There’s a gleam in his eye I don’t like. What the fuck is this shit?
My gaze narrows. “Nope.”
“Now that’s too bad.” One ticket vanishes in a puff of smoke. He blows it away before extending the other to me with a smile. “Stag it is.”
“Maybe I don’t feel like partying.”
“Is that so?” He glances around my house, lip curling. There are empty pizza and wing boxes scattered over every available surface, a half-formed Parthenon of beer cans in one corner. “Feel like moping some more, is it?” He shakes his head. “You always were the type to throw a temper tantrum, kid. Always giving your mom more shit than the other two combined.”
Now that stings. “She broke my fucking bow.”
“Yeah? So what? Never got the impression you cared much for that gig anyway. At least not since . . .” His voice trails off and he looks at the fish again.
“And I never got the impression you’re a pussy who dances around a subject just to spare someone’s feelings.”
He sighs, shoves a tattooed hand through that spiky dark hair. “Look. That deal with Psyche was a serious shitstorm. I get it. But you’ve been letting it fuck with you for like a thousand years. From what I hear, you weren’t even using that damn bow for its intended purpose anyway.”
“Its intended purpose is bullshit.”
“Kid, it’s all bullshit. Life, love, fucking, dying, thinking too hard. All the crap these humans do every goddamn day. But they need it.” His dark eyes, so like Ares’s, narrow. “And so do you. So let’s go party and get your mojo back. Maybe then you’ll regain the sense to do what you gotta.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m not going to beg Mom to fix the damn bow.”
“Maybe you won’t have to.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Ignoring my question, Merc steps closer, the chains on his boots rattling. “Come to the show, kid. You can at least get some action out of the deal. I know I will.” He grins and waves the ticket under my nose.
What the hell. I haven’t been out of the house since my Valentine’s Day ended with a bang. I think of freckled skin and nails on my back and doubt anything can compare, but I take the damn ticket.
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
Dressed and ready to rock, I head out with Merc an hour later. Vegas in February is heaven compared to the rest of the continent. Midsixties and sunny. I’m comfortable in jeans and a black Henley with the sleeves pushed up, but on the strip, there are girls wearing bikini tops and skirts that put them at risk for indecent exposure.
Merc shakes his head. “Fucking Vegas, man. Gotta love it.”
Even behind his mirrored sunglasses, my uncle’s familiar and famous profile should draw a fair bit of attention, but one of Merc’s especial talents is flying under the radar when he wants to. The women check me out, but their eyes slide right over him.
I shake my head. “The low profile thing is not like you.”
He likes women. A lot. He likes men, too. Basically, Merc likes it all. He shrugs. “Plenty of time for that later tonight. I prefer to get to the venue without being mobbed.”
Said venue is set up around the RV park across from the Stratosphere. It looks like another cure-for-cancer drive, the type that always draws a large crowd. I don’t pay attention to the particulars. Politics and a million other things may divide the human race, but nothing brings them together like an insidious disease.
We hit several of the various beer tents at Merc’s insistence. He seems intent on getting me in a party mood. It’s finally starting to work as dusk begins to fall. I’m feeling relaxed, in a pleasant, FML way, when he pulls me into yet another tent.
“Come on, kid, one more round before I gotta hit the stage.”
I haven’t even finished the last one, but I down it as we get in line, shaking my head as I toss it at a nearby trash can and miss. With a sigh, I head for the crumpled plastic cup, bending over to grab it out of the dusty grass.
“Hey, Ace, are you stalking me?”
I freeze at the sound of that familiar voice, a voice I last heard screaming my name. Or at least a facsimile of it. Glancing over my shoulder, there she is. Katie. Pouring beer in the tent, her pale copper hair braided in a loose plait.
I straighten with a grin, sending the empty home before cutting in front of a couple frat guys on holiday. They frown, then take one look at me and Merc, who’s just joined me, and decide wisely that it’s not worth it.
“Hey, Pearl. I don’t stalk.”
She blushes faintly at the nickname and hands me a beer.
