Cursed by Cupid

by Wendy Sparrow

  He nodded. “I know. At first it was funny, but I was getting distracted trying to visualize what they were suggesting, so I started sending them to spam.”

  “The chain letter mentions I’m supposed to send it to friends.”

  He pointed to another line. “Olga says she would be good friends with you and any friends who like to watch. I think that’s true friendship right there.”

  “That’s—” She shook her head and dropped the paper on the counter.

  “I know.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.” What could it hurt? They’d send it out. Chances were these people were already cursed by choice. If it broke her curse, well…that would be fantastic.

  Chapter Five

  She was still cursed.

  Bryant had minimized her odds of accidental clumsiness by taking her to a local, community play. In theory, sitting in a dark theatre with no nearby bodies of water should have been ideal, and it had seemed fairly spectacular—at first.

  They’d picked up a couple of burgers on the way there, so they wouldn’t be rushed, thus, preventing another shrimp linguini episode. The burgers were good. The companionship was excellent. He made her laugh so often that she doubted he’d need that mistletoe. She would have agreed she wasn’t a girl who kissed on a first date, but would be by the end of this one. She’d already decided that before they got to the theatre.

  That feeling only seemed to triple when they were watching the play. It was perfect. So lovely. They were there in the dark, holding hands. She was leaning close to him, close enough to breathe in his cologne. They were on the front row, and while the play wasn’t Broadway-level, it was fun and campy…and she was more interested in the man beside her than the actors onstage anyway.

  This thing with Bryant…could be really, really good. It might make all the missed second dates worthwhile. She would have missed out on him if she’d been in another relationship, and no one else could be this great.

  Maybe she wasn’t cursed. Maybe she’d never been cursed. Or…maybe she was inviting the curse to do something truly horrible and jinxing everything.

  She surreptitiously knocked on the wood of the chair.

  But it was a play. What could go wrong?

  She should never, ever ask that—even in her head.

  All hell broke loose.

  One of the pirates of Penzance lost his sword. It soared out toward the audience, heading right toward Bryant’s head. She kicked a foot up, deflecting the fake sword, and it flew up at the ceiling, hit a sprinkler, and the next moment, they were being showered—which was bad enough—then the water hit the lights. Hot stage lights exploded, sparking and shooting glass everywhere. The audience stampeded through exits, and she got caught up in a rush of people, pushing her away from Bryant and toward the opposite exit. When she hit the outside air, she ran around the building to the other side.

  No Bryant.

  The fire trucks arrived, and she was swept back behind barricades as they tried to control the melee.

  An ambulance screeched to a halt—its sirens blaring deafeningly.

  Holy crap! Someone had been hurt? Her heart dropped when she saw the paramedics rush into the theatre. Her curse had injured someone. This never would have happened if she hadn’t come here on a date. Where was Bryant?

  She recognized him from the moment his shoes cleared the door of the theatre as they dragged him out on the gurney.

  No! This couldn’t be happening. Tilly ducked under the barricade, despite someone yelling at her. She sprinted to Bryant’s side. One of the paramedics was pressing a bandage to his head that was soaked with blood. And the other was asking rapid-fire questions.

  Bryant’s answers sounded drowsy…and not in the sexy way she’d always thought. What had happened to him?

  “Is he okay?” she asked the paramedic, jogging along beside them and trying to get a look at his injury. She’d done this. She’d invited this by going out on a date with him. Her eyes stung with tears.

  “Ma’am, you can’t.” the paramedic said.

  “She’s with me,” Bryant mumbled.

  The medics lifted him into the ambulance, and she climbed in beside him. There was so much blood around him. Were there arteries in your forehead? Had he been hit by another sword?

  “What happened?” she asked as one of the paramedics slammed the back doors shut and went to drive.

  The other was busy checking Bryant’s vital signs and muttered, “Lights.”

  The lights had nearly killed Bryant. Her heart plunged, and she was going to be sick. She’d done this.

  “Tilly?” Bryant reached his hand out toward her, and she grabbed it, squeezing it.

