Sheer Cupidity: A Standalone Cupidity Romance (Heart Hassle Book 5)

LEX

“Can we…ahh, take a break?” the cupid standing at my side asks. He’s got pink hair that sits rigidly straight combed back on his head, and his red wings are held far too loosely. The end feathers are even dragging a little on the ground. Terrible habit.

My gaze cuts over to him. “A break? Already?”

“It’s nearly nighttime.”

My hold on my bow drops, the string loosening as I lower the arrow instead of shooting it through the hindquarters of the bear several paces away.

“Nighttime is no time to stop,” I insist. “If anything, love and lust are only magnified under the cover of darkness, especially with the moon as full as it is here in the shifter realm. Their mating instincts will already be in overdrive.”

“Yes, but tonight is the cupid potluck.”

Surprise and then dread swims over my features. “Oh. That.”

He gives me a once-over. “Let me guess, you’re not a fan of parties?”

Well, that sounded judgmental. “What makes you say that?”

His blood-red eyes cast over my outfit—a knee-length red pencil skirt and pink blouse tucked in, my black blazer buttoned over it. When he keeps staring, I glance down to see if I have a wrinkle somewhere. Finding none, I wonder if a piece of hair has come loose from my bun, but since I don’t have a corporeal body right now, I can’t run my hand over it to check.

“You just…don’t seem like the partying type,” he finally finishes.

I sniff and tip my chin up. “I’ll have you know that I’ve planned the last four cupid annual parties. Everybody raved about my themes.”

One was “We make matches mint to be.” My encourage-mint wall was a real hit.

“Okay, but that’s planning. Did you actually go to the party?” he asks.

I frown. “Well…no. But that’s beside the point.”

His stodgy look argues that it’s not. “I suppose for someone who can leave the Veil and become physical whenever they want, the parties aren’t as exciting for you,” he tells me with a little bit of bitterness. He won’t outright insult me for it, not when I technically outrank him, but he sure lets it be known that he’s green with envy. Well, not actually green. His wings are as red as mine.

I don’t know what he sees in my expression, but he lets out a sigh and comes closer, the full moon enhancing his pale skin. He was a vampire in his past life, though I’m glad he’s traded in his bloodlust for just plain lust. “Let’s go back to headquarters. I’ll bring you into the party so you can see for yourself. It’ll be fun.”

Fun.

As if I deserve to have any fun.

I don’t say that out loud though, and instead give him a smile. “Sure. It would be uncouth of me to make you miss the potluck, Mac.”

His actual cupid number designation is MMMCMXCIX plus CVI. He has to have two rows of cupid numbers on the inside of his wrist, since there’s been an influx of cupids in the last few years, and Cupidville ran out of Roman numerals. But since his numbered designation is way too much of a mouthful, he simply uses the first letter of each line to make a name: M and C, thus, Mac.

Roman numerals aren’t really the most efficient way to tally us when we become cupids, but there was a Roman who was Head of Cupidity back in the day, and the practice has stuck. Then, Emelle became the boss and made a name for herself—literally. So making a name out of our cupid numbers caught on fast.

I can’t say the name “Mac” exactly fits his ex-vampire-turned-cupid personality with his black suit and blood drops on his shirt collar, but who am I to judge? After all, my cupid number is LXIX. Sixty-nine. If only I had a Love Match for every time someone made a joke about it.

“Great, let’s go,” he beams, showing off the fangs lodged in his gums.

I stuff my Love Arrow into the quiver at my back and sling my bow onto its holder. We’ve been working the shifter realm for a few weeks now, and I’ve been waiting for tonight’s full moon so I can succeed in my personal challenge: three hundred shifter mate matches, all instigated by my Lust Breath and carefully aimed Love Arrows. But the moon has only been in the sky for an hour, maybe two, and I’ve only been able to mate match twenty shifters.

Abysmal numbers.

Casting one disappointed look into the knotty woods of the forest that’s currently crawling with shifters running around trying to mate, I let out a sigh and then turn away. “Alright, let’s go to Cupidville,” I say, unable to keep the grimace from my expression as I let my eyes scan the landscape, wishing I could stay here instead.

“You really like your job, don’t you?” Mac asks.

Not anymore.

Now, it’s just penance.

But to Mac, I say, “Of course I do. And I aim to be the best.”

“You’re always Cupid of the Month, so that makes sense.”

“Not always,” I mutter as I wait for him to put his bow away.

He casts me a curious glance, but I don’t divulge further. I went through some dark years after… Well. I’m lucky that Emelle gave me space. But I had to stop sulking, so I got back to work. The fact that Emelle let me keep my higher-up status despite how low I was speaks volumes about her character. She really is the best Madame Cupid we’ve ever had.

And that’s not just my opinion. I’ve handed out cupidity questionnaires and spoken with Cupidity Resources, and she receives mostly five-star ratings on likability.

