The last of his toxic anger left Pan in a heavy exhale. “You hungry?”
Cupid cautiously lifted his eyes. “You’re not going to hurt me?”
Pan huffed. As if. “Not right now.”
Relieved for the moment, Cupid rubbed his hand across his belly as if gauging his need for food from the outside in. “I could eat.”
Pan led his infuriating friend under the neon sign and inside the gleaming steel boxcar. The owner’s daughter greeted them with a bright smile from behind the yellowing counter.
“Welcome in. Sit anywhere you like.”
They slid into a booth just past a young, gooey-eyed couple who looked to be on their first date, taking delicate spoon swipes at opposite sides of an ice cream sundae. Bet he leaves her the cherry.
The waitress arrived at their booth and fixed a pair of starry eyes on Pan. “You boys know what you want?” She opened her mouth just enough to wedge the tip of the pen between her back teeth and flash him a glimpse of tongue.
Pan had been to this diner no fewer than fifty times since settling in this particular Tarra, and he’d been served by the owner’s then-jailbait-now-barely-legal daughter at least a dozen of those. While the girl had always done a competent job with his food orders, their conversation had never progressed beyond side dishes and condiments—which suited Pan fine. “Apple pie à la mode, please.”
“You want that hot, sweetie?” she asked, emphasis on the hot.
“Just the pie, not the ice cream. He’ll have the same.”
She giggled too hard as she wrote down Pan’s instructions and glided away. While he would have liked to have been flattered, Pan knew the gods were pulling the strings. The proof was as close as the hump on his ass and the flaccid cock in his lap.
“How did you leave things with Mia?”
“Rather abruptly. Someone bleated?” Well, well, well. Someone was getting his sass back now that the threat of bodily harm was no longer imminent.
“At least you had the good sense to pick up my call. You really don’t want to piss me off any further tonight.”
“So I’ve gathered.” Cupid picked up two corners of his white paper placemat, curled the edges under with restless fingers, and smoothed them out again. “Mia’s impossible. This last guy, Evan . . .” Cupid wrinkled his nose as if he’d fallen face-first into a pile of manure. “She actually wanted to go on her date with him even though they weren’t a match. How am I supposed to sit by and watch that?”
“Maybe you’re not.”
Cupid tensed. “You’d have me leave some unworthy mortal alone with Mia to pillage her body?”
The poor bastard wasn’t going to appreciate the advice, but Pan gave it just the same. “Maybe she wouldn’t be so damn horny for you all the time if she had another outlet.”
“Now you’re really being disgusting.”
“I feel for you, Q, but Mia’s a grown woman, and she doesn’t actually need your permission to date. The less you’re tempted to do whatever you two just did, the better off all three of us are going to be.”
Cupid’s gaze drifted to the spinning pie case on the counter, where it stayed fixed until their own slices arrived. A long, pensive silence and several forkfuls of soothing, apple goodness later, Cupid met Pan’s eyes. “Fine, I’ll try.”
35
Convincing
What had seemed somewhat reasonable the night before turned into a snarl of doubt when Cupid actually had to follow through. Only the tactile memory of his fingertips rolling over Pan’s tail stub kept him on task. He loved Pan like a brother, certainly much more than his own annoying little brother Anteros, and it killed Cupid that his well-meaning but obviously misguided actions were being turned so brutally against his best friend. Pan couldn’t go back to the satyr life, not now. And Cupid sure as hell couldn’t be the one responsible for it.
Two thousand years of Pan’s absence had not dimmed Cupid’s memory of the satyr’s tortured existence on Mount Olympus. While Cupid had flitted about with a grown man’s desires trapped inside his tragically pubescent body, Pan’s situation held its own cruelty: a man’s soul merged with the libido of a wild beast and a body that ostracized him from both worlds.
None of that stopped Cupid’s heart from lurching when Mia answered his call, her warm, trusting voice stabbing even deeper at his innards.
“Hey, you. Am I gonna see you in class this morning?”
Class. Sweat. Skin. Heat. What Cupid wouldn’t give to stand inches from a barely covered Mia as she stretched and posed.