I pass it to Merc, who is lowering his sunglasses to give Katie a long, slow once-over. “If you’re not stalking her, can I?”
I frown. Uncle Merc tends to like flashy and obvious. Katie is neither.
“My uncle, don’t mind him.” I dig my knuckles into Merc’s ribs and he winces, beer foaming over his fingers before stepping aside.
“Yeah, don’t mind me.”
“He doesn’t look old enough to be your uncle.” She watches Merc saunter away. I frown, irritated at the way her eyes widen with appreciation.
“Yeah, well, my family is a bit twisted.”
“The best families are.” She smiles at me, filling another plastic cup, foam spilling over her fingers.
Not like mine.
“So, do you ever stop working?”
Her lips curve. “I’m volunteering, actually.”
“You do this shit for free?” I look around at the people crowding the tent, jockeying for position. Beer is everywhere, soaking the desert sand and the plastic covering the fold-up tables. It’s even splashed over her pale pink T-shirt, which, on second thought, is definitely not a bad thing. I eye the curve of her breast and remember what it felt like under my hand. The noises she made when I worked her nipple hard . . .
“Some of us enjoy working. Even if it’s just to keep from thinking too much.” She gives me a sidelong look before pushing the red Solo cup into my hands. “What about you, found another job yet?”
Another what? Her tits are distracting me. I definitely didn’t get to play with them enough last time. Oh, yeah, job. I told her I was out of work.
“No. I mean, I haven’t really looked yet.” Her nipples tighten under my gaze. Yeah, I definitely should have tasted them while I had the chance. Too late now. Or is it? “You want to get out of here?” I hear myself say.
Suddenly, her slender fingers are closing on my chin, tilting it up with a firm and steady pressure until blue-green eyes are sparkling into mine. “Are you asking me, or my tits?”
I grin. “Umm, both?”
She rolls her eyes. “Look, I had a lot of fun the other night, Q.” Her eyes slide down my chest, hit my crotch, then narrow wickedly before coming back to my face. “A lot of fun. But I’m a one-and-done kind of woman.”
“That’s too bad.” The disappointment surprises, then irritates me.
“Yes,” she says with a sigh, dropping her hand from my face. “But them’s the rules, Ace.”
“Too bad for you, I meant,” I say, sipping my beer.
“Oh really?” She smirks, starting to fill the next few cups. The guys behind me start closing in until I send them scrabbling back with a glare. Then I lean over her table.
“Yup. I mean, one-night stands are grand and all. But it hardly gives a man time to learn what a woman really likes.” I lower my voice. “Like from the way you squealed when I fingered you from behind, I’m wondering how you’d feel if it was my cock taking you that way, hard and fast, my hips slamming into your sweet, freckled ass . . . But of course, now we’ll never know.”
She stares at me, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Beer is foaming over her fingers, dripping onto the ground at her feet. “Yeah,” she says faintly. “I guess so.”
Hiding a smirk of my own, I turn to go, but I only take a step before turning back around. “Of course . . .”
“Yes?” she says, just a little too quickly.<
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“Well, your rule doesn’t really apply to me. Since I’m not in danger of getting attached and all.”
“Ah, yes, because you don’t believe in love,” she says dryly.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, because I want this too much. And I think she does, too. “Come on, Pearl. I promise not to fall in love with you. Which means we’re both perfectly safe from any unwanted entanglements.”
She nibbles at her lip. “You make a persuasive argument.”
“A world-class one?”
Her lips curve. “We’ll see. Meet me outside in five minutes.”
Half an hour later, we emerge from the narrow space behind Katie’s beer tent and another selling Polish sausage. I am glad I stocked up on condoms the day after our last night together. And I’m beyond pleased I had the foresight to stick one in my back pocket tonight. If I keep running into her, I’m going to start keeping a strip of them in my wallet.
“I don’t think anyone saw us,” I assure her, trying to pull a few petals of bougainvillea out of her hair and only succeeding in tangling the bright splash of flowers even tighter. She giggles and slaps my hand away.
