“You’re saying that my tiny software program—a smartphoneapp, mind you—is going to usher in the downfall of civilization.”
“Whoa, there,” Cupid stands up and blocks my path. “You’re looking a little peaky.” He places a hand on my shoulder and a warm palm against my forehead before pulling it away with a scrunch of his nose. “Oh. Sweaty.”
He withers under my glare.
“Excuse me for having a human reaction to this. It’s a lot to process, okay?” I swipe away his hand and wipe at my brow. I expend more mental energy than I’d prefertrying to ignore the comfort of his touch. I push past him. My wobbly legs find stability as I rest against the edge of my desk.
Cupid’s hand hovers in the air for a second or two, still cupping the air where I was standing. He drops it and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets.
“Look,” he says. “I’m not trying to ruin your life here. And I’m not stalking you—meeting you last night was just a…happy accident. But your work is messing up my whole thing, you know?” He spreads his arms with hands still in his pockets in an exaggerated shrug. “Love, passion, desire, romance…those are my domain. And pretty much the opposite of what your dating app stands for.”
I scoff, but Cupid continues as if he didn’t hear me, running a finger over the sickly plant I keep on my desk, desperately trying to stay alive despite the office’s lack of sunlight.
“Love is the foundation of humanity, the crackling undercurrent of existence, the reason for being,” he says, one hand now held aloft—holding an invisible skull, I presume.
I can’t help but snort at this. Not just at his monologue, but the entire premise behind it. Sounds like total nonsense to me.
His eyes snap to mine. “Is something funny?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Just seems a bit…dramatic.” My hand circles glibly in front of me. “All of this prediction of doom and gloom over something as small as…love. Maybe you should tell your Fates to check their crystal ball, or whatever, again.”
Cupid stills at this. Turns to face me, eyes searching for I don’t know what.
“Oh,” he says. His eyes are suddenly cold—impenetrable, unreadable pools as he studies me. “I see.”
I’m the one who breaks the tense silence. “See what?”
Cupid takes a small step toward me. “You’ve never felt it,” hesays.
I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off, stepping closer.
“You’ve never had the bone-deep need to be with someone. To breathe the same air as them.” His voice grows husky as he inches toward where I’m leaning against my desk. “The insatiable craving to know someone’s thoughts, their body, as intimately as you know your own.”
I’m frozen, a deer in headlights. Stunned by Cupid’s sudden change in demeanor, from charming and dorky to this intense person before me. My eyes track his every movement, like prey in the presence of a mountain lion.
Cupid’s eyes flick up and down my figure, and I feel a shiver at the base of my spine. He’s only a few inches away now, the space between us charged with a heady heat.
“I’m guessing that you, Felicity,” he says as he places a hand on either side of me, his closeness forcing me to hold my body rigid, “don’t know what it feels like to be on fire from the inside.” The edge of the desk is digging into my thighs, and I welcome the sting. “To burn for someone.”
My dry throat clicks when I gulp. Because…is he right?
I’ve dated before. I’ve saidI love you. I’ve given up parts of myself I never thought I would compromise for another person. But did I ever feel—like that?
Then the analytical side of me kicks in.
Those were pretty words, sure, but what does it really prove? That Cupid and I have different opinions about love—that’s all.Notthat I don’t understand love. Oh, I understand love, because I understand the consequences. The sacrifices. Theinconveniences.Besides, you don’t have to experience something to opt out of it. I’ve never done heroin, for instance, and noone judges me for that.
And so my willpower comes rushing back, filling me with the sense of self-righteousness that has fueled my late nights and early mornings, my weekends of work, spent developing my app.
My chin juts out in defiance. “So what?” I ask, looking everywhere but directly at him.
He grasps my chin and holds my face, forcing me to make eye contact. Then he leans in like he’s going to kiss me…but turns my head to the side at the last second and puts his lips to my ear.
“What about a good fuck? Not even that?”
I suck in a breath as Cupid’s hand slips from my chin to my neck, resting there for a split second before letting go.
“No,” he murmurs. “No, I can’t imagine you have.” Then he backs away. Sits in the chair he previously occupied and regards me curiously. Gone is the lighthearted, charming stranger from last night. I’m getting my first peek behind the curtain at Cupid, the god.
