redeeming cupid 01 - struck by eros (2 page)

Home? In the afternoon? What the hell?

Backing up, I hid my car in the shadows of the laurel trees lining the driveway and yanked a compact mirror out of my bag. Great. I was sporting my best just-been-fucked look.

Rummaging through my purse, I pushed past the loose charcoal sticks, the battered sketchbook, and numerous colored pencils that cluttered the bottom, looking for a brush, makeup, and perfume. Len would have a coronary if he saw the chaos inside my Coach.

Grabbing my eyeliner out of the bag, I smeared the dark liquid into large globs instead of smooth lines, thanks to my shaking fingers. Placing my hands in my lap, I took a few deep breaths to calm my way-too-guilty nerves. Tugged the tangles out of my long hair, spritzed some perfume to cover the smell of Eau de Sex.

Even with all the effort, I still felt dirty and gross and slutty. But at least I looked closer to a thirty-one-year-old, artsy-fartsy type and less like the Whore of Babylon.

With butterflies still fluttering in my stomach, I turned into the driveway, parked next to the creek that ran alongside my property, and cut the engine. The sound of the water tumbling over the rocks was more comforting than Valium.

I had to walk into the house and lie. Lie to the only person in this world I wanted to be honest with. The whole Len - Grayson situation was a complete and utter mess. But sitting in the car wishing things were different wouldn’t give my drama-filled life a happily-ever-after ending. Nope. There was only one way to find my happy ending. Convince Cupid he made a mistake, hope he released me from this soul mate nonsense, my unwanted job. But most of all Grayson.

“Stop being a wuss.” I opened the car door and forced my foot to meet the concrete.

Pumpkins and gourds lined the wooden stairs to the porch, and Indian corn decorated the front door, just the start of my fall decorations. The click of my boots on the wooden planks barely louder than the
ba-dump
of my heart. With fingers shaking, I reached for the bronze doorknob. I took one last breath, opened the door, and prepared to make a mad dash that would make the Roadrunner look like Eeyore.

I didn’t make it.

Len stood under the arched doorway to the living room, arms behind his back, his posture stick-up-the-ass straight.

My internal organs all joined hands and did the wave in the pit of my stomach.

After all the weeks of lying, had Len finally found out about my double life? About Grayson? I checked my watch to avoid his eyes, afraid he’d read the deceit. “It’s four o’clock. Don’t you have a class to teach?” My words shook with guilt and fear, but I forced my head higher and my eyes to meet his.

Len’s toothy smile reminded me of the day he surprised me with round-trip tickets to Pompeii, not the smile of someone who had figured out his girlfriend was a lying slut.

“I had something more important to do.” He tugged at the legs of his khaki pants and got down on one knee.

Nooo. No. No. No.

From behind his back he presented me with a single red rose.

Holy shit on a shingle.

The other hand dug in the pocket of his hound’s tooth blazer and retrieved a ring box.

Tiffany’s. Lord love a duck.

“Noel Chase, love of my life, would you marry me?”

My gaze fell to the small square in his palm. The ring box mocked my cheating heart. Taunted me. Teased me. Tortured me.

My stomach rode a roller coaster of guilt complete with enough twists and turns to steal my breath and voice and excitement.

Instead of running to the man of my dreams, who had just professed his undying love, all I wanted to do was shower off the smell of Grayson-flavored sex.

But a gaping mouth wasn’t the appropriate response to a marriage proposal I’d waited two years for. I fell to my knees in front of Len, meeting his brown eyes. “Nothing would make me happier than being your wife.”

In my heart I meant what I said, but the words sounded like a lie. A farce. A bunch of shit. And even worse, Grayson’s comment about stringing some poor sucker along, not being able to fully commit, shadowed what should be the happiest moment of my life with doubt and regret. Damn Grayson and his unwanted opinions.

Len wrapped his arms around me, hugged me tight, and lifted my chin. His lips puckered, ready to seal the deal.

Hell no. No way. I refused to kiss Len with Grayson’s taste on my lips. Shame caused me to twist out of his embrace, jump up, and knock the ring box out of his hand.

“Shit…crap…shoot.” I corrected myself, remembering how Len felt about women swearing. “I’m sorry.” Scrambling to pick up the light turquoise box, the tip of my boot hit it and it skittered away from my fingers.

