“No. He’s definitely not female.” And he’s why you’re prowling for something between your legs right now.
“Mmm. In that case, maybe you and I could go”—she sidled closer and thrust those nipples closer to Pan’s eyeballs—“find a place to cool down together?”
A twitch inside Pan’s compression shorts flashed a bright green light in his brain, but the wiser part of him shut it down. “That’s definitely a tempting offer, um—” The girl gasped at Pan’s large hand on her delicate shoulder.
“Veronica,” she offered with a hopeful lilt.
“—Veronica, but I’m afraid I have something I need to take care of right now.”
Pan’s rejection penetrated Veronica’s lusty fog, and her breasts retreated as reality dawned. “Have a blessed day,” she muttered.
Pan shook his head at the swish of Veronica’s ponytail as she skittered away. He could survive missing out on a romp or two. Regret might sting for a second, but it was no match for the vengeance the gods might inflict if Pan wandered from his post.
The door of the studio burst open, and Cupid tumbled out in a cloud of steam. “You have to teach me how to drive.”
“And hello to you too.”
Cupid passed him without slowing down—a god on a mission.
“What happened?” Pan asked, chasing him down the narrow hallway.
“She invited me over for dinner, which is why you need to teach me how to drive.” Cupid tore a straight line for the turnstile.
“Hold your horses, bro. We have to get our pants.” Pan led his edgy friend back to the locker room. “Need the bathroom?”
“No, Mother, but thanks for asking.”
Pan shook his head with a huff. Aphrodite was the last being in the cosmos Pan aspired to be mistaken for, and he had no doubt the feeling was mutual.
“You didn’t drink enough water,” Pan answered, a twinge of neglect nagging at his conscience.
A goofy grin crossed Cupid’s face. “Now you sound like Mia.”“First your mother, now your new girlfriend? Would I piss standing up if I were one of your females?” Pan let loose his stream in the urinal as Cupid busied himself with his sweatpants. “Now what’s all this about dinner?” Pan asked as the two made their way outside.
“She’s going to cook for me at her home.”
“Her home? That was quick.” That was Cupid. “Here, hop in—the passenger side,” Pan added when Cupid opened the driver’s door. “I’m not ready to unleash you on the good citizens of Tarra quite yet.”
Pan opened all the windows while Cupid jogged to the other side. There would be no way to divert Cupid to a shower until he’d perfected the art of driving.
“Okay. You’ve got the rules of the road down, and you’re pretty decent at driving a phone. All we need to do is translate your skills to the mechanics of an actual car. Gas. Brake. Drive. Reverse. To start the truck, place your foot on the brake and push here.”
“Got it,” Cupid responded, soaking up everything Pan taught as easily as he’d mastered the yoga moves.
By the time they reached the outer parking spaces of the Fortuna Mall parking lot, Cupid had catalogued every motion and was raring to go. Pan could barely scramble out of the way as Cupid muscled into the driver’s seat.
Cupid made quick work of the seat controls, set the mirrors to Pan’s specifications, and gave his instructor a pleading smile. “Can I turn it on now?”
“Sure.”
Cupid pumped the gas pedal a couple times, and the V-8 growled and trembled under the hood. His delighted laughter filled the cabin. “I could fly circles around Helios in this thing!”
Now, there would be a sight to behold: Pan’s Titan spinning doughnuts around the sun as it arced across the sky. “That’s hardly a fair contest, my friend. You’d have a three hundred eighty-six–horse advantage.”
“Wow. Really?” Cupid revved the engine twice more. Boys will be boys.
Given the improbability of his own potentially hooved hypothetical offspring ever operating a car, Pan was nearly moved to tears by the father-son-ish moment. “Are we driving or just sitting here making noise?”
Cupid lunged for the gearshift. “Let’s go!”
“Wait!” Pan’s protective instincts kicked in fully, and he grasped Cupid’s wrist with a firm grip.
“What?”
“This is not a video game. If you crash, it’s for real. My truck doesn’t pop up brand new at the starting line again. And, perish the thought, if you hit a human, the damage is permanent. Understand?”
