The manager was not a big person, but he had a good head of steam going, and Mia had no doubt he was more than capable of throwing Q out on his ass and would have immensely enjoyed doing so. Mia considered the uneasy expressions of both men waiting for her verdict. Was Q bothering her? Why yes, he most certainly was. Thoroughly.
“No,” she said. “We’re okay.”
“Perhaps the gentleman would care to be seated?” He gestured at Greg’s chair while sending a crystal-clear message to Q: sit or leave.
“C’mon, Mia. We should go.”
Yes, they should. Just probably not together.
31
Chilly Swirl
If their earlier silence was a cold breeze, this journey home was one of Demeter’s winters. The only reason Mia let Cupid drive her home was the ruse with her mother.
“Can I at least get you something to eat before I take you home?” If Cupid couldn’t fix things between them, he’d fill at least part of the hollow ache. Surely, Mia must be hungry too.
She folded her arms over her chest and harrumphed.
With a wistful sigh, Cupid passed the neon–lit Tarra Diner on the right side of the road and did his best to let go of the meatloaf fantasy that had already taken hold. “Are you planning to stay angry at me all night?”
Mia twisted in her seat, breathing fire from her side of the car. “All night? How about forever? Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”
Cupid resisted the urge to smile. Harsh words, but at least Mia was speaking to him again. With communication, there was hope; the God of Love knew that much.
“Mia, I apologize, again.” Cupid slid his hand across the console hoping to reach one of hers, but they were locked in the tight grasp of her armpits. He drew back his peace offering and clutched the steering wheel instead. “Can we please talk about this?”
Mia’s response was steady and detached. “As you put it so eloquently earlier, what would be the point?”
The point was he loved her so hard, every inch of him hurt. The point was he needed her not to despise him. The point was they were going to have to try again and again and again, if need be, until they found her match, or there would be no peace for either of them. But this was no time for logic.
“Please?”
After another few minutes of tortured silence, Mia relented. “Fine. I could go for some frozen yogurt.”
“You could?” Cupid’s downtrodden spirit flickered with new life. “Where does one find this yogurt?”
Mia turned slowly toward Cupid, and he couldn’t resist the urge to meet her gaze. He promptly returned his focus to the road but not before registering the unmistakable affection in her eyes.
“Why is it impossible to stay mad at you?” she asked.
Figuring the answer had much to do with the strictly off-limits topic, Cupid responded with a relieved smile and a noticeable unbunching of his shoulders. Mia conceded a smile of her own, though hers held a definite reluctance.
“Take a right into the strip mall after the next light.”
A “strip” mall sounded intriguing, but Cupid knew better than to let his mind wander. He’d been so careful the last two days, every second a torment of opposing forces: the scorch of his heart if he strayed too far from Mia’s side versus the throbbing of his genitals, which only seemed to abate with distance and the yoga breathing he’d learned from Mia.
Cupid hated this whole terrible mess—hated his father, his mother, Hera, Hades, and most of all, himself—but he was no fool. Not touching Mia was basic survival. Pan had drilled it into him, finally. Cupid must absolutely and most scrupulously avoid doing the one thing that would temporarily release both his chest and groin from their gods-given afflictions.
He would pass this test. Mia would find her Right Love. All would be forgiven on Mount O.
As soon as he pulled into the parking spot, Mia threw open her door and took off at a furious pace. Cupid jogged to catch up and scurried around her just in time to grasp the large cone-shaped door handle. Unlike the romantic restaurant Cupid had so carefully selected using Zagat and Yelp, the yogurt shop screamed cold in every way, from the temperature to the bright lights to the snowflake motif repeated all around the icy blue walls.
“My gods, is that food squirting out of the wall?”
“Shhh.” She yanked on Cupid’s sleeve, pulling him hard into her side.
The contact sucked his breath away. They froze, eyes locked and searching. With one simple kiss of their shoulders, two days of restraint were completely undone.
