The Problem With Cupid (Holiday Romance Book 2)

by Robin Daniels

  ROBIN DANIELS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE

  COPYRIGHT

  ALSO BY

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  ABOUT ROBIN

  Published by Bluefields

  Copyright © 2019 by Robin Daniels

  Edition 1.0

  Edited by Jennifer Henkes (www.literallyjen.com)

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ALSO BY ROBIN DANIELS

  YOUNG ADULT NOVELS

  Perfectly Oblivious

  Perfectly You

  Perfectly Summer

  Perfectly Misunderstood

  Fate & Fortune

  Kismet & Karma

  One of the Girls

  YOUNG ADULT NOVELLAS

  The Trouble With Christmas

  The Problem With Cupid

  NEW ADULT NOVELS

  Millionaire B&B

  “I think you have an admirer.” Garland nodded toward a leggy blonde who was headed to a table across from us. She and her friend were giggling as she gave me a sidelong glance and a coy smile. Her lips were plump and shiny, her teeth were perfectly straight, and she was well endowed in all the right places. By anyone’s standards, the girl was hot.

  But I couldn’t seem to care about hot girls lately. Or any girls, for that matter. I was getting sick of the game, and I had a new perspective on dating—it was pointless. My relationship fail over Christmas break made me realize that I wanted more than physical attraction and chemistry. I wanted friendship, too. I already knew I wouldn’t find it with a girl like blondie.

  “Maybe she’s looking at you,” I replied.

  Garland gave me a flat expression, then rolled his eyes. “Don’t patronize me. We both know she’s not. I’m the plucky sidekick. The wingman extraordinaire. The comic relief. Girls like that don’t look at guys like me.”

  “Hmpfh.” I grunted, glaring daggers at him. “I’m not patronizing you. You’re cool. You’re funny. You’re smart. You aren’t ugly.” Garland raised an eyebrow, and I deadpanned, “If I were a chick, I’d totally be into you.”

  He laughed and bit into his pizza. “If you were a chick, you wouldn’t be my type.”

  “Harsh! That hurts, man.” I fake-stabbed myself in the heart.

  When I opted to attend Dunhurst College instead of going Ivy League, my parents were surprisingly supportive. Dad was pleased that it had a reputable business program, and Mom was thrilled because it kept me close to home. I was only starting my second semester, but so far, I liked it here—despite the rule that freshmen had to live on campus. I really lucked out, landing Garland as a roommate. He’s easygoing, highly amusing, and super tidy.

  “If I’m not your type, who is?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  Garland hadn’t expressed interest in anyone specific since I’d known him. I found it odd. He was always talking to girls, but he never asked anyone out. I had no clue what his type was. He seemed a lot more confident when we first met, and I worried that being my roommate had made him insecure. I know that makes me sound conceited, but I’m not. I’m self-aware.

  “Hmm.” He hummed thoughtfully while sipping his chocolate milk through a small coffee straw. “My type, let’s see… Female is a must.”

  “Okay, female. Got it.” I pretended to check off a box and bit back a smile. When he paused, I asked, “That’s all? Your type is girls?”

  He shrugged, pinching the plastic tube between his front teeth. “I don’t know. The regular stuff, I guess. Cute, good personality, fun, laughs at my dumb jokes.” A tiny smirk played on his lips. “It’d help if she thinks handsome, rich dudes are overrated.” Garland deflected everything with humor. It was a skill I usually admired, but not today. It meant my hunch was right.

  “Aww, you think I’m handsome?” I crooned while fluttering my eyelashes.

  “So the ladies tell me.” He slurped up the rest of his drink and leaned back in his chair.

  At five-ten, I consider myself short. (Or, as I prefer to call it, height challenged). It’s a sore spot for my ego, especially since I have a proclivity toward girls with long legs. Lucky for me, I’m naturally lean and muscular. I also have this ethnically ambiguous thing going on—dark, wavy hair; creamy brown skin; and clear, piercing hazel eyes. They’re so light you can almost see through them. The combination is like catnip for chicks. But somehow, despite my ease in getting dates, I find it hard to form real connections with the fairer sex.

  Girls can be just as shallow as guys. A lot of them are only interested in me because I’m attractive or because my family has money. To make matters worse, I’m naturally flirty. I come across as a player, which means it’s rarely the nice girls who are drawn to me. When things didn’t pan out with Garland’s sister Chrissy, I decided to go on a dating hiatus.

  Garland’s eyes crossed to the girl who’d been checking me out. “For the record, your girlfriend over there is definitely not my type. I prefer sweet and reserved to sassy and bold.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and back at him, arguing for argument’s sake, “Why do you assume she isn’t sweet? A woman can be sweet and sexy.”

  “Well, this one isn’t.” He jerked his chin toward the blonde. I looked over my shoulder again. Our eyes met and she licked her lips, then puckered at me. I sent her a polite smile, after which I turned to Garland and rolled my eyes. “For the record, she isn’t my type, either. Let’s go, before they decide to come talk to us.”