  The paramedic replaced the bandage on Bryant’s head, and she looked away. She’d always had a bit of a thing with blood and that was a lot of blood.

  “Take deep breaths,” the paramedic said. “Ma’am, deep breaths.”

  She glanced up to see the guy watching her. If he was worried about her with Bryant bleeding to death, she must really look like hell.

  So, she took a deep breath. And another. And another. And faster. And faster.

  “Whoa! Ma’am. Uhh, what’s her name again?”

  “Tilly,” Bryant said. “Only one T. At the beginning.”

  He was delirious. Bryant was losing it. Or he had brain damage. And her vision got all sparkly, and her face felt hot.

  “Tilly, fewer breaths. Fewer breaths, and put your head between your knees,” the paramedic said.

  “Is she going to drop?” his partner asked from the front of the ambulance.

  “No,” she and the other medic said together as she put her head down and blinked away the stars. Okay, so panicking was a bad idea. She was definitely not going to panic.

  “I’m fine,” Bryant mumbled, squeezing her hand again.

  She lifted her head. “Did that sound like he’s in shock?” she asked the medic. “I think it was a little slurred.”

  “It was not,” Bryant said…and that definitely sounded slightly less than coherent. Besides, like she was going to take his word for it.

  Though, the medic was giving her a weird look. He turned and asked the driver, “How close are we?”

  “Almost there.”

  “We’re almost there,” she said to Bryant, leaning toward him. It felt like the ambulance even sped up. So that was good. At least they were taking this seriously.

  “I heard.” Bryant’s smile below the bandages was all wobbly and weak. If the curse killed him, it’d kill her.

  After a poorly banked turn that flung them all sideways, they finally arrived at the hospital.

  As they pulled the gurney toward a room, a nurse with a clipboard asked her, “Are you his wife or a relative?”

  “No,” she pulled back, letting go of his hand. She was no one. Well, okay, she was the girl who’d nearly killed him.

  “Can you fill out his paperwork?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t even know his phone number. Tilly gestured behind her. “I’ll wait. I’ll just…”

  And they’d pushed him into a room and pulled the drapes closed around him.

  Tilly wandered over to some chairs and sat down, dropping her face into her hands. This was horrible. The shrimp linguini was nothing compared to this. Why? Why did this keep happening? She blinked back tears, but then gave up. People were allowed to cry in hospitals. Tears spilled down her hot cheeks, splashing into her hand, as the minutes ticked by.

  She heard the sound of footsteps approaching and parted her fingers to look through them at the floor, where a pair of dark shoes stopped a few feet away. Looking up, she brushed at her tear-soaked cheeks as the doctor frowned at her.

  “What’s wrong? Is he okay? He’s not…” She couldn’t say dead. She couldn’t.

  “You came in with Mr. Murphy?”

  She nodded. She might not be anything more to him than that, but he had told them that she was with him.

  “He’s going to be fine.”r />
  The breath whooshed out of her lungs, and she felt faint with relief. He was going to be okay. Oh, whoa, she was dizzy. But he was going to be okay!

  “Well, what happened?”

  The doctor looked around and asked, “Did they have you sign his intake papers? Uhh, I can get them for you.”

  “I’m not…we’re not….” She swallowed. “This was our first date.”

  Nodding, he said, “Oh, with privacy laws…”

  Tilly shook her head. “No, I understand. It’s fine.”

  “You can see him shortly, and he can explain.”

  “But he’s going to be okay?”

  “Yeah, he’ll be fine.” He smiled at her—and it almost reassured her—almost. Someone called him from down the hall. “I’ve got to go, but if you’ll wait here, I’m sure he’ll want to see you in a moment.”

  She was less sure, and she started crying again.

  A young woman with a clipboard bent beside her, handing her a tissue. “Would you like me to get anything for you?”

  “No, I’m just waiting.” Tilly gestured at the curtain-shrouded area. She could see a bunch of feet below the curtain. Nurses maybe. Or maybe other doctors were in there because he wasn’t quite out of the woods.

