by Anya Nowlan
“It is cursed!” Zaria said, taking another sip. “Every goddamn year, something goes horribly wrong on the fourteenth of February. It’s like someone’s watching me from up above, making sure my life is at this fever pitch of happiness by that date, so then it can be completely demolished.”
“You’ve had a cat get run over by a car and a boyfriend cheat on you during the last twenty-eight years. That’s what we in the living business call a coincidence.”
“Wrong! I’ve also been fired…”
“From Starbucks when you were a teenager!”
“And dumped…”
“By a guy who had horrific facial hair!”
“And my parents divorced…”
“They divorced in February, not on Valentine’s Day!”
“It counts.”
“It does not.”
“Hey, it’s my curse, I know how it works,” Zaria said, though she gave up and smiled at Brittany.
Yes, maybe she was being a bit melodramatic about the whole thing. And yes, maybe Valentine’s Day was not cursed, but she was sure as hell that coming to a speed-dating event—built to frustrate people by showing them a few stressful glimpses of a person who they later had to rate—was not exactly what she’d call the best method of loosening up and getting over her fixations.
“Look. Zaria, there’s like a million people here. As far as I can tell, none of them are Brad. None of them are stalking you. No one knows that you’re batshit crazy and think Valentine’s Day is cursed, and I’d suggest that you not tell them that either. How about you loosen up, try to have fun for once in your life, and pretend to be a normal human being for once, okay? Do it for me!”
Brittany gave her the biggest puppy dog eyes in the world, cupping her hands around her glass like she was praying at the altar of Zaria, poking out her lower lip. Zaria couldn’t help but burst out laughing, giving her friend a quick, decisive hug.
Right. What harm could it do to actually try and enjoy this, right?
“Only for you, honey,” she said teasingly, nudging Brittany just as the bell chimed above them and a tall woman with cat-eye glasses and a red pantsuit ascended the stairs to a small stage at the other end of the room.
“SassyDate enthusiasts,” she called, Brittany shushing Zaria and turning to listen, and Zaria following her lead with a defeatist sigh in tow. “I welcome all of you on this excellent evening! Who’s ready to find some love? Or at least some lust!”
The woman had a way to her that made the crowd raise glasses and holler with the kind of enthusiasm that certainly had not been there a second ago. Even Zaria found herself toasting to her, though she preferred to take a sip rather than scream her agreement to have a great time. The alcohol rolled through her body, relaxing her a little.
She hadn’t been sure what it was about the event that caught her so off guard, but the more she looked around, the more she got it. She was looking for someone. Not just any someone, but Brad. The guy who had been there at every twist and turn recently, ruining her evening and any date she might have gone on.
They hadn’t been together for very long. Zaria found herself with a self-admiring peacock of a man who was overbearing. Brad never showed much enthusiasm for her either until she chose to call it quits before Valentine’s Day came around. She might have despised the holiday with a passion, but even she didn’t want to make it worse on someone else by going out on a date or sitting through a romantic dinner when she knew he wasn’t right for her.
But Brad had not taken it well and he’d been a constant nuisance since the night she’d kicked him out of her apartment and changed her Netflix password. He kept calling and calling until Zaria had to change her phone number, and after that, he’d started harassing her on social media, commenting on Facebook and Instagram and even SassyDate.
After she’d blocked him on all of those, he started showing up in person to her usual lunch haunts when she was out of the auditor’s offices, or showing up unannounced during a night of drinks she was having with her friends or colleagues. It got real creepy real fast.
There was a throng of people around her, the room packed tight with eager, laughing faces and dry, hushed conversation as the “circus master” in flaming red walked them through the rules. Two minutes for every date, men change seats to their left in an orderly fashion, and mark the number of the person you liked on your scorecard if you hit it off. If both had tagged one another, their details would be passed on after the event and they could find love for Valentine’s Day. Or lust. Or both.
Or neither, Zaria thought with uncharacteristic sullenness, biting her tongue so she wouldn’t blurt it out.
It wasn’t that she was against love. Hell no. She was a big proponent of the happily ever after, white picket fence, and three kids and a dog mentality. But it was damn hard to hold onto in New York City, where the only decent guy you could meet would turn out to be some sort of a lovesick maniac.
Okay, so I’ll try something new. It’s not like it could get any weirder, right? Zaria mused absently as Brittany tugged her along once more toward the small tables with two chairs set up in a circle around the area where they’d been listening to the speech. I mean, I already have a stalker. What else could happen?!
But what Zaria hadn’t realized was that she hadn’t only been feeling uncomfortable because she’d been thrust into a situation she hadn’t expected to be in, but that there was a pair of gray eyes watching her with fearsome interest that went far beyond simple obsession.
CHAPTER THREE
Cupid
“I can’t believe you,” Cupid said, completely and utterly thrown by the fact that he’d fallen for one of Pran’s schemes again! “How the hell do you make this happen? I swear, I have to be the dimmest buck in the whole bucking family to still go along with all your brilliant ideas,” he grumbled, as Pran threw an arm around his shoulder.
