Cupid’s Contract (Holidate)

Chapter 1

EVERLEE – IT’S A CUPID PARTY

Fuck me.

I glance across my display of battery-operated boyfriends, BOB for short, and they’re all on life support—a graveyard of blinking red LEDs.

My favorite, the bright green one with a large ripply shaft and little nubs on the end, is the worst off.

My best friend, Lizzy, bought it for me when I was going through a monster smut phase and thought it would make me feel like I was fucking a monster. And it doesn’t disappoint.

Guess I won’t be using any of you tonight!

Irritation flares—mostly at myself for not planning better—as I snatch my phone off the dresser and flip open the Let’s Mingle app.

A pity party download I signed up for at Christmas.

A one-year subscription all because I was sad, drunk, and the fucking ad rhymed. Jingle, jingle, let’s mingle!

I’m a sucker for ads that rhyme. And anything with a gift-with-purchase.

Which explains the bar cabinet overflowing with random liqueurs and fifty martini glasses that are silently judging me.

I pretend they’re collectibles to make myself feel better because this past Christmas was a low point for me.

So many promotions and gift-with-purchase.

Did I need them all?

No.

But I was sad and wanted to be drunk. My favorite is the no-stem martini glass with a pair of googly eyes at the bottom looking at you. Seriously though, what was I thinking?

As soon as the app opens, the bubble beside my name turns green and my phone dings.

Eight new matches.

As my finger swipes across the screen, I search for someone who catches my eye, but find nothing. Frustrated, I close the app and dial Lizzy, who answers on the first ring.

“Hooker, you were supposed to call two hours ago!” she yells into the phone over the deafening bass thumping around her. She’s always been eccentric and wild but is probably the most loyal friend anyone could have—if you can get past the name-calling and all her weird terms for cock and vagina.

I pull the phone away from my ear for a second. “I’m calling now.”

“Are you coming tonight?”

“I hope so.” My gaze shifts back to my shelf on the wall as I look longingly at Bob, Bob, Bob, and Bob.

“What? To the Valentine’s party!” she yells again, completely dismissing what I said before letting out a squeal. “Tony says you should totally come. He has a friend he wants you to meet.”

I roll my eyes. That’s the entire reason I don’t want to go. I don’t want to play third wheel at whatever club they’re at. Not only do I think it’s a made-up holiday created by jewelry companies to squeeze money out of people, but I don’t want to be set up.

I’m old enough that I should be in a stable, committed relationship, but that doesn’t really seem like it’s in the future for me.

The longest relationship I’ve had was my last, which was fourteen months.

I really thought we were going somewhere, and apparently, he did too, with three other women.

It’s been six months since our official breakup, so now I’ve become the natural pet project for my best friend, Lizzy.

She and Tony have been in a relationship for three months and one day.

I know this because we had to go out yesterday to find a special outfit for their three-month anniversary.

We ended up at Le Rousso’s, the local kink shop, because she wanted something extra spicy.

When she caught me looking at their vibrator collection, she tried to buy me another one, which I declined, but am now regretting.

She then insisted I come to this Valentine’s party tonight.

Hard pass.

I lied and said I had plans because I thought I did. I glare at my toys. Traitors!

“You know you don’t have to set me up. I’m totally fine being single right now. I love the fact that I’m getting to meet people.”

“You were staring at a wall of dildos and vibrators yesterday. How many people could you be meeting?” Fortunately, she seems to have stepped outside because the music is quieter and she’s no longer yelling.

“It’s always good to have variety.”

“Of men. Not dildos.”

“I disagree.”

“Girl. Come on. I know you’re not doing anything tonight. You hate this holiday, so come hang out with your BFF and get wasted.”

“It’s a Valentine’s party. You want me to go to a party celebrating the holiday I hate?”

She laughs. “Yes,” she says matter-of-factly, then continues, “At a dance club and possibly go home with someone new. I’m just trying to help you get some ass. Isn’t that what a wing lady is supposed to do?”

“Fine. I’ll be there soon. Text me the address.”

“Wait. You need to dress up.”

“Dress up?”

“Yeah. It’s a Cupid party.”

“What in the hell is a Cupid party?”

She laughs again, the kind of laugh where you know you’re screwed. The kind of laugh your best friend uses when they've just roped you into some wild shit they knew you wouldn’t like, so they make you agree before giving you all the details.

“Why am I still friends with you?”

“Because you love me and your life would be boring as hell without me in it.”

I shake my head, trying to figure a way out of this. “I don’t have an outfit.”

“Boo boo, do you think I’d let you come unprepared? Go get the big red box from under your bed.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I shit you not,” she says deadpan.

Putting the phone on speaker, I hastily walk to the edge of my bed, drop to my knees, and pull out a large box.

“Hurry. Open it! You’re going to love it.” She’s nearly jumping through the phone with excitement.

“I doubt it.”

“Stop, puss pants.”

After I untie the red velvet bow, I cautiously remove the lid. I’ve learned over the years to approach gifts from Lizzy with caution. She loves those cards that burst open with glitter, which sort of matches her personality.

“What am I looking at?”

My fingers instinctively rub over the white feather-trimmed bra and matching panties, a white sheer slip-looking thing, and a pair of red wings.

“Is this a sex party?” I yell because apparently by brain has chosen panic as a coping mechanism.

She lets out a loud cackle as if I caught her off guard. “No. No. No. Not really. But you have to dress up to get in.”

“Like this?”

“Well, the men’s match, but with no shirts on, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

I drop the items back into the box and rub my hands over my face, because apparently today needed one more inconvenience.

“You okay, boo?”

“Why didn’t you tell me it’s a Cupid party?”

“Because you’d say no.” She pauses for only a second. “Tony’s friend is super-hot and looking forward to meeting you.”

“Yay.” My voice drips with sarcasm.

“Get your ass over here!” The music in the background gets louder.

“Fine. You owe me, though.”

“You can repay me with your orgasms.” She laughs out loud, the unfiltered kind you only manage when you’re drunk, fully aware you’ve said something wildly inappropriate, and blissfully past the point of caring.

“Bye, and please don’t drink too much.”

Silence.

She hung up on me.

With a huff, I lift each piece, letting them dangle from my fingers, trying to figure out what in the hell I’m doing.

Here goes nothing.