Now, a lot of the old cupid supervisors? They give her some poor feedback, but everyone knows it’s because they don’t appreciate her changes to all of cupidity—like giving us chances to become corporeal and have potluck parties. But myself and the rest of the cupids who are actually in the field know better. Emelle has made being a cupid so much more enjoyable. It’s not a lonely, dead existence anymore. It’s a true afterlife.

“Shifters are tough,” Mac says, pulling me out of my thoughts as he tucks away his arrow. “I think I only got two matches.”

He got one. And it wasn’t even that good. Respectfully.

“Actually, shifters are one of the easiest pairs to make since their pheromones do half the work,” I tell him.

He’s not listening to my reply though. He’s too excited about leaving and is practically bouncing on his heels. It’s the most enthusiasm I’ve ever seen from him. Granted, he’s only been my partner for a few weeks, but still.

“Ready?” he asks.

No. “Yes, of course.”

We both let our fingers pass through our cupid marks, and within moments, they glow pink, and then we’re yanked from this realm, through time and space, and pulled back into Cupidville.

Yay.

Landing in headquarters has changed too. We’re no longer incorporeal or subjected to reprimands and an anxiety-inducing waiting room. Nowadays, when cupids get yanked, it’s usually straight to parties or award ceremonies, and we always get our physical bodies upon landing. It’s just one of the cupid perks Emelle has enacted over the years.

I’d be as excited as the rest of them if I didn’t completely dread these get-togethers. Mac was right. I’m not a party sort of cupid. Maybe it’s my workaholic attitude…or maybe it’s the unrelenting guilt I feel every single day.

Because I still exist.

Me. A mild, goal-oriented, naïve cupid still exists, all because a male I barely knew jumped in front of a killing blow and saved me.

It’s hard to party when you’re riddled with guilt.

Mac and I land in an empty room, smack dab in front of a pink archway that seems to serve no purpose, considering it’s not holding up any walls, and there’s nothing on the other side. But cupids are bottlenecking through it in a constant stream, disappearing as soon as they go through it.

All around us, more cupids are appearing, materializing from whatever realm they were working in. All of them give some sort of cursory touch to their bodies—scraping hands through hair, fingers grazing over their cheeks and running up and down their arms as they readjust to having physical forms.

Beside me, Mac grins, his fangs on full display as he too gets used to having a body that can feel and touch again.

I quirk my head at him. “Can you still…”

He catches me eyeing his teeth. “Drink blood?” he asks, chucking his tongue to the side, the tip running over the sharp end of his fang.

I jerk my eyes back to his face. “Yeah, that.”

“Tried it,” he says with a shrug. “But cupids taste like cupcakes. Gives me a stomach ache.”

“Ah.”

Mac’s attention lands on a pair of female cupids that pop into existence beside us, both of them winking at him in tandem. His grin returns. “Have fun,” he tosses over his shoulder at me, already striding away.

I blow out a breath as I’m left behind. “Yeah. Fun.”

Slinging his arms around the pair of cupids, he goes through the archway and disappears with all the rest. Cupids bump into me from behind, trying to get through the archway too, so rather than be trampled, I follow the red-winged herd.

As soon as I pass through, some magic snags me and then I’m thrust into the party. Instantly, I’m assaulted with a blast of music, shiny smoke, and obnoxious flashing lights. I shuffle off to the side before I get shoved by the throng of cupids joining the dance floor, and I find a wall to plant myself on.

“This is a potluck?” I say dubiously, because it looks more like a rave. My eyes skim the massive space, but it’s hard to see with how dark it is, considering the only light sources are the spotlights and pink glow sticks hanging around some of the cupids’ necks. “Hmm. I don’t see a single casserole dish.”

“Not that kind of fooking potluck, luv.”

I turn at the accented voice to find Sev standing next to me, looking happy as a clam. Well. If a clam was a very beautiful cupid, wearing seven neon glow sticks and incredibly tight leather pants.

“What kind of potluck is it then?” I ask him.

He points ahead where there’s a stage lit up with red and pink spotlights, shining on a group of lady lucks who are dancing in very provocative bustiers while tossing out lucky pennies to the cupid crowd dancing below.

Oh. Luck.

“And the pot?” I ask.

Sev jerks his chin to the right, and I follow his gaze to the large lounge area filled with cupids passing around pipes and bongs. That explains the copious amount of smoke in here.

“I’m guessing that’s marijuana?”

Sev smiles broadly. “A new strain made just for this party. Cupid Kush. It’s pink and the smoke glitters.”

He looks very proud of himself.

“You planned this potluck, didn’t you?” I hazard to guess.

Sev grins, making his whole face even more beautiful. “What gave it away?”

“All of it, honestly.”

Now he looks even prouder. Puffs his chest out and everything.

A server walks by—another lady luck—and he swipes two red cocktails from her tray, shooting her a wink before she trots off. He starts to pass one to me, but I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

Sev just shrugs and then tosses the whole drink back before chucking the cup in a garbage can a few feet away. Taking more time with the second drink, his thick lips close around the striped straw. He takes sips while simultaneously stirring it with the heart lollipop sticking out to get the pink cotton candy to dissolve.