  Garland chuckled as we picked up our trash and walked it to the can. When we were safely outside, he asked, “Do you have your meeting today?”

  I pulled out my phone to check the time. “Yep. In about fifteen minutes.”

  “Are you excited?” He rubbed his hands together eagerly.

  “I don’t know if I’d say excited.”

  His expression turned playful. “You could always come back to improv…”

  “More like elated!” I corrected. “I’m elated for my meeting.” My sarcasm was clearly received, and Garland busted up.

  “I have a study group from four to six,” he said after his fit of laughter subsided. “I won’t see you again until dinner.”

  “Cool. I’ll just meet you back here. Yeah?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He held out his fist. I bumped my knuckles against it and left.

  Another freshman requirement at Dunhurst College was participating in at least one club, sport, or student association. Last semester, I let Garland talk me into joining the campus improv troop. Huge mistake. He was instantly welcomed into the fold with his goofy antics and unabashed ability to make a fool of himself. I, on the other hand, struggled to loosen up and think on the fly. While I considered myself witty, I wasn’t particularly funny. It didn’t take long to conclude that acting was not my forte.

  Unfortunately, that left me in a pickle. I wasn’t sporty—at
least not at the collegiate level. I wasn’t artsy or musical, either. I spoke a little French, but foreign languages didn’t come easy for me. I never really got into video games. I love to read; however, the school’s book club focuses on classics, and I prefer contemporary. I didn’t have enough drive for the debate team.

  When I saw the student government representatives with a signup sheet in the quad last week, it was a no-brainer. I had zero aspirations to be a politician, but I felt like I had decent leadership skills. I could be persuasive when necessary, didn’t mind public speaking, and I enjoyed interacting with new people. Plus, it might look good on my résumé.

  I walked into the classroom with five minutes to spare. The seats were mostly full, so I headed straight for an empty chair in the back. A petite girl, sporting thick-rimmed glasses and long, dirty blonde hair, occupied the table alone.

  “May I join you?” I asked, flashing a grin that Garland referred to as the womanizer. I motioned to the chair beside her. She glanced up, gave me a distracted head bob, and stuck her freckled button nose back into her book—totally blowing me off. I liked her instantly.

  After a few seconds, she slipped a pink paper clip onto the page, marking her spot. “Sorry to be rude,” she said while shoving the book in her bag. “But I only had two paragraphs before the end of the chapter. I hate stopping midway.”

  “That’s the worst,” I agreed. The girl finally made eye contact with me and smiled bashfully. She seemed genuinely shy. “Hi, I’m Evan.” I held out my hand.

  She was hesitant at first, but after a second she shook it. “Nice to meet you, Evan. I’m Abby.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.” From the moment we touched, something about Abby felt comfortable, like my flannel pajama pants or my favorite hoodie. I think she felt it, too, because after dropping my hand, her cautious expression relaxed a little. It was enough to convince me I was okay to sit.

  After taking the chair, I situated my things on the floor. When I looked up, Abby was watching me from the corner of her eye while trying to appear like she wasn’t. I smirked, and her eyes shot forward, lips pressed firmly together. Her reaction to being caught was too cute for words.

  Abby cleared her throat. “I haven’t seen you at meetings before. Are you new?”

  I nodded. “First day.”

  She chuckled, and a nervous warble escaped her mouth. “It’s good to have you here. This group is heavy on the XX chromosomes.” She scanned the room until her eyes landed on a busty girl up front who was busily issuing instructions and bossing people around. Glancing down at her chest, Abby added, “Well, at least some of the group is heavy on the XX chromosomes. Some of us look more like XYs.”

  I was so taken aback that I snorted softly, and my jaw popped open. It was the kind of dopey joke Garland would make, completely unexpected from such a mousy little girl. My response was automatic. “I hadn’t noticed before, but now that you mention it…” I trailed off, staring at her face to avoid checking out her boobs.

  She blinked hard, then her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. “Oh my gosh,” she mumbled, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I said that.”

  We’d just met. Normally, I wouldn’t have responded so facetiously. Especially since she’d come across as timid. But my gut said she could handle it. “Sorry. I suppose I should have waited to tease you about your chest until we knew each other better.” My apology had the same playful tone as my taunt had.

  Abby held a long, awkward pause. I choked back my laughter until she cracked a lopsided grin. “No, I set you up. You’d have been a fool not to take it.”

  “Phew.” I blew out dramatically and wiped my hand across my forehead. “For a second I wondered if I should find a new seat.”

  She faced forward and threw her shoulders back, feigning serious interest in something ahead of her. “Not yet.”

  “Not yet?” I echoed, eyebrows shooting up.

  The girl up front called everyone to attention. Abby whispered through the side of her mouth. “It might be wise to hold off on other blunt observations about me for a while.”

  I waited a bit, then whispered back, “What’s a while? Sixty seconds? A couple of minutes?”

  Abby’s shoulders shook as she laughed silently. “Shh! We’re starting.”