Together, they walked through the packed room, late as ever but just on time to begin the first round, where two empty seats were waiting for them about five tables apart.
“Naw, brother. You simply know that I make your life worthwhile by providing you with new and exhilarating experiences the likes of which you would never come across by your lonesome,” Pran said with a flourish, sweeping his arm across the circle of tables and the people seated at them.
Cupid noticed that most of the women were staring at them with at least some interest. It wasn’t a surprise to him and it had long stopped bolstering his ego. Nothing special about good genes, right? Both of them were tall, and while Cupid had light, sandy-blond hair courtesy of their mother, Pran’s was dark and he kept his close-cropped. But it wasn’t the hair that drew the eye, obviously, but rather the fact that they were tall and strong, with chiseled jaws and the gait of men who knew what they were worth.
Pran directed Cupid to a seat with a mousy-looking girl who blushed immediately. Cupid gave her an awkward smile, feeling completely out of place.
“I’m going to kick your ass for this later, you know,” Cupid whispered before Pran could peel off.
“You’ll be too deeply in love to chase me down, man,” Pran said with a chuckle, giving him a wink and then leaving for his table just as the bell rang that signified the start of the date.
“So… Cupid started with a sigh in his voice. “Come here often?”
The moment she started giggling at his lame joke he knew it was all over. This was going to be unbearable. And he didn’t even have a stiffer drink than a glass of cheap champagne.
***
“My artisanal bakery only makes bread from pumpkin seeds!”
“I don’t think anyone has a better vision for the future than Trump!”
“Oh, yes, I intend to have my first baby in about nine months from Valentine’s Day!”
The list of inane answers to even dumber questions that Cupid forced himself to ask was starting to grate at him so badly that by the time he came to sit down at table twenty-seven, he had lost every modic
um of hope for mankind, women, relationships, or happiness. Not that he’d come in there with much of any of the aforementioned, but it was painful nonetheless.
“Come here often?” she asked, her tone dry and deadpan, beating Cupid to the question.
He perked up immediately, finally looking up at who he was talking to now instead of at his score card, woefully empty as it was. The ding of the bell was still ringing in his ears as the other couples around them started buzzing with strained conversation and Cupid just sort of… stared.
She was a vision.
Dark skin that made him think of a delicious cup of coffee with cream, soulful gray eyes, and a crown of hair that seemed to be more of a halo of black curls than anything else, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She had dimples and a small nose and her brows were arched in the most delectable, slightly amused fashion. It took a whole lot of work not to lean over the table, put both hands on her cheeks and just kiss her until they both ran out of air.
Holy hell, man! What’s wrong with you?!
She probably thought he was a bit slow on the uptake until he eventually managed to clear his throat and look at her like she was a person rather than an angel sent down specifically for him. Cupid pushed the card around on the table a little bit, struggling to find his voice, his bravado and his brain encapsulated in the pink fluff of sudden interest that seemed to fill him.
“I...um. Yeah. I try to spend every waking minute sharing barely articulated ideas with a bunch of strangers who can’t apparently use an online dating app,” he finally said, giving her a wry look. “You?”
“Oh yes,” she said with the makings of a smile, and goddammit, it made her sexy on top of being gorgeous. She was clearly going to be the end of him. “I try to set aside every Wednesday to come converse with the greatest minds in dating. I find it keeps me sharp and on my game.”
“Wouldn’t want you to fall off your game, obviously. It is such a competitive sport, after all,” Cupid said with a smirk, glancing to either side of him.
To the left, a pair seemed to be discussing the merits of steaming rather than boiling rice, and to the right, the table had fallen into silence, both parties staring at their hands in apparent eagerness to be anywhere but where they were at that very moment.
“Hey, don’t laugh. I’m sure there’s a championship somewhere, with prizes worth at least one good Amazon gift card,” she quipped back, her smile widening.
Shit. You’re in trouble now.
And he was, too. She was beautiful, sexy, and sarcastic? Sign Cupid up. He was ready to go to those dating championships if it meant she’d be there!
“Enjoying the festivities so far? The decorations,” he said, pointing at a gaggle of heart-shaped balloons above their heads, “the punch,” rolling the shoddy champagne around in the glass, “and most importantly of all, the company!”
He flashed her a grin and restrained himself from giving her a wink too, catching on that he had some nervous energy at the moment that was trying really hard to make a complete fool out of himself in front of the most fascinating creature he had found. Even his buck had taken interest, the presence of the great horned beast suddenly very prevalent at the forefront of his mind.
Obviously, the stag approved. Couldn’t look at a pair of pretty gray eyes like that without wanting to know more about them, after all.
“Well,” she started, a playful smile turning the corners of her mouth up in the cutest way. “I think the punch is okay, but I’m more of a whiskey kind of girl. The decorations are…” she leaned in a bit, making Cupid instinctively do the same, his bright blue eyes filling with interest. “Horrendous, but don’t tell the decorating committee.”
“Mum’s the word,” he promised, crossing his fingers over his heart with a stern look of earnest servitude falling on his expression.
“But the company?” she queried, pursing her full lips as she narrowed her eyes a little. “I think the company outshines the occasion, at least.”