“Proposal jitters.” Len leaned over, grabbed the box from between my feet, and opened the top.

I reached out to touch the sparkly diamonds nested in the soft white fabric, but spotting my shaky fingers, I hid my hands behind my back.

“It’s a two-carat princess-cut diamond.” When I didn’t respond he filled the silence. “Just like we talked about.”

The boulder blocking any words from leaving my mouth made this the most awkward proposal ever.

Len cleared his throat. “The band is platinum. The clarity of the diamond, nearly perfect. I searched until I found one similar to your mother’s.”

My mother’s ring. The ring I had admired my entire life.

He pulled his promise of safety and security out of the box and reached for my hand. “I had planned on taking you to your favorite restaurant, maybe even the theater to do this.” The cool metal slid over my finger like the hangman’s noose over my throat. “But when I picked it up today, I couldn’t wait a moment longer.”

The perfect circle of metal and diamonds wrapped around my ring finger was sparkly and beautiful, and just what I had always hoped for. But taking it would be wrong.

Great time to grow a conscience.

I had every intention of removing Len’s symbol of love, rattling some skeletons, airing weeks’ worth of dishonesty and deceit. But a mini-me with red hair, green eyes, horns—and, of course, a pitchfork—hopped up on my shoulder. The she-devil whispered the only words I wanted to hear. I deserved Len and to hell with anyone who tried to keep me from him.

With a tug, I pulled Len off his knees, wrapped my arms around him, and hugged him close. Behind his back, I flashed a middle finger of defiance I hoped Cupid saw high up on Mount Olympus.

Fuck soul mates. Fuck Grayson. Fuck Cupid.

I was keeping the ring.

Two

Soul Mates? Try Soul Sucking Mates

Stupid Cupid
, by Neil Sedaka, played from my cellphone. Must be 10:13 a.m. Cupid’s daily text with details of who, what, when, and where for our daily soul mate connection. Never early. Never late. I snatched the phone off the nightstand and pushed the mute button before the noise woke my sleeping fiancé, then checked the readout.

Coronado Beach. 11:30a.m. Purple arrow.—Q

Great. The beach. The last place I wanted to spend my day, or any day for that matter. My finger hovered over the “f” as I considered texting back
fuck off
, but I knew from experience my reply would bounce back. I tossed the phone back on the nightstand. It skittered across the antique, black wood then ping-ponged between my book and water bottle before settling.

Len’s arm brushed against mine. I pulled the cream and gold comforter over my shoulders and cuddled closer, wishing I could stay in bed all day and snuggle. But Cupid’s minions didn’t get sick days or holidays or time off for good behavior. Instead, I got a demanding boss, no pay, and chained to a man-whore till death do us part.

I’d complain, but I didn’t think Cupid’s minions had a union.

Leaving the warmth of our bed and Len’s comforting touch, I took one last look at my fiancé. His sandy-blond hair—only messy when he slept—fell across his face, obscuring what they call a Roman nose, something a vainer man would have had a plastic surgeon fix. Not Len. He wasn’t Grayson gorgeous, and for that I was thankful.

Gorgeous equaled heartache, and heartache equaled another dent in my already battered heart.

I tiptoed into the bathroom, slipped out of my lavender-silk nightie, and hopped into the shower. The warm water washed over my hand and added more sparkle to the diamonds on my finger.
Thump, thump, thump.
I banged my head against the swirled beige and white tile. “Fuck,” I whispered, so Len wouldn’t hear my slip of etiquette.

What had I done? It was hard enough hiding my double life as his girlfriend, but engaged? Married? This took complicated to a whole new level.

Cupid thought Grayson was my perfect match, but he didn’t realize that if I ended up with a man like Grayson, I would die. Men who only cared about their next conquest, the next woman they could get balls deep into. Men who couldn’t offer more than half an hour of pleasure, but could offer a lifetime of regret.

I dried off, pulled my hair into a high ponytail, applied a touch of eyeliner to my upper lids, then finished off my makeup with light layer of mascara and lip-gloss. I’d love to go
au naturel
, but who knew what role I would be playing in connecting our unlucky-in-loves. Wandering into my walk-in closet, I found a black bikini and coral cover up, and stuffed the top into my art tote. Might as well take advantage of sunny California’s golden rays and bake my skin while doing Cupid’s errands.