  After introducing everyone, Larissa—our buxom student body president—got straight to business. And good heavens, was she organized. I mean, scary productive. Like a machine. I was scrawling notes as fast as I could, but since I’d missed the first semester, I felt a bit lost. After what seemed like an eternity, she stopped to take a breath.

  “Okay. Each recruit must join an events committee. There are three to choose from, and since there are three of you, I’d like you to spread out evenly. Your choices are the Civil Rights Day celebration, the Whitton Hall beautification project, or the Valentine’s dance.” Larissa looked at us newbies one by one, until her gaze settled on me.

  The Civil Rights thing sounded interesting but also like a lot of effort. I was betting the beautification project required more manual labor than I cared to do. I could make it fun, but only if I had someone cool to work with. “Which committee are you on?” I asked Abby under my breath.

  “The dance,” she muttered back.

  A lanky redhead named Rusty started to raise his hand, but Larissa was still looking at me, and she didn’t see him. “I call dibs on the dance committee,” I blurted childishly. Abby snickered. I wasn’t above using playground rules to get what I wanted.

  Rusty frowned. “I guess I’ll take the beautification project.” He didn’t sound too thrilled until Larissa beamed at him.

  “Outstanding,” she replied with an appreciative nod. The small act of praise made him smile, and I felt less guilty for stealing his obvious first choice. Larissa turned to the last rookie. “That puts you on the cultural celebration.” It was a simple statement, but it sounded threatening.

  “Is she always so intense?” I asked after the president turned her back on us.

  Abby smashed her lips together, suppressing a smile. “You get used to it.”

  “I think she needs to loosen her corset. It’s squeezing the joy out of her.” I smirked, elbowing my new friend in the arm. “See, having the ample XX chromosome isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Big-bosomed girls are scary.”

  When I winked, she threw her arm over her face and groaned. “Remind me to die of humiliation before I see you again. Also, I think you should resign from the dance committee.”

  “No way.” I folded my arms and pouted. “I refuse to leave. So far, you’ve been the most entertaining part of my day.”

  She shook her head swiftly. “Today was a fluke. I promise I’m super boring. Like a Ken Burns history of rocks documentary. Or a scoreless baseball game in extra innings.” I grinned. Abby was cute and funny. I bet she didn’t even know it. “I’m talking Econ 101 with Mr. Marshall boring.”

  I laughed hysterically. “I have his class at 7 a.m. on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I know exactly how boring it can be, and I’m 100 percent certain you’re more interesting than he is. Dad jokes and all.”

  Abby was starting to look flustered. She blew a wispy hair from her reddened face. “I’m not that dorky.” She rested her head on the table, refusing to look at me. I decided it was time to back off. As easy as our banter came, I didn’t want to take it too far.

  “I never said you were dorky.” I laid my chin on my arms, meeting her at eye level. She peered over to give me a flat look. “Honestly. I appreciate your sense of humor. You’re a lot like my roommate Garland, and he’s pretty much my favorite person. I’m sincerely looking forward to working with you.”

  I reached out and tugged on her hair. She turned her head to face me. Her crinkled eyes said she was closer to laughing than crying. “Fine, you can stay. But I’ll fire you quicker than a fat kid stealing candy if you can’t behave yourself.”

  “I promise to behave.” I drew an X over my chest as I sni
ckered. “Cross my heart.”

  “How was your first day as a government official? Has the power corrupted you yet?” Garland plunked his tray next to mine. The dining hall was pretty swanky for a cafeteria. All the tables and chairs were made of solid wood. Couches and chairs flanked the room in casual seating areas, and chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

  I cut my steak in half and took a bite. It melted in my mouth. I heard a rumor that the head chef had gone to some fancy cooking school. I don’t know what he was doing at Dunhurst, but my taste buds never complained. “Yes. I’ve already got an accomplice who’s planning to help me overthrow the current regime.”

  Garland grinned as he popped open a can of soda. “Is she hot?”

  “What makes you assume it’s a girl?” I stole the Coke from his hand a took a swig. He swiped it back, and a small amount splashed on the table.

  He narrowed his eyes. “It’s not an assumption, it’s common sense. And I can’t drink that now. Your slobber’s all over it.”

  “Don’t be a baby.” I’d been living with Garland long enough to know that he’d make the drink thing an issue. I reached into my pocket and retrieved a dollar. Then I grabbed the soda back and stuck the money in his empty hand. “For a guy who’s so laid back, you’re quite the germophobe. Do you freak out this bad when you kiss someone?”

  “No.” He huffed. “Because I’m not a sloppy kisser. Not every girl wants to have her face sucked off, you know. If that’s why you’ve been off your game the last few weeks, all you had to do was say something. I’d be happy to give you a few pointers.”

  I took a long hit off the Coke. “I’m flattered that you’d be willing to kiss me in the name of education.” I kept my expression as neutral as possible.

  “Shut up. You know what I meant.” When I started laughing, he grunted and marched away. As I watched him stomp toward the refrigerated drink case, a familiar face caught my eye. Abby was a few aisles over, accompanied by a tall, beautiful brunette.