Mia frowned. “Q . . .” Her fingertips gathered in more of his shirt.
How easy it would be to surrender, and how incredibly selfish. Mia had worn that spectacular, body-hugging dress and strapped on those sexy heels and sprayed herself with fancy perfume for someone else tonight, for some stranger who might have turned out to be her Right Love. And that wide-eyed, wonder-filled, we-might-have-something-here gaze she was lavishing on Cupid right now? That, too, belonged to someone else.
“So, uh,” Cupid started with a bumpy voice, craning his neck to indicate the bustle of activity around them, “how does this work?”
Picking up on his cue, Mia unfisted Cupid’s shirt, took a small cup off the stack, and handed a large cone to Cupid. “Pick one or two flavors, fill up the cone, and we’ll talk toppings when we get there.”
Cupid nodded gratefully. “Which one’s your favorite?” he asked.
She led him to the coffee-toffee-Oreo lever. “Hit me,” she said, positioning her container under the nozzle.
Distracted by the sheer joy on Mia’s face, Cupid failed to register the speed of the spurt until the thick coil flopped over the sides of her cup. “Shoot! Sorry!”
Mia giggled as Cupid threw the lever up and dove in to catch the excess. She bent forward and licked the sloppy mess from the palm of Cupid’s hand. “All better.”
Not from where Cupid stood. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath into his lungs, visualized his diaphragm dropping, his chest expanding, and his erection softening—though the last was purely wishful thinking.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Is that pranayama?”
One eye popped open and squinted at her. “Trying.”
“Oh.” The twinkle in Mia’s eye faded.
Cupid shrugged. He didn’t want to think about his problem, and he definitely didn’t want to talk about it. With two careful pulls, Cupid filled his cone and proceeded to the toppings bar. Mia walked him through the do’s (crushed Reese’s and hot fudge) and the don’ts (fruit-flavored beads and gummy worms). Weighed and paid, they shuffled over to the least dribbled–on table.
Cupid squirmed on his plastic stool, actively ignoring Mia’s hums and moans of pleasure across the table. He tipped his face inside his cone. The frozen version was a sweet surprise compared to the so-called Greek yogurt he and Pan had been eating for breakfast, and Cupid was momentarily distracted from his troubles.
“Taste?” Mia’s spoon hovered under Cupid’s nose.
His gaze shifted from the offered spoon to Mia’s seductively puckered lips. “Are you trying to punish me?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” she admitted. “I think I might’ve had the beat for that guy.”
“You didn’t.” Cupid couldn’t even acknowledge the storm of emotions he’d suffered over the possibility.
“You’re so sure?” She backed down when Cupid shot her a scowl. “Okay, fine. What if he had it for me?”
“That is inconsequential.”
“You’re heartless.”
“No, Mia. Anything but. A one-way beat is no good. Trust me.”
She let out an exasperated groan. “Now what do we do?”
“Well . . .” Cupid reached cautiously for his phone, his eyes fixed on Mia’s face. “Now, we try again. Mind holdi
ng this for me?” He handed his cone to Mia and swiped through several photos before choosing one with potential. “You seem to like blonds. I think we should try this one next.” He turned the phone to show Mia the picture.
At first, she seemed less than impressed, but after staring at the picture, Mia changed her mind. “Sure, yeah, he’s hot. We should probably line up a bunch of guys, don’t you think?”
Cupid smiled back. “Really? I didn’t think you would go for that. I’ll set up five for tomorrow night.”
Mia’s smile flattened into an angry line. “Seriously?”
“Mia?” Cupid watched with horror as she flipped his cone upside down and stuffed it inside her cup.
“Take me home.”
32
Pep Talk
“Wanna play Call of Duty?” Pan shot a guarded glance at the lump of god at the other end of the couch.
“Nope.”
