redeeming cupid 01 - struck by eros (11 page)

He stopped his search for our matching green arrow and turned around. “You love to blame others for the bad things in your life, but if you had been honest with Len four weeks ago, this wouldn’t be happening now.”

“Honest about what? You? Cupid?” Tiny rage cyclones circled my belly. “What was I supposed to say? Len, a winged freak with a bow and arrow picked someone else for me, so, thanks for the past two years, but we’ve got to break up now?”

His gaze flicked toward the ceiling for the briefest second. “That’s not what I’m saying. But he deserves better than a wife who can’t be one hundred percent honest with him at all times.”

“That’s why I am searching for a way out of this mess.” My voice sounded as helpless as I felt. “For an escape from Cupid. From you.”

“Hopefully you find your escape soon. I wouldn’t want you to waste another minute with me than you have to.” With a smile that left a lot to be desired, he turned his back on me and continued his search for today’s lucky soul mate.

Time and distance hadn’t healed the hurt from this morning’s shower incident. Sex on the stairs hadn’t either. My words had just made things worse.

The words I wanted to spew wouldn’t come out, but I followed him around thinking how easy it would be to rip out Grayson’s heart and fling it deep into the ocean.

“There’s our other arrow.” He pointed to a raven-haired girl in black, skinny jeans, an Adventure time T-shirt, and beat up Doc Martens. Grayson checked his watch. “The library closes in thirty minutes. Let’s do a Scenario Eight when they leave.” He covered his watch with the cuff of his shirt. “I’ll watch Romeo, you keep tabs on Juliet.” He wandered off, not even noticing that I hadn’t spoken a word.

I threw my bag on a table and watched our green arrow. How did Cupid know that she didn’t already have the perfect man at home waiting for her? I pulled the books out and hugged them close to my chest. The answer I needed to relieve me of Cupid, Grayson, that unwanted physical attraction, had to be in there somewhere. I just had to find it before Len lost faith in me and disappeared for good.

The librarian announced closing time over the loud speaker and the girl packed her messenger bag. I followed at her heels, not wanting to screw up their connection. Grayson came around the corner following behind her perfect match. We walked to the exit in pairs. When we were close to the door, Grayson stepped on the boy’s shoelace. Mr. Sliding Glasses tripped and knocked into his match, sending her bag crashing to the ground.

He reached down, picked up her bag, and held it out to her. “Sorry about that.”

When she took the strap, their fingers touched and their arrows faded. A perfect Scenario Eight and one of the fastest connections I had ever witnessed.

Grayson and I didn’t stop to gawk. The arrows were gone; they would spend the rest of their days blissfully in love. We walked out through the door into the cool evening air. I headed toward Doris and Grayson went to his car. He didn’t spare me a second look when he got in and started up the engine. Didn’t stop and roll down his window as he passed me by. Didn’t utter one inappropriate or lewd comment.

I watched his tail lights fade in the distance, not sure why I felt an achy loneliness. Maybe it was because the only thing waiting for me was an empty house, the ghost of a relationship, and a life more messed up than my living room.

My life made pathetic look like a party.

Nine

Once a Man-Whore Always a Man-Whore

My daily Cupid text.
Screamers. 10:30p.m. Yellow arrow.—
Q

Followed by a text from Grayson.
Dress sexy. Something tight, short, and see- through.

Looks like he decided I wasn’t the devil on earth after all.

A late night assignment meant a free day for me, and there was only one place I wanted to spend it. In my studio.

I traveled to the Rail Yard, dressed in the rattiest clothes I could find. My train car sat at the end, right before the caboose. I opened the rusted red door and sucked in the smell of art. The space was small, but all mine and what I needed. Canvases, some empty, some already finished, leaned against the corrugated metal walls. Sculptures covered tables and clay-splattered drop cloths covered the floors. Everything chaotically organized.

Before I met Len, I used to work out of the house, but he complained about the mess, so I searched until I found this little slice of heaven. Now, no one complained if I left footprints of blue paint on the floors, or globs of clay hanging off the ceiling
.

