Caged in Desire

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Since when did Valentine’s Day get associated with a diaper-clad babe donning wings? Holy Zeus, I really must have gone wrong somewhere along the line.

First off, I was a grown woman. Second off? Flying around half-naked and shooting pointy-tipped projectiles? Uncalled for.

Despite all the hatred in the world, love really did make it rotate on its axis. Even if that love was a flash in the pan. Even if the myths painted the legendary god of desire as a man-child, piercing hearts with magical arrows. Even if mere mortals scoffed at the existence of immortal beings.

The stories rang true to the tune of an eternal matchmaker at work. That someone was me—Charlee Amoretti. Bound to the mortal plane by the Fates, destined to bind all hearts to another, and sworn to abide by the declarations of the gods.

A staticky teenage voice interrupted my thoughts. “Welcome to Figueroa’s Fast Food Funhouse! May I take your order?”

Yet… there I was in the drive-through of a place that had been shut down three times by the health department in the last year.

“Hi. Can I please have two lukewarm strawberry milkshakes, the not-spicy-at-all spicy chicken sandwich, a medium soggy-as-fuck fries, and an order of the questionable-looking heart-shaped chicken nuggets?”

Don’t judge me. Matchmaking during the month of February is hard work.

The lingering silence on the other side of the speaker box rang louder than explosive heartbreaks.

Finally, the kid on the other side of the intercom recovered enough to stutter out a response. “Um, yeah. Whatever you say—”

Remembering one more thing, I interrupted, “Oh! Do you have any of those mini cream puffs that always seem to be missing the actual cream?” I couldn’t forget to grab an order of those.

“Figueroa Fluffs? I think so…” he responded with clear uncertainty. Whether the question was regarding the inventory of the cheaply imitated pastry or my sanity remained undetermined.

“Good, I’ll take an order of those, too.” I nodded to myself in satisfaction and pulled away from the intercom to the first window without waiting for a response.

Sitting there in my blue pickup truck, my thumb impatiently tapped the steering wheel while I waited. I half expected to wait at least ten minutes before being acknowledged by an employee. To my pleasant surprise, they only made me wait eight minutes, practically a fucking record.

After an exchange of far too much money for the craptacular food, I pulled away as the smell of grease and regret filled the interior of my vehicle. There went the new car smell that I had been relishing for the past week.

What I didn’t sacrifice for love.

Driving across town, I blasted songs from my playlist of catchiest love tunes. Singing my heart out, I amped myself up for my next job.

Today’s lucky couple involved an introverted banker, thrice divorced and contemplating donating his sperm to the local bank. The lucky lady? His therapist’s college-age daughter. That girl was about to live out her best age-gap fantasy.

I got to play the role of an unassuming and completely ordinary Fast Ur Food delivery driver. The service was known for taking online orders for local eateries and delivering them with flair.

Almost missing my exit off the highway, I slammed on my brakes and jerked the wheel to veer right across three lanes of traffic. A chorus of horns blared behind me accompanied by a slew of wild gestures visible in my rearview mirror.

Partly hanging out the open window, my burgundy-brown hair whipping wildly in the wind, I waved with a bright smile. “Love thy neighbor! He may love you in unexpected ways, friend!” I yelled my (unsolicited) professional advice at the other drivers.

Within minutes of navigating the local roads, I pulled up to a small community park. The picnic table in the gazebo overlooking the duck pond was empty.

Perfectly on time.

Feeling my excitement building in my veins, the electrical energy crackled just beneath my skin at the thought of what was to come.

Grabbing the bag of quickly-cooling fast food, I hopped out of my truck and resisted the urge to skip over to the gazebo. Instead, I maintained a more controlled pace that bordered on power walking.

Under the guise of a simple meal delivery driver, I deposited the bag of food on the weathered surface of the table. Taking a step back, I studied the sight before me. One hand rested on my chin, the other holding the elbow of that same arm. The spitting image of a contemplative philosopher.

This needs a little something. A spark of romance, a pinch of passion, or maybe…

I snapped my fingers, and a few embellishments appeared alongside the food. Two neon bracelets linked together, LED tealights—because I refused to be responsible for burning down a local park, and a little white card that donned a romantic poem:

Roses are red.

Meal delivery is on time.

Love is beautiful.

Especially when you tip more than a dime.

Love wasn’t cheap. If I were going to go through the effort of pairing up individuals that would otherwise narrowly miss paths, I may as well be reimbursed for my talent. Taking my share of the Figueroa’s Fluffs, I beamed with pride as I retreated to a metal swing set a short distance away.

Taking my seat on a swing, I bit into the first sad excuse for a cream puff. I was close enough to make sure things went off without a hitch, but far enough not to look creepy.

What transpired next was what I liked to call the “Double-Tap” moment.

In successful matches, two hearts beat together twice in rapid succession. The stars aligned, invisible confetti shot out of unicorn asses, and I did my victory dance. It was all super magical stuff.

In matches that were not so successful? The Double-Tap had more…

obscure meanings. I’d seen everything from a double-knee strike to the ballsack, a double gunshot from the woman scorned, and in many cases, the guy just went home alone and did a one-two jerk-and-squirt.

Every so often, the unsuccessful Double-Tap was more subtle with a fake number and a false “This was fun!”

But there I was, leaning forward, waiting for the telltale signs of how this coupling was going to go. Would they hit it off and bond over food poisoning? Or would this rendezvous turn sour with a double duck attack to her kneecaps?

Fortune had it that the Fates smiled down upon us all. Our sweet middle-aged banker pulled out all the right moves. He fed the starry-eyed young woman French fries like a pro, and her giggle carried across the park.

Thump-thump.

Perfect synchronization.

I sighed wistfully. It was moments like these when you saw the two unlikely individuals come together that made everything I did worthwhile. The sacrifice of my own love story in order to give everyone else theirs was a sacrifice I made without complaint on days like today.

Valentine’s Day grew nearer one Double-Tap at a time.

Everyone’s heartbeat syncing, except mine.