“Um, no, sorry. I actually called to talk to you about your idea.”
“My idea? Eli, take that block out of your mouth! Which idea might that be?”
“Uh, moving ahead with finding your proper match.”
“Wait, you’re not talking about tying my underwear to your—”
“Gods no.” And his erection was back. Pan’s plan to hold this conversation by phone was already paying off. At least this way, Mia wouldn’t see how she affected him. “I think you should go ahead and meet the next bunch without me.”
“Oh. We’re back to that.” Her voice fell, and along with it, Cupid’s spirits. “So your line about not leaving me, that was just to pull me away from Evan? Or was it your twisted little way of getting into my skirt at the end of the night?”
Cupid had no loftier explanation to offer, giving Mia no choice but to take his silence as confirmation. Indeed, Cupid had become every bit the manipulative jerk she thought he was. Divine intervention, priapism, and heartache aside, nobody but Cupid deserved the blame for this almighty mess. A long, sad sigh filled Cupid’s ear.
“This little game is really getting old.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“Sorry? Pshhh,” Mia responded. “Jonah, stop teasing your brother! Good talk, Q. Know what? I’ll take it from here.”
He cleared his throat, hoping only his most altruistic intentions would reach her. “I’ll email you the list of your next twenty matches in order of compatibility.”
“Twenty?” Mia’s harsh laugh sent a chill down Cupid’s spine. “I haven’t been on twenty dates in my whole life. Think I should see them all in one night?” The shape of Mia’s voice narrowed to a sharp point, a steely spear meant to wound him back. “Oh, I know! I’ll rent a room at the Tarra Arms and give each one a ten-minute roll. Then I’d figure out which one got my coochie vibrating, now wouldn’t I?”
“Mia.”
“Yes, I like this plan.” Indeed, he could tell she did. Mia’s words sliced deep, and Cupid bled with each new lash. “I’ll call the motel and inquire whether they rent rooms by the hour. Let’s see now, ten minutes times twenty guys, that’s two hundred minutes. Round that up to four hours allowing for a double header or two . . .”
“Mia, please.”
“Please what?” Their conversation broke with the kind of rupture that feels like the two ends might never find their way to the middle again. “What do you want from me, Q?”
What did Cupid want? He wanted all this pain to end. He wanted his mother to stop punishing everyone around him for his failures. He wanted Pan not to turn into a goat. And more than anything, he wanted Mia to find her Right Love and live a long, happy life, even if his own heart would forever be shattered.
“I want you to be happy, Mia.”
“But not with you.”
A hammer pounded at the base of Cupid’s skull. Around and around they’d gone, around and around they’d continue to go as long as Mia still held out hope she might still end up with Cupid. “No, Mia, not with me. Would you please do me the enormous favor of getting this over with quickly?”
“Sure,” she huffed, “there’s nothing I’d rather do than an enormous favor for you. Look, Q, Mom’s sprained her ankle, so even if I wanted to continue being your guinea pig, my babysitter is out of
commission until further notice.”
“Isn’t there someone else you can call?”
“Um, no. Despite recent evidence to the contrary, I don’t go out much, and I don’t have a stable of sitters. In case it’s escaped your notice, I don’t exactly have spare funds, plus Eli has serious separation issues. Sorry, seems like we’re both shit outta luck.”
“What if I stayed with the boys?”
Silence.
This was certainly not the role Cupid wanted to play in her life, but what else could he hope for under the circumstances? The stakes had never been higher. The next screwup would be his last.
“You want to babysit my boys while I go out on a date . . . or twenty?”
Her taunt flooded Cupid’s brain with vivid pictures of a naked and writhing Mia, beneath forty hands and twenty mouths and body parts he couldn’t bear to imagine. Despite his repulsion, Cupid knew better than to hesitate at this critical juncture. “Sure, why not? How hard can it be? Jonah knows how to do everything, right?”
“Jesus, Q. Jonah’s five. The fact that you’d even suggest that should tell me everything I need to know.”