I stuck my hands into a bucket of clay, grabbed a hunk, and threw it on the potter’s wheel. I spun the platform and molded the mass into something strange and beautiful. A free form, nothing I would ever sell, but the process helped me settle, helped erase the dark cloud that hovered so close to the surface, helped me focus on something besides the complications in my life.

Once my hands warmed up and the creativity flowed, I pulled out a painting I had been working on since Grayson entered my life.

Lost in a world of canvas and creativity, I almost didn’t hear the knock on the door. I put one last stroke on the gallery piece in front of me, placed the brush on the stand, and pulled back the door. Grayson leaned against the wall, one hand in the pocket of his perfect-fitting dress pants, and a bar of chocolate and caramel goodness in the other.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, eyeing the chocolate treasure, which suppressed my normal Grayson growl greeting.

“I was rude to you yesterday and wanted to apologize.” He held out my favorite indulgence.

I wiped my dirty hands on my pants and grabbed his peace offering. “You brought chocolate. Apology accepted.” I pulled the door open all the way so he could fit through. “Want to come in?”

He walked into my private sanctuary. Len had only been to the Rail Yard once, the day I moved all my stuff out of the house and into the studio. Len never felt comfortable in this part of my world and he never felt like he fit in, so I kept it private, sometimes it was the only thing that kept me sane. But having Grayson here didn’t seem wrong or weird. Somehow it seemed like he belonged, a feeling I didn’t get with Len. I shook off the oddity.

I leaned my hip against a filing cabinet, unwrapped the chocolate treasure, and broke off a hunk. Grayson moved from one piece to another, spending a good amount of time studying each painting and sculpture, like he was actually interested. Like he wanted to see what part of my soul I left on the canvas, depicted in the oil paint and hurried brush strokes.

He moved back to the third in the collection, an abstract with more meaning behind every brush stroke than he could guess. “This is my favorite.”

“Mine too.” I stepped closer to the canvas and ran my finger over the raised stripes of paint. “Inspiration came after I was struck by Cupid.”

“Why isn’t it hanging on a wall at your house or in a gallery on display? Why hide it away in your studio?” His eyes searched mine, like he could pull the truth from my soul.

I shrugged away the feeling of discomfort. “Len doesn’t care for abstract art, and it’s too personal for me to sell to a gallery.”

He frowned and then turned back to the painting. “That’s a shame, because it really deserves to be appreciated.”

He pushed aside dirty rags and jars of dried paint, another reason I had to move to a studio, and leaned against a wooden cabinet, not once worried his pants would get stained, a constant fear of Len’s “You’re very talented. I never knew.”

That one small compliment widened the sliver of space in my heart he occupied, and moved him one step higher than a cockroach. “Thanks. Not many people think what I do as a true profession, but art is my passion.” I broke another piece of chocolate and held it out to him.

He accepted the treat and took a bite. Once he chewed and swallowed, he said, “Do you make money doing what you love?”

“Enough to survive.” I relaxed in the chair. “After my parents died, I inherited a large sum of money and my house. I worked at a gallery at the time, but wanted to quit to pursue my own art. Thanks to my inheritance I finally have the opportunity.”

“Don’t ever let anyone force you to quit.” He pushed away from the cabinet. “Anyways, I’ll let you get back to what you’re doing. I just wanted to stop by and tell you that I’m sorry for acting like an ass yesterday. There’s no excuse for treating you badly.”

I walked him to the door, but before he got into his car I called out, “Grayson, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Remember, short, sexy, and see through. Or least two of the three.” With a guarded smile, he waved from his car window before he turned the corner and drove away.

Grayson’s peace offering and unexpected apology added more confusion to my already conflicted feelings toward him.

* * * *

Forcing my neuropathways to concentrate on tonight’s job, I stepped into my walk-in closet and perused my options for the evening. Grayson asked for sexy. I had plenty of sexy in my closet, most of it from a time before I met Len. I found a sapphire-blue, off the shoulder shirtdress hidden in the back. One of my favorites. It wasn’t tight or see-through, but boy, it sure took care of short and sexy. I’d never worn it in front of Len because bending over would reveal more than he thought a lady should expose.

I held the soft, blue fabric in front of me, pulling my hair up in a messy bun, and gave myself a serious case of duck lips. “Am I really getting all fancied up for a night at a bar with Grayson, or the job?” My arms fell to my side.

