“So go if you want to go,” he adds, waving a hand toward the door. “But I think you’ll want to hear what I have to tell you.”
I cross my arms huffily and flop back into the chair. “Fine.”
“The name’s Cupid, by the way. Nice to officially meet you, Love.”
5
Felicity
I’m staring, slack-jawed, at a man dressed like an Elvis Presley impersonatorwho claims he’s Cupid—therealCupid—entirely speechless. I don’t think I’ve said a word for at least five minutes, and he looks concerned.
“Felicity,” Cupid snaps his fingers an inch from my face. “Anyone home in there?”
I shake my head, coming back to the present.
What strikes me most in this moment is how damnsincereCupid looks. Not that I have much experience with crazy stalkers or supernatural entities, but I don’t think he’s lying. I’m not a woo-woo, spiritual, mystical type of woman. I’m an engineer at heart. I believe in frameworks and systems, analytic reasoning—not vibes and auras, or whatever. That means it goes against my programming to accept that the flesh-and-blood person in front of me could be a literal deity from mythology.
But…well. I kind of believe him. So maybe we’re both off our rockers here. Still, as a woman of science, I need evidence.
“If you are really Cupid,” I say, uncrossing my arms, “showme your wings.”
“Okay, show me your boobs,” he counters.
I splutter. “What?!”
“Oh, was that rude?” Cupid narrows his eyes at me. “I thought we were just asking to see each other’s private parts.”
Fair enough.“Sorry,” I reply, properly chastened. “I’ve never met a—” my brain hitches on the next word, but Cupid cuts in graciously.
“God.”
“Sure.” I shudder. “I’ve never met agodbefore.” Deep breath in, long breath out. Sitting back in my chair, I hug myself as I take in this new information.
Cupid is very attractive, sure. He’s got the quirky, off-beat charisma of that one straight guy in theater club who likesWest Side Storya little too much. Average height, good hair, great smile, nice hands. Definitely not how I would have pictured a mythical god. Aren’t they supposed to be buff and intimidating, with long flowing beards? This god is the opposite of intimidating. He’s just…Cupid.
But more than that, he’s exactly the man I remember meeting last night. The one who caught me off guard, who made me laugh; who I almost kissed before I came to my senses, becauseI don’t kiss strangers from barstwo hours after meeting them. Because I’m practical. Sensible.
That face is the same handsome face. The smile is the same crooked slash. Same jacket, same tight jeans—same guy I thought about as I…
I clear my throat. Not the time to followthattrain of thought.
“Okay, go over the message with me one more time—Cupid?” I meant it as a command, but it came out as a question.
So he repeats what he just told me minutes before, and, yep.It’s just as crazy the second time around.
“So you’re telling me,” I say slowly. “That theFates—all-knowing beings and, to quote you verbatim, ‘total weirdo triplets’—sent you to find me and convince me to stop developing my app.” He nods along as I repeat the information back to him, as if any of this makes sense. I continue: “Because if I don’t stop, and actually do release my app, it will become so hugely popular and successful—”
Another nod, accompanied by a thumbs up. “That it will make dating for love completely obsolete. Which is a bad thing, because—again, I’m quoting you—it will cause society as we know it to crumble?”
Cupid tilts his head back and forth, face pulled into a thoughtful frown. “More or less,” he concludes. “Though it’s not so much adirectcausation…but that’s just getting into semantics.”
I stare at him.
“But that’s…” I start, reaching for what I’m trying to say.
“Terrible?”
“Impossible!” I hop up from my chair and start pacing the length of the room.