“Isn’t that decided by the Fates?”
“The timing, yes, but you don’t want to be the direct cause. Feel me?”
Cupid blinked several times at Pan’s sobering message. “Yes.” Convinced he’d been heard, Pan released his grip. “Does that mean you and I are mortal down here?”
“I’m not positive, to be honest,” Pan replied. “I’ve broken most of my bones at some point, and that shit hurts, but they’ve always healed at god-speed. Obviously, I’m not aging. I assume we’re immortal down here, but it’s not a theory I’m eager to test, hence the seat belts.”
“Okay, got it.”
“Good. Take us around this lane.”
Cupid exhaled, closed his fingers around the gear knob, and coaxed the truck into Drive. With his right hand returned to the wheel, he pulled out of the space with a skill level far outstripping his experience. Pan’s tense grasp of his right thigh relaxed as Cupid proved himself both masterful and appropriately vigilant.
“Pull the truck over there,” Pan said, directing Cupid to the tire center. “I’ll be right back.”
He hopped out of the pickup and snagged two orange traffic cones from a stack against the building. Pacing off twenty feet between the two cones, Pan set up a makeshift parking space while firing instructions at Cupid through the open window.
“If you hit a cone, you start over. We do it until you don’t have to think.”
As if recording an instructional video on parallel parking, Cupid lined up alongside the forward cone, shifted into reverse, cut a flawless curve into the spot, and straightened the wheel. Pan could not have scripted the execution with more precision.
“I didn’t think,” Cupid announced without an ounce of guile or arrogance.
As far as the recently fallen god knew, perfection was a simple matter of course. Though Pan recognized Cupid’s razor-sharp instincts behind the wheel as exceptional even for an Olympian, he wasn’t about to let up on his student.
“Not bad for your first time. Again.” Pan ordered Cupid through the cones three more times until beginner’s luck was entirely ruled out. “Let’s see you reverse around the lot and back into that spot over there.”
Brimming with pride, Pan observed his protégé’s effortless backward glide through the training course and into the angled parking space. Pan strolled over to the passenger side and climbed in.
“Solid.”
Cupid’s bright smile animated his entire being. “Am I unleashed?”
“Sure. But don’t tell Mia you just learned today. It’s not exactly human to learn to drive so quickly. Know what I mean?”
“Mmhmm.” Cupid hummed, his gaze traveling to his side window and into the distance.
“What is it, Q?”
When Cupid turned back, his carefree grin was nowhere to be found. “I’m in love with her, Pan. I can’t mess this up. I have no idea how to do a date. And I don’t understand earth girls at all.”
“Nobody understands earth girls. Not even other earth girls.”
“Great,” Cupid said with a discouraged moan.
“I can give you a few pointers.”
“Yeah?” Cupid beseeched him with an expression so charged with hope and trust, Pan felt a lump rise in his throat. Romance wasn’t exactly Pan’s speci
alty, but his best friend was a clean slate, and Pan was the only stick of chalk around.
“All right. Start with a bottle of nice wine. Oh, and flowers are a classy touch.”
“Wine and flowers, got it.” Cupid tucked each detail away with the same care as memorizing the driving instructions.
“And don’t be the first to roll out of bed afterwards.”
Cupid answered with a tight, “Great. Thanks.”
Pan searched his brain for something beyond lame clichés, but he was fresh out. The truth would have to do. “Look, Q, you’re in this thing whether you want it or not. The best advice I can share is what your mother already told you: follow your heart.”
Cupid flinched at the reminder. Could his love-addled mind somehow have erased the circumstances that had led him to Mia? The piteous son of a goddess was in for a rough tumble.
Cupid gathered his disappointment into a highly effective glare. “That’s it? The extent of your vast experience is to follow Mother’s advice?”
Pan shrugged. “I also emphatically recommend a shower.”