“Then, you tell me what to do. I’m a quick learner; you’ve said so yourself.”
Two or three seconds passed while Mia considered his offer. Cupid held his tongue and nurtured the seed of hope with all his might. When she groaned, Cupid knew he had her. “This is insane. You know that, right?”
Cupid tried to keep the smile out of his voice when he answered. “It’ll be an adventure.” Mortals loved adventure.
“It’s already been an adventure.” She sighed heavily into the phone. “I can’t figure out what it is about you, but from the moment we met, you’ve made me disregard everything that makes any sense.”
Cupid knew the answer, but he suspected Mia wouldn’t welcome his insights. “That sounds like it might be a yes.”
“God help me.”
“Oh, that is definitely a yes.”
Mia’s tone eased as she fired instructions. “My rules, all the way. The boys need structure. They crave routine—especially since the asshole left. Capiche?”
“You’re the boss, Mia.”
“Have you ever changed a diaper?”
“No.”
“Given a toddler a bath?”
“No.”
“Do you have the slightest idea what to do if a baby is choking?”
He wanted to reassure her, but lying where the boys’ safety was concerned would be inexcusable. Cupid lacked pretty much every qualification for the job. “Show me once, and I’ll never forget.”
“I truly must be insane, because I believe you.”
“I won’t let you down, Mia.”
With the decision made, Mia barked orders as if she were Alexander the Great commandeering his troops. Cupid was the lone soldier, his mortal enemies, dirty diapers and bedtime. Cupid soaked up the details as if any one of them might become life or death—the boys’ or his own. Throwing in a few “mmhmms” for good measure, he took feverish notes until Mia’s litany slowed and eventually stopped.
“Be here at five. You can help me give the boys their dinner and baths. I’ll supervise while you change Luke’s diaper and get all three in pj’s. How are we doing so far?”
“Fine.”
“You’re okay with all this? Things get messy sometimes; there might be tears.”
“I’ll try not to cry. Promise.”
Mia’s burst of laughter streamed through the phone like a banquet after a long, hard fast, and Cupid gobbled the nourishment into his ravenous soul. With fresh resolve to do this one thing well, Cupid said, “Mia, I can handle it. The safety of your family is my top priority. You know how much I care about your boys.”
“I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to them while I’m out on some fool’s errand to find true love.”
Cupid wanted to assure Mia that Right Love was no fool’s errand, but that would’ve missed the point. “Neither will I,” he answered most sincerely.
After a long pause, Mia set out the toughest of her conditions. “You need to promise me there will be no more interference with my dates. It’s humiliating.”
“I promise.”
“And I don’t want to hear about heartbeats and echoes. It takes all the suspense out of the awkward first date. Can you promise to keep that sh—stuff to yourself?”
“I’ll do my best.” He wanted to commit to her terms, but they both knew Cupid was lousy at holding back, especially where Mia was concerned.
“And I will not be judged,” she added sternly.
How could he judge, really, when he was the one pushing her into the arms of all the other men? “Agreed.”
The usual sounds of little boy chaos peppered the background while Mia weighed all the evidence. Cupid hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until she delivered her verdict.
“I guess you’re hired.”
36
Babysitting
Self-discipline alone would not have been enough to keep Cupid from jumping to answer Mia’s doorbell, but where resolve failed him, two little boys and a very comfortable, fat cat held him pinned to the couch.
“I’ve got it!” yelled Mia.
Cupid’s shoulders twisted toward the voice tearing down the steps over the click-clack of heels. Tonight’s outfit seemed a merciful choice: loose black pants and a long top that fluttered behind Mia as she rushed to greet her date. Her hand grasped the knob, and Mia fired a warning glare across the room. Don’t fudge this up for me. With a boldness bordering on defiance, she pulled open the door.
Cupid wanted to look away, wanted to spare himself that moment of fated connection that might strike when their eyes first met, but he couldn’t. What good would it have done him anyway? Because it wasn’t what he saw but what he heard that made his blood run cold: the beat.
