Again? You mean we have to be parted?” His hand flew to his sweaty shirt and he clutched at his chest.

  Pan frowned, leaned in closer, and made his voice very soft. “Q, you don’t know her life. She might be . . . or . . .” Pan sighed loudly, giving his head a sad shake. “Just go ask her, all right?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “One more thing, and this is important, so listen up. I know you’re in love with her, and you know you’re in love with her, but it’s best if you don’t mention it to Mia right away.”

  “Why?”

  “Because people don’t go around telling people they just met that they’re in love. It’s not normal, and you’re gonna seriously freak her out.”

  His reasoning didn’t make much sense to Cupid, but Pan seemed emphatic. “Okay.”

  “Good,” said Pan. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

  “Sure,” Cupid answered solemnly, playing along with the fantasy of Pan—or anyone—actually being able to help.

  His heart felt ten times heavier as he made his way through the cluster of Mia’s admirers. By the gods, she was beautiful. Her belly glistened with sweat between the skimpy top and tight-fitting bottoms. The mortals’ love of body-hugging clothing was beginning to make sense. A trickle of perspiration spilled from her hair, rolled down the length of her long, graceful neck, and meandered into the valley between her breasts. He wanted to find it with his tongue and lick it all the way back to where it started.

  “I think you lied to me.”

  “Sorry?” Cupid’s attention snapped to the angelic voice above the cleavage, and Mia smiled sweetly back at him.

  “That wasn’t really your first yoga class, was it?”

  “Yes,” he answered urgently, lest she think him insincere. “I never lie.”

  Mia placed her hands on her hips and took in his serious expression. “All right.”

  She believed him. His shoulders relaxed. He made a quick visual sweep of the room, quite pleased when he realized they were alone in the studio.

  “Have you had any water? Shame on me. Your first time in class, and I didn’t make sure you were hydrated. Here. Drink.” She pressed her plastic bottle into his hand, and without a moment’s hesitation, Cupid took a long, cool drink, smacking his lips loudly when he’d finished.

  “Thanks. I guess I was thirsty.”

  “So, what’d you think?”

  “It was cold,” he answered, handing the bottle back to her. “Thank you.”

  She giggled. “Not about the water, about the class. Will you come back and see me again?”

  “When’s your next class?” he asked eagerly.

  “In ten minutes.”

  This wasn’t so hard. “Sure.”

  Mia cocked her head. “Where did you say you’re from again?”

  Cupid sensed Mount Olympus would not be the correct answer, but he didn’t know what else to say without lying. “I didn’t.”

  “Mystery man, eh?” Eyes narrowing, Mia asked, “You’re not a fugitive or anything, are you?”

  He was more a prisoner than an escapee, but Cupid kept this tidbit stored away as well. “Nope.”

  “Axe murderer, rapist, child molester?”

  “Gods, no.”

  Raising both eyebrows, she picked up speed. “Deadbeat dad? Philanderer? No-good sonofabitch?”

  “Mia, I’m not a bad guy. I promise.”

  “And everybody knows bad guys’ll tell you.” She released a cleansing breath, leaned in abruptly, and startled him with one last demand. “Just tell me you’re not married.”

  “I’m not married.” Caught off guard by her question, Cupid didn’t even think to ask it back.

  With a sigh, she glanced over his shoulder before meeting his gaze again. “My next class is about to start.”

  “Should I get my mat out again?” he asked.

  “I really don’t think that would be wise.”

  His heart plummeted. “Oh.”

  “No, it’s just . . . it wouldn’t be safe for you to take another class right now.”

  He brightened. “Then when can I see you again?”

  Her eyes seemed to delve right into his soul, and Cupid was confident she’d find only the most honorable intentions, not counting the sweat licking. “Oh heck, this is crazy.” She trailed off with a confused shake of her head.

  “What?”

  “I have this insane urge to cook dinner for you tonight.”

  “Why is that insane? Do you not know how to cook?”

 
Another giggle burst forth from Mia. She drew her hands—and consequently, Cupid’s gaze—to the swath of bare midriff.

  Mia’s confession dragged his attention back to her puzzled expression: “I don’t invite strange men to my house—like ever—but I feel like there’s something different about you. Crazy, right?”

  “Yes,” Cupid answered, worried his heart might burst if she revoked the invitation now, “but I feel the same way about you.” And he meant it, too, with a desperation he had never felt before.

  Mia squinted a bit and studied him some more, or perhaps she was searching herself for an explanation of her own baffling behavior. For some reason, she seemed determined to resist Cupid’s charms. He held his breath until, to his enormous relief, she relented.

  “Do you have any food allergies?”

  “I don’t like green tomatoes very much.” His nose crinkled at the painful memory.

  “I’m pretty sure I can work around that.” Mia dug a pen and a scrap of paper out of her bag, scrawled out her phone number, and pushed it into Cupid’s hand. “My last class ends at six. Give me some time to clean up, call me, and if I haven’t come to my senses by then, I’ll tell you where I live.”

  Cupid smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. “I’ll clean up too.”

  15

  Driving Lessons

  “The bus stop is outside, Ginger.”

  Pan spun toward the blonde who’d worked out next to him in class. “Just waiting for a friend, thanks.”

  Undeterred, the girl slid the end of her high ponytail between two fingers, finishing it off with a suggestive twist. “Would that be a female friend?”

  If the girl was dead set on showing him something, Pan couldn’t see the harm in looking; he had time to kill. Easing his shoulders into the wall behind him, Pan treated his eyeballs to a leisurely jaunt down her well-toned body. As usual, the nipples caught his attention first—two little spears punching through her drenched, bright pink sports bra—and his gaze landed right back there after a quick trip south. This girl smelled as ripe as they come, a tantalizing bouquet of sweat and desire.