16
Tulips
Three hours and a long shower later, Cupid shuffled into the great room, outfitted head to toe in proper-sized clothing plucked from shopping bags strewn across his bed. His most tender regions were nestled inside a pair of silky boxer briefs—a compromise between Pan’s dogged insistence on the godforsaken garment and Cupid’s demand for comfort. Between the post–yoga soreness and the elephants marching in his chest, Cupid’s crotch was pretty much the only part left unscathed—though he suspected that, too, would be swollen later tonight.
Pan glanced up from the couch and blew a whistle through his teeth. “Let me see the back,” he commanded, adding a twirl of his finger to get Cupid started.
Cupid rolled his eyes. “You’ll see the back when my front walks out the door.”
Pan chuckled. “Fine. Belt?”
Cupid raised the hem of his shirt until it cleared the leather belt.
“Condoms?”
Cupid tapped his front pocket, and Pan shot him a grin. “Got your phone?”
With an exasperated sigh, Cupid answered, “Yes and yes, and I have gone to the bathroom. May I go now?”
“Go, already. Flowers and wine are on the counter. Keys are in the car. Drive safe.”
This being Cupid’s maiden voyage, he especially appreciated the well-lit, high-tech interior of Pan’s Barcelona Red Prius, which more closely matched the video game than did Pan’s truck. Besides, he had no intention of greeting his date bearing the stench of sweat still hanging thick in the cabin of the Titan. Even in the diminishing daylight, Cupid’s vision and reflexes were acute, and his confidence was high, bolstered further by the bouquet of yellow tulips and Pan’s best Cabernet lying on the passenger seat.
The robotic orders issuing from the car’s GPS provided a certain reassurance though Cupid’s internal system had begun tugging at him the moment he stepped out of the shower. A move in any direction other than directly toward Mia had cost him a twinge of discomfort. As Cupid sped toward his date, it became clear his heart functioned “as the crow flies,” whereas the Prius, sadly, was at the mercy of the maze of Tarra’s streets. This mismatch in guidance mechanisms led to a rapidly building tension within him, an escalating pleasure as he drew closer to his heart’s destination, interrupted by random, painful, corrective chest spasms when the roads forced him to steer away from Mia. Fortunately, the two systems eventually harmonized a few blocks from her door, and the good feelings overtook the agony.
Cupid backed the Prius into a tight parallel spot on the street with an economy of shifting that would have made Pan proud. Gifts in hand, he skipped up the walk, humming to himself as he approached a cheery window box with bright pink petunias spilling over the sides. No need to double-check the address before ringing Mia’s bell; Cupid’s heart left little doubt he was on the right stoop.
“Coming!”
As the clatter of Mia’s footsteps drew nearer, Cupid’s heart vibrated wildly in his chest. The door opened, and Cupid was met not only by the freshly scrubbed—though sadly, more fully clothed—version of Mia but also by the most enticing swirl of aromas wafting from her kitchen.
Momentarily stunned by the onslaught of sensory input, Cupid took a second to come out with even a simple, “Hello.”
“Hello,” she answered, dark green flecks dancing in her eyes. “Are those for me?”
“Yes.” Cupid offered the tulips to her with one hand and the wine with the other. “So is this.”
The cellophane crinkled in her hand as she pulled the flowers to her chest. “Thank you. I love tulips. Come on in. Let me put these in water.”
Mia spun away and strode with purpose toward her kitchen. Cupid’s gaze slipped to the firm, apple-shaped bottom rocking side to side beneath her tight jeans. Slim jeans, Cupid had recently learned, were the most beloved of all the varieties, and now he fully understood why, though it still baffled him why the gaping holes in the material increased their value.
He remembered he was supposed to be following Mia inside and skipped to close the gap between them. She rounded the kitchen counter, rose onto her tiptoes, and reached toward the top shelf, groaning when her fingertips stopped short of the target.
Cupid rushed to her side and set down the wine. Placing one hand on her waist—purely for balance—Cupid stretched to easily reach the vase. “Here you go,” he said, his voice cracking a bit as her hair brushed his cheek.
“Thank you.”
His hand lingered on her waist until there was no excuse to keep holding on. Still, he stood close enough to feel the heat coming off her cheeks, to note the pink at the tips of her ears as she filled the vase with water.