He grinned wickedly and she replied with one of her own. There was that warm, tingly feeling in his gut that he’d come to think of as a bad omen, but with number twenty-seven here, it seemed like the precursor to good things. In short, he was hooked. And it was only the bell ringing that could decisively ruin that feeling and without the faintest smidge of regret.
“Shit,” he said, not managing to catch the word before he uttered it.
“I agree,” she said, a look of annoyance marring her features a little, though it made her no less cute.
Already some guy was standing next to Cupid’s chair, the guy who’d managed to bore his last companion into mute staring, and Cupid felt irritation boiling in him. He’d come across one interesting being in the whole event and now he was being driven away from her?! He could see a major flaw in the whole operation now; it was simply different than the one he’d originally anticipated.
Standing up with a heavy heart, he swiped his card from the table. He was about to step out of the way and take his seat at the next table before he looked back, a thought jolting through him. He didn’t even know her name!
“Hey. What’s your name?” he asked, throwing a look at the lady with the bell, giving him a look that told him to stop holding up the line.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to say,” she replied, the number twenty-seven written in a heart-shaped sticker smacked on her sweater seeming to mock him.
“Come on, live on the edge a little,” Cupid said with a grin, extending a hand to her playfully.
“Fine,” she said with a chuckle, glancing around to also see the annoyed faces wishing they’d get through their blatant flirting faster. “It’s Zaria.”
She put her hand in his and sparks flew through his body. It damn near took his breath away, kicking him back and making him let go of her hand. Zaria looked as shocked by it as he did, and she stared at her hand as if it wasn’t hers at all.
“Hey, can we keep the line moving here?” the dull guy asked, tapping his foot as if that was going to make Cupid move faster.
“Hey, give me a minute here, okay? Don’t you recognize true love when you see it?”
Cupid gave Zaria a quick wink, but truth be told, he wasn’t entirely sure if it was in jest.
“Okay then, wise guy. What’s your name?” Zaria asked, while Cupid was still busy mulling over her name, remembering it for life.
“Cupid,” he said with a wicked grin. “Just the man you were looking for.”
At that, Cupid turned around and stalked to the next table, though he could hear the groan of laughter that Zaria let out the moment he’d said his name.
It was cheesy enough, making him sometimes use nicknames because of his parents’ odd taste in naming their many children, but for this occasion it was perfect. Cupid didn’t notice, but there were at least two other pairs of eyes on him, which were considering him with more than simple interest. One belonged to Pran, and the other to a man who seemed to be seething at the very sight of him.
When Cupid sat down and the bell was rung again, his eager partner fawning over him because of the scene he’d pulled with Zaria, Cupid found himself hard-pressed to focus.
“Is your name really Cupid?”
“Who else would be at a dating event for singles this time of year?” he said lightly, though his gaze kept flicking back to Zaria. He opened his card, filling in the number twenty-seven as the only one he’d write down that night.
When the ordeal was finally reaching its end and Cupid was hanging on the edge of his seat waiting for the last bell so he could find Zaria again—with the full intent of asking her out for coffee or something equally as cliché—the universe conspired against him once more. Along with the last bell came the sound of a deafening air horn, making everyone jump in their seats as a sea of red and white balloons were let loose from the ceiling, flooding the room.
“You were all fantastic!” the woman in red called, a sly smile on her lips. “But now we will have to let Cupi
d do his job!”
Cupid couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that as a few people who had heard his exchange with Zaria smirked at him.
“Men will exit through the door on the left and women through the one on the right! No cheating! Leave your cards with our lovely assistants and love will find a way! Thank you all!”
Cupid’s brows knit in annoyance as the throng of people started pushing him to the men’s exit and he couldn’t catch sight of Zaria anywhere. It was Pran who caught up to him first, grabbing him by the arm and leading him outside.
“So, was it horrible?” his brother asked, looking smugly pleased with himself.
“You know it,” Cupid replied distractedly, still trying to find Zaria in the crowd. He was forced to leave his card with one of the assistants, who was dressed in shades of pink.
She better have put down my number! he thought with a frown.
What Cupid didn’t know was that right behind him, when he was out of earshot, a man with watery eyes and a strained expression seemed to accidentally bump into the assistant with the bowl of cards, scattering them on the floor. Even worse was that Cupid’s card, with just the number twenty-seven scribbled on it, never made it back into the bowl.
CHAPTER FOUR
Zaria
“Girl, you need to watch where you’re going or you’ll end up flat as a pancake,” Brittany said, grabbing Zaria by the shoulder when she was about to cross the street with a red light, nearly thrusting herself in front of a yellow cab that had no intention of sparing her life if she happened in front of his car.
“Oh? Oh! Sorry. I’m distracted,” Zaria said, taking a sip of her vanilla latte in some mild hope that it would cure her of her affliction.
“Oh really? Tell me, what have we been talking about for the last five minutes?” Brittany asked, quirking an inquisitive brow at Zaria and pursing her lips.
“Um,” Zaria stuttered, glancing to the street light in hopes that it would save her from the situation. “The price of… Kate Spade bags?”
