“All right, Cupids. The big day is in three days. Make as many matches as you can before the love year resets!” my ex-boyfriend says to the massive crowd, where we’re all gathered in Cupidale for our weekly huddle.
Fucking the boss was absolutely a bad idea.
Not only is Eros a complete tool, but his new flavor of the month, Juliet, stands to his right. Only two weeks ago, it was me standing there.
It’s not that I’m devastated over not being with him, I just hate this feeling of being so easily forgettable.
But I’m not the new cupid on the block. In fact, I’m up for the Seductress of the Year Award, and he loathes that. Eros is only happy when he’s the center of attention.
He broke up with me the day the nominees were announced.
I thought maybe he’d be proud of me and support me just like I did when he won the Fuck Boy Award last year. Yes, there is absolutely an award for that. I know it’s drab, yet also completely fitting for the beaming male cupid in front of me. He isn’t handsome anymore, when I look at him all I feel is stupidity for ever letting him dig his perfectly pink manicured nails into me.
Well not really, Eros wasn’t completely into the things I am, yet I stayed, and I feel like an idiot for it. You’d think that since he’s the boss he would be dominant in bed. Definitely not, if anything he’s more of a pillow prince, and that’s absolutely not what I want long term. If anyone should be getting the royal treatment in bed, it’s me.
But as soon as he saw that I wasn’t the naïve little cupid that needed a big strong man telling me how to do my job, he dropped me. Broke up with me without even blinking, hardly gave me an explanation. The bastard even called it mutual uncoupling. For using that phrase alone, I truly want to make him pay.
Deep down, I know I’m better for it, I deserve someone better. Someone who likes me for me, who is supportive, and who can give me what I truly need in a relationship. Which includes someone who isn’t afraid to take charge and put me first for a change. Eros only thinks about what he wants—I’m pretty sure he jerks off while looking in a mirror.
But did he really have to break up with me two weeks before the Valentine’s Day Ball?
The event is the biggest day of the year for cupids. The ghosts have Halloween; the angels have Christmas, and I’m not sure what the reapers have, but they must have some morbid celebration one day a year.
But there’s no way that their celebrations are anywhere near as good as the Love New Year. We celebrate with absolute debauchery, and now I have to go solo. Only the dud cupids go to the Valentine’s Day Ball solo, or the ones that are really into group stuff. Sadly, I find I get overstimulated with more than one set of hands on me.
Cupids spend months planning their wardrobe and making plans for this event. I already have a dress, I’m up for an award, I have no other option but to go. I really want to put itchingpowder in his tighty-pinkies just for the simple fact that I’m now scrambling for a date to the event.
Only a real asshole breaks up with someone—specifically a cupid—right before Valentine’s Day.
“What a fucking prick,” Amore says next to me.
“You can say that again.”
“What a fucking prick,” she repeats and I smile.
“What am I going to do, Amore? I’ve asked nearly all the cupids I know, and they already have dates to the ball. I can’t not go, I’m up for an award. But there’s no way in hell I can go solo. Not when he’ll be with Juliet. I’ll look like the pathetic stupid cupid who got dumped while he raw dogs her in the corner of the venue.”
Amore snickers and shakes her head. I’m not kidding that I’ve asked just about every cupid if they’re free—that probably doesn’t help my case for looking absolutely desperate. God, I want Eros to suffer. While winning the award will be a solid slap in the face, I need it to really hurt. He needs to realize I’m the one who’s doing better after the relationship.
“Every cupid already has a date?”
“Every single one I know, yes.” I sigh dramatically, watching as Eros wraps his arms around Juliet. The poor new cupid has no idea what she signed up for. I suppose I didn’t either.
That’s how the bastard gets you, with his perfectly quaffed pink hair, and sparkly pink skin. Not to mention he has a special plated quiver and bow because he’s upper management. Which really is just nepotism in its highest form. He didn’t truly earn his spot managing the cupids within the Milky Way; he was given the position by his father. And boy does the cocky son of a bitch use it to his advantage.
Fuck him and his special quiver and bow. Because I can tell you from experience, his real quiver (if you know what I mean) is nothing to write home about.
I’m seething as I stare at him. I hate feeling foolish, but most of all Iloathefeeling used. I watch people fall in love all day, and I desperately want it for myself. But as I look around the room full of cupids who are in relationships or other entanglements, I can’t help but feel a little hopeless. Like I don’t belong. Eros breaking up with me just magnified that tenfold.
“What if you didn’t bring a cupid?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, furrowing my brows at Amore.
“A different immortal in the veil,” she says with a shrug.
Her hair is a darker shade of pink that’s braided and wrapped around her head. She’s taller than me too, and her pink skin is more of a raspberry shade to my bubblegum pink.
I swallow and blink at her.Is that even legal?