Cupid’s answer didn’t surprise Pan, but the way the guy had been staring at the screen without moving for the last hour was starting to freak him out. He looked like a character from one of those zombie shows. The effects of his sleepless night and anxiety–filled day would dissolve on their own in a day or two, but in the meantime, it hurt Pan to look at him.
Pan set down the controller with a sigh. If Cupid noticed him get up and grab two beers from the kitchen, it certainly didn’t register on his face.
Handing off one of the beers, Pan plopped down next to him. “Here. Drink.”
Cupid scowled at Pan, then at the beer, before lifting the bottle to his lips and tipping back his head. “I really hate beer.”
Pan knocked his knee against Cupid’s a couple of times. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”
“I already have hair on my chest.” Eyes narrowed, lips curled in a full-on sneer, Cupid could almost pass for scary. “Dammit, Pan, how am I supposed to get through this night?”
What could he say? He sure as shit wouldn’t have been able to watch the woman he loved test drive a bunch of other guys right under his nose. “I don’t know, but I know you can. You have to. For Mia.”
“Mia?” Cupid bolted off the couch, muttering more to himself than to Pan as he paced back and forth across the room. “Mia hates me. She hung up on me this morning.” Purple–faced and short of breath, Cupid spun to face Pan, “Or have you forgotten?”
Pan slouched forward, his elbows sliding onto his thighs. “Nope, I remember.” How could he ever erase that expression of sheer horror on Cupid’s face or the way he’d glowered at his cell phone for a full minute afterward as if the phone had stabbed him through the heart?
Pan lifted his chin, peeking cautiously at his ranting, raving, distraught friend. Stay objective, Mercury would have counseled, but that advice amounted to a cork tossed in the ocean where Cupid was concerned. So much for professional distance.
Cupid paced to within a foot of the wall, pivoted, grasped a handful of hair, and repeated his relentless march. “Did I tell you she shut the door in my—”
“—face? Yes. Yes, you did.”
“Aargh!” The pacing tapered, and Cupid came to a stop next to Pan. “You’ve got to teach me your tricks, Pan. I’ve never been rejected before.”
“My tricks, huh?” Pan couldn’t even be offended. “Come sit down. You’re making me dizzy.”
Cupid collapsed into the corner of the couch, downing the rest of his beer in one long swig. He tipped his face to the ceiling and groaned. The poor fucker barely had a chance to enjoy the ride before ending up as roadkill. Not that Pan was all that surprised. Experience had taught him if the gods bothered to toss you off the Mount, you were not about to ascend with a slap on the wrist.
“Okay. Mia’s mad at you, but she’s agreed to go along with the plan, right?”
“Yes. I’m picking her up at eight and taking her to the Ruby Lounge. Starting at nine, I have five solid prospects lined up in ten-minute intervals. By ten o’clock, she might have met the love of her life.”
“More guys from Tinder?”
“No way. I spent four hours sifting through those guys who swiped Mia’s Tinder profile. Would you believe most of them are only out for sex?”
Pan bit back a smile. “I thought you said that Greg guy was okay.”
“Pfft!” A dark scowl twisted Cupid’s face. “He was a phony Mr. Manners, ordering fancy champagne to impress Mia, biding his time before the pounce.”
“Huh, so these guys you lined up for tonight, they’re not after sex?”
Cupid lowered his gaze until it cut right through Pan. “Don’t you think I know all guys want sex? At least these men have a chance of relating to Mia on a slightly deeper level.”
“And where did you find this latest bunch of sterling gentlemen?”
“You’re going to be super impressed.”
“Wow me,” Pan said.
“I found a dating site called ‘OkCupid.’ I think they might be channeling me.”
Pan chuckled, his head shaking side to side. “A clear recipe for success.”
“I filled out a questionnaire for Mia, and poof! Twenty-five matches. I narrowed it down to five. If these don’t work out, I have another batch ready to go for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Pan set down his beer and angled his body toward Cupid. “Look, man, you need to cool your jets. You can’t keep hitting Mia with one man after the next without giving her any say in the matter. Even if you do get her to play along tonight—”
Cupid made an ugly sound and bolted up straighter against the back of the sofa. “She has to, Pan.”