“So what if they did?”
I shake my head and laugh as she settles down on the grass, watching the roadies finish the last-minute setup for the bands. Shit. I totally forgot about Merc. Not that he needs me to entertain him. If any of my uncles can understand ditching a friend for a good time, it’s Merc.
“You going to catch the show?” she asks me. With most women, that would mean, “Please stay and cuddle with me so I can feel better about the fact you spent the last twenty minutes banging me into oblivion.”
In Katie’s case, despite the fact I know she can still feel the imprint of my hips against her ass, it’s just a casual question.
Maybe that’s why I stay.
I sit down next to her, watching the breeze catch her hair. She flicks it over her shoulder, then winces at the casual movement, rubbing at her neck.
“Long day?”
“Aren’t they all?” She laughs. “Between college and work, I don’t even remember what free time is.”
“Why volunteer then?”
“Because it’s rewarding, Q.” She gives me a look. “Maybe you should try it. You are still looking for work, right?”
“Not really looking,” I mutter, reaching over to push her hand aside. She has a knot nearly the size of my fist. Fuck. Maybe I should have been gentler with her earlier. Then again, I know she liked it. A lot.
Hades. Just thinking of the muffled sounds she made and the way she grabbed my hand, silently but urgently guiding my fingers where she wanted them as I fucked her hard from behind, has my balls tightening all over again.
Katie doesn’t hold back. In all areas of life, it would seem. I start working at the knot. She groans, pushing into my touch, her golden lashes fluttering in the dying light.
“You could have a future as a masseuse.”
I smile and rub harder. “Happy endings are my specialty.”
“Don’t I know it,” she giggles. The sound turns to whimpers as my fingers dig deeper. I’m not used to touching a woman except for one purpose, but working Katie’s taut muscles gives me a peculiar sense of satisfaction.
A few minutes later, the knot is gone and I drop my hand reluctantly. We sit in silence for a bit.
It’s getting crowded closer to the makeshift stage, but where we are, back up against the tents, the crowd is still relatively sparse. It’s full-on dark now, the smell of the desert sneaking in through all the tropical nonsense the casinos spend thousands on. I breathe deep, loving the smell of sage.
“Did you grow up in Vegas?” Katie asks, watching me.
I think that might be the first personal question she’s ever asked me. For some reason, I tell her the truth. Or as close to it as I can get. “No. Greece, actually.”
“Oh wow.” Then she laughs. “How does the bar compare?”
“About as well as you’d think.” I chuckle, then glance at the stage, the amusement fading away as I see Merc in the shadows, strapping on his guitar. I don’t really like thinking about home. There’s a reason I ran away. More than one.
As if she can read my thoughts, Katie says, “I’m guessing you don’t miss it all that much.”
“Why do you think that?” I turn my head, curious.
She shrugs. “Maybe you just don’t seem like the nostalgic type.”
“Oh I might be, if there were better things to be nostalgic for.”
It’s not really an awkward silence, but for a moment, neither of us says anything. The discordant sounds of Merc tuning his guitar drift over the grass.
“Have you ever done something really, really bad?” I ask, staring at her, my voice soft, knowing the answer even before she says a word. This chick may be a wild fuck, but she’s as sweet as they come.
“Yes,” she says at once, her grave tone surprising me.
I raise my eyebrows.
“I stole a Beanie Baby from Target when I was five,” she says. “And I cried for a week.”
I snort. “Obviously the Children of the Corn had nothing on you.”
“Hey, it was that rainbow tie-dyed bear that corrupted me. How was I supposed to resist?” She wraps her arms around her knees, resting her head on her forearm, her curly hair a cascade of rose-tinted gold in the floodlights as she studies me. “Have you?”
“Yes.” I say it without hesitation, but not without guilt, even after all this time. Even after all he’s done. “I ruined my brother’s life.”
“Sounds a little harsh.”