My personal little devil popped up.
Why not? It’s a chance to let loose, let go, be yourself…with Grayson.

The angel of reason countered.
But you have a broken heart. Or have you forgotten Len already?

Forgotten Len? Never. But a night to be free. To be the person I used to be, sounded like a welcome relief. Because when you looked deep at my relationship with Len, I had changed to make him happy. To be different than the girl who allowed men to break her heart. I went from sexy and adventurous to plain and boring, but I did it to save myself. In many ways, Len had refined me, but I lost a little of the spark that had defined me along the way.

I missed that spark.

“Let’s have some fun.” I slipped the dress up over my shoulders and adjusted the hem.

The hoops I had rejected for my date with Len sat where I had tossed them. I picked them up, knowing they were perfect for a night out with Grayson. I swept my long, ginger hair in a semi-messy, side braid and painted on the war paint. A necklace with a large silver and sapphire pendant came next. Four-inch silver heels brought me to the five foot-seven range, and a small silver clutch held all my necessities.

But I had to remind myself. Tonight wasn’t a date, it was work. Only work.
Whatever.

At ten on the dot, Grayson’s car pulled into the driveway. I locked the door and noticed Grayson got out and opened the passenger side door. His hair was in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck, secured with a black leather strip that matched his pants. He greeted me with a wicked smile that promised naughty things.

A smile that involuntarily tickled my insides.

He circled around me, a low whistle sounding his approval. “Short and sexy looks good on you.” The smell of his cologne, that distinct Grayson odor filled the air and made me once again forget that this wasn’t a date and that we wouldn’t end up having sex.

I didn’t want to admit to myself that his compliment made my heart beat a little faster, made me feel beautiful and wanted. It felt good to be admired for the person I was instead of criticized for who I wasn’t.

Screamer’s was a local club where the music thumped, the singles flirted, and people practically had sex on the dance floor. Len wouldn’t approve, but Len wasn’t here.

We pulled up in front of an old warehouse with the perfect amount of grunge to make it cool. A pair of neon lips sucking on the word “Screamers” hung over the door. Wonder what marketing genius thought of that? Scantily clad women in painted-on dresses and knock-em-dead heels strolled the sidewalk on their way to the entrance. A bouncer the size of a small mountain checked IDs and opened the door for the patrons.

Grayson left his car with a valet, put his hand on the small of my back, and guided me to the VIP entrance. The bouncer waved us through with a nod of his head

“You’ve obviously been here before.” I couldn’t keep the smug from popping into my tone.

“Work takes me to a lot of places.” He held the door and I walked past.

The art deco interior housed a large, crowded dance floor where the bravest of the brave, or the more desperate of the desperate, busted a move on the slick tile, hoping their jiggles would attract the perfect mate, or at least a rich one.

Men lurked on bar stools, in corners and by the entrance, and eyed every female who passed their way. You had your wanna-be Rico-Sauvés, the Nerds who just wanted to be noticed, and everyone’s favorite, the Boy Next Door.

Colorful arrows bobbed over the heads of many of the patrons. According to Cupid, everyone had a soul mate, some just connected easier than others. Grayson and I dealt with the more difficult jobs. Tonight we were looking for a pair of yellow arrows.

“There’s our mark.” Grayson slid his arm around my shoulders and pointed to one of the bars that lined the perimeter of the room.

A large, yellow arrow floated over the head of a girl with long, wavy blonde hair in low-rise jeans and midriff-barring top. Her hand was wrapped around a beer bottle, and her sensible flats bounced on the bar stool footrest to the techno-beat that filled the club.

“Go make small talk and I’ll find our boy.” Grayson gave me a slap on the backside to move me in her direction.

I glared at his retreating back as he disappeared onto the crowded dance floor, then walked to the bar and hopped onto the empty barstool next to Ms. Yellow Arrow. Placing my order, I waited until the bartender returned with my rum and Coke.

He placed my drink in front of me, and I spun the short red straw in a slow lazy circle, listening to the clink of the ice against the glass. “Don’t you hate these places?” I asked the side of her head.