“Should we open your wine, or would you like something else to drink?”
Cupid relaxed against the counter next to her, unable to tolerate any distance between them. “Whatever you like. Your house smells amazing, by the way. What did you make?”
“Oh, it’s a spicy lemongrass soup with tofu. I hope you like it.”
Having never tried lemongrass or tofu, he answered with authority. “I’m sure I will.”
“I specifically omitted the green tomatoes from the recipe.”
Overwhelmed by Mia’s kindness, Cupid gave her a tender smile. “Thank you.”
She shook her head and giggled gently while pulling a pair of scissors from the top drawer. Cupid watched, transfixed, as Mia snipped each stem and lovingly positioned the flowers into the vase, one at a time, as if welcoming each new guest to the party. Mia studied the arrangement with a tilt of her head that reminded Cupid of the goddess Flora, fussing over her weekly deliveries to the palace. Mother would be impressed, Cupid realized with an unexpected stab of homesickness.
“There,” Mia said, fluffing the tulips one last time. “Now let’s open that wine.”
She replaced the shears and pulled out a metal gadget resembling a one-legged woman. Handing the device to Cupid, Mia asked, “Would you like to do the honors?”
“Sure, if you’ll show me how to use this thing.”
“You’ve never used a corkscrew before?”
“No, but I’m a quick learner.”
“Don’t worry, this is way easier than yoga.” Stepping into his side, she gripped the neck of the bottle with her free hand. “Okay, so . . .” Mia tilted her face toward Cupid, and he snapped to attention. His Earth repertoire was growing in leaps and bounds. “You’re supposed to cut away this little strip, but I usually skip that part and poke this really sharp tip right here into the middle of the cork—just watch your fingers on the point—and then twist.”
As she illustrated the twisting, her body swiveled into his—again and again and again. Cupid held his ground, reveling in the close contact of their bodies and the fire blazing between them like two dry stic
ks rubbed together. Mia cranked the head of the corkscrew around and around, plunging the coiled spike deeper and deeper into the cork with each revolution until the arms were pointing almost straight up.
“Your turn,” she said.
“What do I do?”
“Slowly push those levers down until the cork pops out.”
“All right.”
Mia wedged herself directly in front of Cupid. When he reached around to grasp the metal arms, Mia was caged between his body and the counter. The alluring scent of grapefruit filled Cupid’s lungs, and it required all his effort to resist trailing his lips down her neck. Mia’s head dropped back against his shoulder, and her hands slid to his forearms while he painstakingly lowered the levers. The tip of the cork burst through the foil and continued to rise until the last of the cork broke free of the bottle’s rim with a satisfying pop.
Slowly, so as not to jostle the girl in his arms, Cupid lowered the corkscrew to the counter and folded his hands over Mia’s belly. His body was a live wire, buzzing from head to toe.
Placing his lips against the soft shell of her ear, he murmured, “Now what?”
She released a rocky sigh. “Now, we let it breathe.”
“Breathing is good,” Cupid said dreamily, grateful to the genius wine makers for building in a respite after all the drama.
“Mmhmm.”
The vibration of Mia’s hum against Cupid’s chest tipped him over the line he’d been toeing since his arrival. He spun Mia in his arms and gasped when he met a gaze as shot with longing as his own surely had to be. Cupid bent and inched toward her lips.
“Mia,” he whispered, “may I kiss you?”
She smiled gently, nodded, and—when he’d smiled back but not yet kissed her—added, “Yes, yes.”
His heart thudded as he pressed his lips to hers. So this was a kiss.
Every single thing Cupid thought he knew flew out of his head to make room for the singular experience of kissing Mia. Her lips were full and soft and gentle and tasted sweeter than the gods’ finest nectar. As Mia’s arms closed around his back, Cupid purred like a kitten lapping at the purest cream, and if her moans were any indication, Mia’s need rivaled his own. She was everything his heart desired. It was disorienting, this overwhelming connection, one Cupid had only imagined in his fantasies of love and lust.
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