It was. I could say I didn’t mean to do it, that I didn’t really know what I was doing. But I knew. I just didn’t think it through. There isn’t much in this world my brother can’t have if he applies himself. And he was always far better at applying himself than I was.
Back then, I was flighty, the epitome of a vain and silly youth. Which is why a lot of statues in Greece portray me that way. Part of it was adjusting to who I was. Puberty is hard enough on a normal teenage male; try being the god of desire. My hormones had fucking hormones. The instant I discovered pussy and how good I was at getting it . . . yeah, I was a cocky little prick.
But I needed it. Needed to be good at something. Any-fucking-thing.
Sure, I kicked ass at hunting. My bow work was amazing.
Unless you compared me to my sister.
Yeah, I was big and strong. I could kick some ass.
Until you compared me to my brother.
Anything I could do, they could do better. They knew who they were, where they came from. But I always had this gaping hole in me, this missing piece. And we all knew why. My father.
Of lack of one.
Apollo didn’t help things. He loved lording Ares over me. It wouldn’t be until many, many years later that I would finally realize how desperately Lo craved his father’s approval, and how very rarely he got it.
In that way, I had it easier than my brother. I longed for an absent and mysterious figure that I could sketch in as I saw fit. He could be tall or short, kind or stern. Charismatic and fun like Mercury. Commanding and arrogant like Ares. Or stoic and wise like Hephaestus.
But I still envied Lo . . . and he still rubbed it in every chance he got.
“It was harsh, trust me. How many siblings do you have anyway?”
“Only child, Q.”
“Figures.” I shake my head. “Spoiled little Pearl.” But my smile fades.
She reaches out, covers my thigh with her warm little hand. “What did you do to your brother?”
“I stole his girl.”
That’s the simplest explanation, though it doesn’t quite cover the nuances. I shot Daphne with my bow. But I didn’t use a golden arrow.
I used a lead one.
She blinks at me, waiting for the rest of the story, but I’m not up to giving it to her. The silence descends again, not quite as comfortable this time.
“Maybe
some other time,” she whispers.
“Maybe.”
But I don’t know if I can ever tell that story again. I thought Daphne loved my brother. So did he.
We were both wrong.
I shake myself once, pat her hand and move it off my thigh as I get to my feet. “You’re dangerously easy to talk to, you know that?”
“It’s the bartender thing, sorry. Makes us great listeners.”
“Yeah, well. I think I’m going to ditch the show. I’ve seen him play a hundred times anyway.” I take a step and then another, suddenly feeling awkward. “If you ever need another world-class orgasm . . .”
“I won’t call you,” her smile immediately sets me at ease, “since I don’t have your number.”
“And you’re not going to ask for it, are you?” I put my hands in my pockets, looking down at her.
“Nope. But I’m sure you’ll find me if you need me, stalker.” She turns toward the stage with a tiny grin.
I’m grinning too as I head down the Strip. Because I have a feeling she’s right.
Chapter Four
Merc leaves town the next day, giving me shit for missing his show even though we both know he would have done the same for less. Artie’s long gone, having done her sisterly duty by checking in on me.
I’m family-free once again.
And I don’t really know what to do with myself. I don’t have to work, not the punching-a-clock shit humans do. A few years back, my uncle Heph patented a small, portable water turbine that can fit in a backpack. Actually, he invented the very first water turbine, ages ago, but he never stops refining his designs. Year after year, millennium after millennium. Everything, Heph says, is either a work in progress . . . or fucking dead. In any case, he gave me, Artie and Lo each shares in the company. As gods, we’re all pretty good at making our way in the world, but thanks to Heph’s gift, I don’t even have to try anymore.
Which is both good and bad, I guess.
I’m supremely unmotivated. Though not without talents.
I was very good at the matchmaking thing, at least before I lost interest. I can read people in a way that seems like magic. Because it is, of course. All of us gods have some talent that sets us apart, just like humans do. Though unlike humans, we are usually born knowing what our gift is, or will be. Mine is the art of attraction, desire, just like I reminded Artie. Not love.
Cupid's Bow Page 3