Holy Hera. Wait, was it one or two? He needed to get closer. Scooping up a boy in each arm, Cupid sprang from the couch. Merlin spilled out of Cupid’s lap but not before jamming his claws into Cupid’s inflamed crotch.
“Unf!” Cupid doubled over like the jaws of a metal trap snapped shut, clutching the boys for all he was worth. Eli and Luke burst into giggles as Cupid staggered to Mia’s side.
She stepped out onto the stoop toward her shell-shocked date. “We were just leaving,” she said in a tight tone clearly meant to end the conversation. “Goodnight, boys.”
Mia’s stern glower should have silenced Cupid, but he had more pressing worries. The beat, definitely one-way—and coming from Mia. Shit.
“I need to talk to you,” Cupid said. “It’s urgent.”
Mia balled her hands into angry little fists. “Not. Now.”
Cupid stole a glance at Mia’s date and nearly lost his balance again. Tall and devastatingly handsome with a healthy crop of dark waves on top—the resemblance was unmistakable. The first guy she picked for herself was the mortal duplicate of Cupid, and for him, Mia beat?
“Uhh”—Mia’s date jerked his chin toward Cupid—“who’s this?”
Mia thrust her hip between the two men, creating a tragic chain of mismatched signals—Cupid beating for Mia, Mia beating for the Cupid lookalike, her date beating for no one.
“He’s Q,” Jonah answered.
“Q! Q!” Eli echoed, bouncing his tiny bottom up and down against Cupid’s arm.
“Boys, quiet!” she snapped, effectively silencing the chorus of Qs. “He’s the babysitter.” She sounded like someone else, someone Cupid didn’t know. Cold, detached, finished.
If her date had the sense he was looking in the mirror, he did not appear threatened by the lowly babysitter. “Ah, cool.”
“And those are my boys, Jonah and Eli, who promised to be good.” Cupid caught the heat of Mia’s warning though she aimed her words
at Jonah. “Mommy and Reese are leaving now.”
Reese. Cupid hated as he had never hated before.
“Bye-bye, Mommy and Reese.” Jonah’s sweet voice shattered the icy resolve Mia had meant for Cupid. Her sons had only gotten caught in the crossfire.
An ache settled in her eyes, a mother’s regret. Cupid shivered as Mia stepped inside again, spreading her arms to embrace the sons Cupid was hugging. She took her time with the silent amends, breathing each one into her lungs, dropping tender kisses on their freshly shampooed heads.
“Mommy will see you tomorrow. Be good for Q.” Shifting her sad smile to Cupid, Mia whispered, “Don’t wait up,” pivoted toward the door, and hooked her arm around her date’s waiting elbow.
Cupid forced his feet to stay put, hugging Jonah and Eli a little tighter as the click of the front door finalized Mia’s departure.
“Mommy go?” asked little Eli.
“Yes,” Cupid answered. “Mommy go.” Mommy walked into a giant mess of heartache, and I couldn’t do one thing to stop her. “Who wants to watch A Bedtime Story?”
“Me! Me!” Both little boys bounced in Cupid’s arms.
“Okay, little monsters, let’s get you settled in front of the TV.”
Cupid made an exciting ride of their trip back to the couch and tossed them into the cushions with carefully delivered chaos. The moment Cupid hit the cushions, the boys burrowed in on both sides, filling his arms and lap. Even Merlin forgave Cupid, after issuing a long warning yowl, and wedged himself between the warm bundles of boy.
The television droned on, hypnotizing the boys but failing to take Cupid’s mind off Mia’s heart. By now, she and her date would have arrived at Bombay Palace. She’d be sipping chai tea, falling deeper and harder for Reese. He’d be soaking it all in—who wouldn’t? A beautiful, enthralled girl, aching to fill the hole Cupid himself had hollowed out.
The vision persisted: Mia clinging to this Reese with all her heart, shunning the Right Love the gods had in store for her while some unworthy kopanos stole her affection and her devotion without offering Mia an equal share in return, trapped forever in a futile struggle to win Reese’s love like a fig tree straining to produce fruit in the shade.
First Quiver Page 19