  The woman nodded and stood up, walking toward the room. She pulled aside the curtain and spoke to someone quietly. She was probably asking how long until Bryant was up for a visit.

  “Not now,” another nurse said, stepping out from the curtain and glancing over at her. She smiled tightly before saying to the woman who’d walked in, “Well, can you get rid of her?”

  Tilly closed her eyes and bit her lips. So, that was it then. He didn’t really want to see her. They were getting that nice woman who’d offered her a tissue to get rid of her…Pushing to her feet, she left before that became necessary and took a cab home.

  She was cursed. She should never date again. It wasn’t safe. When she first saw herself in the mirror, she almost couldn’t blame him for not wanting to see her—beyond the whole “I tried to kill you by dating you” thing. Her shirt had scorch marks. Her hair was standing up on end in some spots and even smelled slightly melted. Her face looked blotchy and tear tracks ran through the dirt on it. She’d never looked worse after a first date.

  After a shower, she put on a pair of flannel pajamas and was considering going to bed when her doorbell rang.

  As she went to answer it, Fiend bolted in front of her again, so she slammed the door with her body for the second time. Clearly, there was a single man on the other side of the door, and the curse was doing its best to destroy any chance of future happiness.

  “Who is it?” she asked, wishing she had a peephole. Hopefully, it was an axe murderer coming to put her out of her misery.

  “It’s me,” Bryant called.

  With a sigh, she collapsed against the door. He was well enough to be out of the hospital at least. That was a good sign. “Run for your life. Get away while you still can.”

  “I don’t want to. Let me in.”

  He was a good sport, she’d give him that. She opened the door a bit. “I’m not really dressed.”

  He was standing out there, looking worse than she had, but he grinned. “Well, then, definitely let me in.”

  “Should you be standing up?” she asked, opening the door wide. His head was wrapped in gauze, as was one of his hands.

  He stepped in. “I’m fine. Really. I got hit from the glass from the lights. It’s really a small cut, but apparently, I bleed out with a small cut. It’d already stopped by the time we reached the hospital, in fact. They were doing blood work and getting a family history when they said you’d left.”

  “Well, I overheard the nurse telling someone to get rid of me…”

  “Get rid of you?” He frowned and then winced, touching his head. “Oh, it was some pharmaceutical rep with samples. I heard them mention that.”

  “Not me?”

  He smiled. “Not you. That’s why you left?”

  She nodded, biting her lip. That changed things…but not really enough.

  Bryant gestured behind him at disappearing taillights. “My car is at the theatre, so I caught a cab here, too.” Coming the rest of the way in, he shut the door behind him.

  “Why didn’t you just call me and go home?” She touched his shoulders and face in concern. What was he thinking? He should be lying down. She dragged him to her couch and pushed him toward it. He let her but pulled his cellphone out of his pocket before sitting down. He showed her the black screen. Water dripped from the bottom of the phone, splashing on his pants.

  “The water didn’t agree with my cellphone. It’s fried. I was worried about what had happened to you, so I came here to make sure you were okay.”

  Tilly sat facing him on the couch. This couldn’t go on.

  Reaching out, he touched the flannel pajamas on her knee. “I’ve never seen rubber ducky pajamas. I like them. I like them better than those scrubs or your karate outfit.”

  She touched the bandage on his head. “Did the doctors mention a concussion?”

  Laughing, he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. “I think that was the most memorable date I’ve ever been on.”

  “I can get dressed and take you home. Then, tomorrow, I’ll drive you to your car, but then I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” It was the least she could do since she’d gotten him into this mess.

  His eyes snapped open, and he sat up. “What? No.” He grabbed her hands. “Tilly, I’m fine. I’m really fine.”

  “I almost killed you tonight,” she said, feeling tears well up behind her eyes again.

  Swearing, he grabbed the gauze on his head and started undoing it.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to stop him, but he swatted her hand away.

  “I’m showing you how bad it is.”

