Eros thought he knew everything about love. Being a Cupid and all. But that was before he met Penelope...
For nearly a decade, he's tried-and failed-to match her and her true love, Trevor. If he doesn't make the match by the ten-year deadline, he fa...
"What are you doing here?" I ask, debating whether to invite him in to sober him up, but he's drunk enough that I don't think that'd be a good idea.
"I can't stop thinking about you." The sullen look on his face is anything but flattering.
"I'm sorry?" I try to stay neutral, but the sarcasm is unmistakable in my voice. Even a drunk like him will be hard-pressed not to hear it.
"It's never happened to me before. I don't like it." He scratches his head, making his dark hair stand on end. "So you're obviously a witch."
"Obviously. Because witches exist." Placing my fists on my hips, I look up at him, trying to decide how to handle this situation. We've been seeing each other for lunch twice a week to plan for the impending wedding, and while he's been flirty, he's mostly acted friendly, so I'm not entirely sure where this is coming from.
He groans. "You know what I mean."
"I really don't."
Taking the steps separating us, he puts his hands on my shoulders, staring down at me with a wild look in his brown eyes.
"Do you feel nothing at all?" he asks fervently. "I can't be the only one feeling this inexplicable pull. Like we're meant to be together."
I smile wryly. "Trevor, I'm sorry, but I don't. We're friends and I'd love for us to stay friends."
"I want that too." He sighs but doesn't take his hands off me. "I really want that. But I can't shake this feeling."
"Did you try drinking it away?" I scrunch my nose as another whiff of whatever alcohol he's been dousing himself in assaults my nostrils.
"Didn't work," he mutters.
"Obviously."
His hands on me are getting heavier, as if he's about to fall asleep, and I roll my shoulders to remind him he's still holding on to me. Frustratingly, he's still not moving.
"Maybe you should go home and sober up?" I suggest helpfully.
"Maybe," he agrees. Then, before I have time to react, he swoops down and locks his lips with mine. The sheer shock makes me gasp, and he immediately plunges his tongue in. Whatever alcohol he's been drinking tastes bitter, and I pull away. He continues kissing my cheek when I angle my head away, and as I try to pull away, he clamps his arms around me, keeping me close.
"Trevor," I say sharply. "Stop it! You're drunk and you need to go home."
"You must feel it too," he mumbles against my skin. "I can't be the only one."
I'm just about to say he really is alone in this when he's roughly pulled away from me and slammed against the wall. It takes me a moment to comprehend what just happened. Eros has Trevor braced against the wall with his lower arm against his chest, his face contorted in anger in a way I've never seen before.
"The fuck are you doing, Trevor?" he growls.
Trevor looks as if he's about to wet himself, and I almost feel sorry for him. Looking behind me, I realize there's another man with him. A dark angel if ever I saw one, and I try not to stare. Are they both models? When he said he was a contractor in acquisitions, did he mean he acquires photographs of himself from modeling agencies?
"He's drunk," I say, turning back from the fallen angel. "Obviously doesn't know what he's doing."
"Terrible excuse." Eros lets go of Trevor and takes a few steps back, still glaring at the other man. "Go home. Sober up."
"Hey! That's what I said!" The dark scowl from Eros tells me he's not appreciating my humor at the moment, and I fall silent.
Trevor looks down at his feet, his ears red. At least he still has enough presence of mind to feel embarrassed. As he walks past me, he stops and opens his mouth.
"Don't talk to her," Eros snaps. "Not tonight. You can apologize when you're sober."
Nodding, Trevor disappears down the hallway. I hope he's taking the elevator because I don't trust his equilibrium on the stairs right now. Turning back to Eros, I try a smile but he's not having it, obviously still unnerved about the whole situation. Coming close, I expect him to yell at me for not being more careful, but he only fishes the keys out of my pocket and unlocks my door.
I walk over and look up at him in the doorway. His face is drawn, but he places a gentle kiss on the top of my head.
"I'll be in with you soon," he promises, and I nod as he closes the door to talk to his friend.
Their muffled voices on the other side are tempting, but I force myself to walk away. I'm better than eavesdropping. Sadly.
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