“You’re scared of flying,” I say incredulously. But…don’t you have wings?”
Cupid throws his arms in the air. “You and my damn wings,” he says. “Do you have a wing fetish or something?”
“No!”Maybe?But that’s a question I need to probe on my own time, when I’m not running up against a deadline.
“Okay, I’m not allowed to go anywhere without you, but I also can’t take you on a plane to Vegas.” I slap my hands against my thighs, exasperated. “So I guess we’ll drive?”
I move to get my phone and pull up a car rental app. “I can reserve a car to pick up in thirty minutes. I just need to pack a couple of changes of clothes first.”
Cupid takes my wrist and pries the phone from my fingers. He scrunches his face at the screen. “I am not driving this…this…thing.”
I could scream. “You have to be kidding me.”
“It’s hideous.”
“It’s not that bad,” I insist. “And it’s electric.” He just scowls at me.
But within a second, Cupid’s stupidly handsome face lights up. He snaps his fingers, “I got this handled. Go pack, and I’ll pick you up at your apartment in thirty minutes. Wait at the curb by the mailbox.”
I nod, just happy to have a plan to leave and an excuse to get out of these close quarters with him. I’m about to step away when something occurs to me.
“Wait—how do you know where I live?”
But before I’ve even finished my sentence, Cupid is gone. I tap a few buttons on my screen to call a rideshare service, then use the two minutes before the driver arrives to contemplate what the hell I’m doing with my life.
8
Felicity
My foot is tapping an anxious beat on the sidewalk as I check my watch. It’s been half an hour and there’s no sign of Cupid. I look like a creep, craning my neck to see into every car that passes by.
Beep beep.
I hear someone obnoxiously honking their car horn down the road. I roll my eyes—it’s not unusual for drivers around here to let their frustrations out, but it still makes my skin crawl.
Beep beep beep.
Wow, this particular driver is being especially obnoxious, especially for the time of day. Rush hour is one thing, but getting road rage at eleven AM seems excessive. Hopefully, they’re not driving recklessly; I will be seriously pissed if an accident delays our trip because someone couldn’t chill out while driving.
Beep beep. Beeeeeep beeeeeep.
Now I’m not the only one craning my neck to see into cars. Everyone in my vicinity is looking for the excessive honker,trying to figure out who’s throwing a fit.
Squinting in the direction of the car horn, I can’t see anyone driving obnoxiously until…a massive redboatcomes into view.And with the top down, I can see the driver, one arm propped on the door, the other laying on the horn, and a huge smile on his face. Cupid.
Oh my god, no.
I spin in a tight circle, looking for an escape—somewhere to hide so that people won’t know he’s with me. But before I can back safely into a hedgerow and disappear, Cupid is pulling up to the curb, stillbeep-beep-beepingthe horn on that monstrosity he’s driving, and now he’s calling out my name.
“Felicity, there you are! I thought I told you to stand by the mailbox?”
My hand flies to my forehead as I try to hide my face from passers-by and any neighbors who might be around.
“What thefuckare you driving?” I hiss at him.
Cupid hops out of the car—jumps out of the front seat without even opening the door—and comes around to grab my bags.
“Isn’t it incredible? ‘54Cadillac Eldorado.” He tosses my stuff in the backseat. “Pristine condition.” Cupid opens the passenger side door and ushers me in.