  “Don’t take that off!”

  But it was too late. He pulled it all off, along with a wad of gauze dotted with blood. Oh. There was a small, 1-inch, scabbed cut underneath all that. Huh. Her scratches from Fiend looked more severe than that.

  “See!” he said, gesturing. “It’s tiny. I must have a blood condition or something. The doctor said there was no reason it should be bleeding that much. He said it was lucky I was finding this out now rather than with a serious injury. Something about me being anemic…I don’t know. I was worried about you, and I’m supposed to follow up with my doctor. They put me on iron pills.”

  She frowned and tentatively touched his forehead. It was really small, but still…

  “But…”

  Bryant took the wadded-up gauze and set it to the side before grabbing her shoulders. “The doctor said I was lucky. He said I was lucky, Tilly.”

  “It’s still all my fault,” she said, biting her lip.

  He raised his eyebrows, which made him wince. “You deflected a sword from my head.”

  “Right into the sprinklers.”

  “I almost got skewered by a sword, and you saved me. I’m planning on calling everyone I know when I get a new phone and telling them.”

  “It was a fake sword.” She was smiling, though…a little.

  “I won’t tell them that.”

  She laughed, even though she didn’t want to. “Bryant, it was my fault the whole thing happened. I’m cursed.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But you do believe me?” It was hard to deny it when faced with such irrefutable proof, but others had tried.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what to think, but I still don’t care.” Glancing around, he stood up suddenly and went toward her kitchen.

  “I’m getting something,” he called. He came back a moment later, carrying the mistletoe in the hand covered in gauze. She’d been holding his other hand in the ambulance and hadn’t noticed a cut on that one.

  “What did you do to your hand?” she asked. The head wound might be nothing, but cuts on your hand could be really bad, and he needed h
is hands for work. There might be nerve damage, or it could get infected. He might not be able to work because of her.

  “Nothing.” He sat down and started unwinding the gauze on his hand.

  “It’s probably not nothing—especially if you have a blood condition.”

  “Actually, it really is nothing. I swiped some gauze so you wouldn’t see it until I was ready.” The last of the gauze came off, and she could see more messages written in ballpoint pen on his hand. He held his palm out to show her.

  “Kiss Tilly.”

  “Go on 2nd date w/ Tilly.”

  “Fix Tilly breakfast.”

  “The last one is more of a long term goal,” he said.

  She grabbed the mistletoe in one hand and his face in the other. There was very little finesse in how she mashed her lips against his at first, but then he smiled, tilted his head, and leaned back, dragging her body across his as he wrapped his arms around her.

  “You’re about to get so lucky,” she said, taking a deep breath. She felt dizzy again. A good sort of dizzy. A knocked-on-her-ass, I’m-kissing-Bryant-and-forgetting-to-breathe sort of dizzy.

  “I think I already am.”

  Smiling, she slid her fingers up into his hair. “And on a first date.”

  “I think this is our second date. Our first date ended at the hospital.”

  “We’re on a second date?”

  “Yes.”

  Even if her exuberance surprised Bryant, he participated whole-heartedly—more than willing to spend a second date right there, kissing Tilly.

  …

  Dear Reader,

  This letter is to inform you of cupid’s curse which will fall upon you if you don’t pass this on to three friends within three hours.

  Bryant Murphy didn’t believe in the curse, and on the day before valentine’s day, he met Tilly Morrow when she threw a chocolate shake at his embroidery shop. He later found out he had a minor blood condition, but nothing that would prevent him from making hot, passionate love with the woman of his dreams. He remained convinced that luck, in the form of two, stoned former employees, had brought them together.

  Tilly believed in the curse and eventually forwarded it on to three “friends” who had their illegal operation raided that same night. Within hours of forwarding it on, she was kissing the man she’d eventually marry and have seven kids with. Sadly, they never felt comfortable owning a houseboat because Tilly was never quite sure the curse was lifted. Once you’ve used lily pads as pasties, you’re a little more careful around large bodies of water.