“Okay, yeah, whatever. So assuming none of these guys work out, because what are the odds that of all the places in the cosmos, her one Right Love would be living right here in this very town—?”
“Everyone’s Right Love is within reach.”
“What? Whoa. Are you saying you’ve stocked the pond?”
“Of course. Well, not me, per se, mostly Mother. How cruel would it be to populate the planet with seven billion people and not put a person’s perfect match close enough to meet?”
“Everyone has a Right Love that close by?” An infinite lifetime of chasing, and Pan’s own meant-to-be was close enough to touch?
“Yes, at some point in their lives.”
Awed once again by the forces at work behind the scenes, Pan searched his friend for answers. “You don’t think you could’ve imparted this little pearl of wisdom to me, say, a thousand years ago?”
“I probably could have, had I known you were alive.”
Ouch. Poor Q. That scar hadn’t quite disappeared after all.
“Plus, just because you might bump shoulders with your Right Love at a crowded concert doesn’t mean you’d know it at the time. If you had any idea how many people don’t recognize the moment . . .”
“Ships passing in the night.” A history of what-ifs scrolled through Pan’s mind, all the moves from this Tarra to that Tarra. Had he already missed his opportunity? Was he doomed to live out the rest of his immortal life without his perfect match? Until a week ago, he’d had no idea such a thing existed; now, being deprived of his Right Love felt positively unbearable. “So that’s it? You doze at the wheel for a split second, and you miss it? One and done?”
“I never said that.” If Cupid weren’t in such a miserable state, Pan might’ve punched the exasperating little fucker.
Somehow, love seemed even crueler this way, knowing it was right there within your grasp, more than once if the gods favored you. The puzzle pieces of Pan’s grand understanding realigned themselves through this new lens, and he could only conclude how truly ill-equipped gods and mortals alike were for this enterprise called love.
“You’d think with all these perfect matches lying around, extramarital affairs and divorce rates would be a mite lower.”
Cupid huffed. “Assum
ing the marriage is a true match, and fewer than two in a hundred are, Right Love is no guarantee of success. It’s a foundation, but we both know the temptations that can gnaw away at even a divine union.”
“Well, this is all quite cheery.”
Cupid answered Pan’s frown with a forced grin, picked up Pan’s empty bottle, and strode to the fridge. “Don’t get too low, my friend. The picture’s not all bleak. As long as the coupling is reasonable, two people who aren’t each other’s Right Love can make it work over the long haul. Hell, they might even be convinced they’re perfect for each other, and you’d probably agree.”
Pan couldn’t help mentally ticking off the happily-togethers he knew, turning them over in his head like a jeweler inspecting a diamond.
“The real tragedy, of course, is the unrequited beat,” Cupid said.
“You mean, like yours for Mia?”
Cupid grimaced. “Yes, thank you, exactly like that. There’s almost no chance for the afflicted party to escape without permanent damage.”
“That sucks.”
“Yep. Hello, devastation. And unfortunately, it’s not all that rare.”
The cold butt of a fresh beer tapped Pan on the arm, pulling him back to the moment. “Speaking of your problems . . .”
Cupid took a long drag, shivered, scowled, and repeated the process. “Right.”
Though he hated doing it, Pan pressed him. “Let’s say by some miracle, one of these next however-many guys you put her through is Mia’s match. You’ll step away gracefully, right?”
Cupid shot Pan an icy glare. “Now I have to be graceful? It’s not enough I let her go?”
“I don’t think the Goddess of Love is going to look too kindly on any interference at that point.”
Another swig of Cupid’s beer disappeared between his lips and past the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I don’t imagine interference will be an option. Once we find Mia the right guy, it’ll be, ‘Hello, wings; goodbye, mighty cock, and yasou, planet earth.’”
First Quiver Page 17