Chapter 7 Felicity
Felicity
“Did you…did you shoot me yet?”
My hand reaches up to rub my chest at the area Cupid indicated just a few minutes before. I don’t feel any different. But I’ve also never been shot by a magic arrow before, so I don’t have any reliable reference point.
“Um,” he says, blinking down at me. “Yeah?”
Cupid’s reply sounds more like a question than a declarative statement. Alarm bells go off in my head. Before I can probe him on it, though, he seems to snap out of a trance.
“Yeah,” he says again, more assured this time.
“It can sometimes…take a while.” Cupid is fiddling with the candy cigarette behind his ear.
“The effects are, uh, unique to the person.” He nods, almost as if reassuring himself.
“Like with—,” his eyes shift back and forth for a second.
“Like with medication,” he says, looking relieved.
“Different side effects. Sometimes it can take a while.”
I watch him as he rambles. Does he seem nervous? Or is that me reading into things? Or is it one of the side effects of the arrow that I’m questioning this interaction right now?
“It’s funny,” I say, deadpan. “I don’t feel hopelessly devoted to you all of a sudden.”
“Believe me,” Cupid says, “it works.”
I wonder, idly, how I will know when the real effects of his arrow have kicked in. Will it be obvious, or subtle? Will it turn me into a love-sick fool, or will I remain largely the same?
Too many questions run through my head, my brain fully occupied with the mysterious effects of a magical, mythical arrow.
For his part, Cupid seems perfectly fine to let me think in silence.
I catch a glimpse of him, now pacing at the far side of the room, muttering to himself. Why is he acting all…shifty?
I’m surprised to find I feel more at ease with Cupid and this entire situation now that our cards are all out on the table. Besides, I have an ace up my sleeve that will make this whole ordeal a breeze. I almost can’t believe my luck.
Because right after Cupid disappeared—and right before he showed up again and I went through with his wager—I got a call.
For months, I’ve been trying to secure a speaker spot at a conference that would put me in front of other founders and potential investors.
An opportunity to legitimize my company and show the tech world I know what I’m doing, and I’m good at it, damn it.
Rejection after rejection, I kept applying until I made it on a waitlist of second-string speakers—the people they could call in just in case another presenter dropped out at the last minute.
And I got an offer I couldn’t refuse. For tomorrow.
In Las Vegas.
After stupid Cupid’s fucking love arrow has just infected me for the next seventy-two hours.
This is my perfect get-out-of-jail-free card. I’ll go to Vegas and do my thing, and he’ll go…somewhere else…and do his thing. Easy as that.
While Cupid is being weird and standoffish, I busy myself with packing up my work stuff. I have very little time to get to Vegas and, besides, I don’t want to stick around to see how the arrow’s side effects manifest.
It’s convenient then that I have an excuse to go far away from this situation for the next three days. As far as I’m concerned, this is a Valentine’s Day miracle.
“What are you doing?” Cupid leans against the door frame, watching me. For my part, I’m diligently ignoring how attractive he looks standing there. He’s an intriguing combination of confident and flustered and flushed, cheeks red and brow slightly damp.
“Good news!” I slap on a nonchalant smile.
“Here’s the thing—I need to leave town for a while.
Like a day or two, for this conference thing.
They just told me about it, and it’s a huge opportunity for me.
Crazy timing, right? But duty calls.” A pause as I work at the stuck zipper on my bag.
“So, I guess I’ll see you when I get back. ”
Now Cupid’s looking at me like I’m crazy. “Oh no. No way. You’re not going anywhere without me. Not after the…arrow.”
My shoulders draw up in an exaggerated shrug. “Sorry, can’t skip this. It’s too important. I know you think you’re trying to convince me to shut it all down, but I still have a business to run.”
Cupid crosses his arms, still taking up half the doorway.
I shoulder past him, squeezing through the small space. For a split second, my body is flush with his, and I feel a jolt of something in my stomach. But the moment is gone when he follows me, trailing on my heels as we make our way to the building’s exit.
“I’m coming with you,” he says.
I turn, stopping at the building entrance to face him. “Absolutely not. I don’t need whatever this is,” my hand waves between us, “messing up this opportunity.”
“And I don’t need—” Cupid makes an even more exaggerated hand-waving gesture, “this to be the reason I get into deep shit with the Fates. So yeah, I’m coming with you. You’re my responsibility for the next three days.”
This is so annoying, and I don’t have time to go back and forth with him. I need to pack and get on a plane as soon as possible. I’m about to say as much when someone lays a heavy hand on my shoulder from behind and says, “Hey, lady, get out of the way.”
I spin around and snap at the guy. “Get your fucking hands off of me!” At the same time, Cupid says, “Take your fucking hands off of her.”
The guy lifts his palms in the air. “Alright, alright. But you’re blocking the door, eh?”
Cupid gives him the stink-eye, then grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me to a small nook by the building’s entrance.
“Listen, Felicity—you’re under the influence of my arrow.
It’s, uh, important that we stay together.
For your safety. So you’re stuck with me for the next seventy-two hours, like it or not.
” He’s standing so close I can feel the warmth of his body.
His hand slides from my shoulder and settles on my waist, leaving a prickly trail in its wake. “Get used to it.”
“Fine,” I acquiesce. I don’t have the energy to put up a fight, and Cupid’s closeness is scrambling my head.
At practically the same height, there’s barely any distance between us, and it feels too much like last night when we met.
When the stranger from the bar charmed me out of my shell for a couple of hours.
And then, there’s his eyes. Dark like molasses, and warm as they travel over me like I’m something important. To top it off, he smells like warm lemon olive oil cake. Possessing all of these qualities at once should be illegal.
“Fine,” I repeat because I forgot what I was going to say next after accidentally looking at his soft lips for a split second too long. The arrow’s spell must already be spreading, I realize. I was really hoping I was immune to it.
“But you’re buying your own plane ticket,” I insist, thrusting a finger at his chest.
Cupid’s hands fall away from me, and his face pales. “Plane ticket?”
“Yep, I need to get to Vegas, like, tonight.” I straighten as I explain this, a part of me actually hoping to impress him with this information. But when I glance at him, he’s practically green.
“Oh, no. No, nope. I’m not flying anywhere. I don’t believe in airplanes.”
“You don’t believe in airplanes? They’re not Santa—they literally exist. There’s one right there,” I say, pointing at a dark speck in the sky.
He shakes his head, not unlike a toddler refusing to eat their vegetables.
“First of all, Santa is real,” he says. “Nice guy, super obsessed with cookies. Second of all, I have aviophobia, which is a very real and normal phobia that affects millions of people.” He fiddles with his jacket cuffs. “So, no planes.”
“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.