But letting Len catch me in a bathing suit and headed to the beach would look way too suspicious. So I found my oldest pair of paint-splattered sweat pants and one of Len’s old T-shirts, my usual work uniform, and covered the bathing suit bottoms.

My new bauble sparkled from my finger, the diamonds catching the light, creating little polka dots on the walls. Len made the perfect choice. Perfect size. Perfect shape. Perfect man. Too bad his fiancée lived the perfect double life.

A double life I hadn’t chosen, hadn’t wanted, and certainly would be fleeing from the moment I found a way out. And finding a way out had just moved to the top spot on my to-do list.

Slipping the ring off my finger, I dropped Len’s declaration of love in the center of my vintage perfume bottle collection on my dressing table, hiding the one thing I wanted to show to the world. But Grayson could never find out I’d gotten engaged. After his comments at the hotel yesterday, it was obvious he didn’t think I should date, let alone promise to love, honor, and obey.

I went back into the bedroom, planning to slink back under the covers, enjoy a few more carefree minutes with the man I loved before I met the man I loathed, but the gold and cream comforter was tossed aside and the bed was empty. I wandered into the hall and the familiar aroma of Len’s amaretto coffee was like an invisible index finger beckoning me to the kitchen.

Len stood at the stove flipping bacon in a pair of ripped jeans and nothing else, his bed-head hair now slicked back and tame. I wanted to run my fingers through it and return it to its wild state.

If I had a sketchbook close at hand, I would have loved to take a moment to sketch the way his 501s sat on his hipbone and his Calvin’s peeked out from underneath, but all my drawing tools were safely tucked away in my office to avoid clutter around the house. Instead, I wrapped my arms around him from behind, pressing closer to his body.

He snaked his free arm around me, pulled me tight, and planted a kiss on my head. He put the spatula down on the spoon rest, turned, and looked at my work attire. “Going out?”

“I’m off to the studio to work.” The lie tripped over my tongue and the betrayal tripped over my heart.

He pulled the T-shirt away from my neck and kissed my collarbone. “Sure I can’t persuade you to stay home?” His fingers wandered to the edge of my sweats.

It killed me to stop him from exploring further, but I knew better than to be late for my matchmaking session. “I have to work on a new piece for the mythology project.” Not a full lie but still, another lie piled on top of a hill of lies.

“You can’t work from home today?”

“All the supplies I need are at the Rail Yard.”

“How about postponing for a couple of hours?” His hand grabbed my backside and squeezed. “I took the whole day off to spend with you to celebrate.”

I’d give anything to stay and be seduced by Len, but if I refused to do Cupid’s bidding, bad things happened. I’d tested the boundaries once, just once, and swore the hours spent huddled over the toilet praying for the swift death Cupid promised wasn’t worth repeating.

I turned around, snitched a piece of toast off the plate so I wouldn’t have to face him with yet another lie. “I wish I could, but it’s an important job. New client. Big commission.”

He wrapped his arms around me from behind and hugged me closer. “Dinner tonight to celebrate? That new Italian place?”

My head leaned against his chest, and I sighed. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He slapped me on the rear. “Then get to work lady, so you can come home, and I can make love to you before our night out.”

Closing the door and leaving Len behind felt wrong. The way my libido picked up at the thought of seeing Grayson felt wrong. This whole Cupid-screwed situation felt wrong. Totally fucking wrong. I put Doris’s soft top down and hopped in. San Diego’s cool, ocean air helped calm the anger to low level irritation.

Pulling in behind Grayson’s black Audi R5, my first instinct was to ram it up the rear, but the damage to Doris wouldn’t be worth the tiny temper tantrum. Instead, I grabbed my bag, and pulled out my bathing suit top. Without being indecent, I pulled my arms through the sleeves of my T-shirt. Wrangled my bikini top under my shirt. Clasped it, and made sure it covered all my womanly bits, before pulling the shirt over my head and tossing it in the back seat. I wiggled out of my sweats, slipped into a pair of flip-flops, and stepped out of the car.

The car door closed with a creak and a slam, imitating my feelings for the next couple hours of my life. I walked past the large, jagged rocks that separated the sidewalk from the beach in search of my co-worker.