“Didn’t expect you to come.”

I don’t want to say that I wouldn’t have if it weren’t for Mac. I don’t want to hurt Sev’s feelings.

“You look too tense, Lex,” he tells me, frowning at the flats on my feet and the tight bun in my hair. “This is a party. Go on over to the pot part of this and maybe get lucky, yeah?” he says, wagging his brows.

I flinch at the horrifying thought.

“No, thank you. I’ll just…watch.”

An incredibly dramatic eye roll is what I get in reply.

“What?” I ask somewhat defensively.

Sev drinks the rest of his cocktail, dissolving cotton candy and all. “Listen, luv. The big boss and I are glad you’re back to work. Doing your perfectionism shite.”

“I’m not a perf—”

He slams his hand over my mouth, and I go perfectly frozen. “That’s better,” he says with a smirk. “Now, as I was saying. You’re back to being Miss Perfect Cupid of the Month after your depressive episode.”

I try to say that I didn’t have a depressive episode, but all that comes out are muffled words trapped by his hand that smells like marijuana and cotton candy.

“You’re committed to hitting these personal goals of yours, but you’ve gone through over twenty fooking cupid partners. All of them asking for a transfer. It’s a problem, get it?”

I immediately start to defend myself but have to start over again when Sev deigns to lower his hand. With a smirk, I might add. “It’s not my fault those other cupids aren’t excited to spread love and desire,” I tell him, my voice pitching louder so he can hear me over the music. “I just work better on my own.”

Sev leans down so we’re eye to eye. “Lex, luv, no one is as excited to spread love and desire as you.”

Excited isn’t quite the right word, but I don’t want to tell him otherwise. He’s already called me depressive. No need to make it worse. “Well…Mac has been with me for a bit now, and everything is fine,” I say as I self-consciously adjust the strap where my bow and quiver hang on my back.

He arches a black brow. “Really? Cuz Mac told me he wanted to be partnered up with a different cupid.”

Already?

My lips purse together like they’ve been done up with a button. What a rude ex-vampire.

Sev runs his hands through his thick pink hair and gives me a pitying look. “Don’t worry about it, yeah? I’ll get you someone new. Again.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m going through cupids like hotcakes. No more partners.”

Something perky and hopeful flashes through his expression. “You mean you’re finally ready to take back your supervisory role, and I can step down?”

I shake my head. “No.” The thought of not being on the field makes a cold sweat break out over my skin. “I need my goals. I need to be out there spreading love.”

The way Sev’s shoulders sag dejectedly nearly makes me smile. “Oh, don’t pretend you hate it so much,” I tell him. “We both know you enjoy all the perks you’ve had over the years.”

He doesn’t even try to deny it. “True. I have to admit, I like bossing these fooking wankers around. And the sex—I like that. Having a physical body all day every day is a big plus, get it?”

“Oh, I’ve got it.” I’ve walked in on him more than once in some very compromised positions with a large number of participants. I don’t think my eyes will ever recover.

A wistful yet wicked smile takes over his face, highlighted by the disco lights flashing from the dark ceiling. He looks like he’s remembering every sexual escapade he’s ever had since being promoted.

While he reminisces, I look around and shift on my feet, noting that a lot of cupids seem to be taking advantage of a back room. Based on the wafts of Lust Breath billowing from the doorway, it’s quite clear what’s going on in there. Actually, some of them aren’t even bothering to go into the back room, and I feel a blush heat my face.

Sev follows my gaze before I can avert it, and laughs. “Luv, you’re a cupid. You’re not only a built-in voyeur, but you’ve caused people to get it on and shag their brains out, yet you’re blushing at a little debauchery?”

“I wouldn’t call that orgy little.”

He shrugs, as if he’s going to agree to disagree.

“Right then,” Sev says, clearing his throat as the music takes on a faster beat and residual Lust mixes with the glitter smoke in the air. He levels me with a surprisingly soft look that he doesn’t often show. “What are you gonna do? Because this…I don’t think you’re happy, luv. The boss and I, we just want you happy.”

My throat goes dry and tight, and I have the sudden urge to cry, which is ridiculous. Cupids of the Month don’t cry. But…he’s right. I’m not happy, and all I’m doing is making up one goal after another. Not because I actually like the goals anymore, but because I need the distraction.

My eyes flick around nervously, feeling so out of place in this loud, smoky place. “Maybe…maybe I should go back.”

His eyes widen in shock, and then he leans in. “Are you sure about that?”

I nod slowly, even as dread collects in my stomach. “Yes. I should’ve gone back a long time ago.”

“You sure you’re ready for that?”

No.

“It needs to be done,” I say, which isn’t really an answer. “I need to go back to the fae realm and speak to Emelle face-to-face.”

The declaration feels like a bucket of rocks being dumped in my stomach. I’ve been actively avoiding going back there because I haven’t been able to face it. I have no idea how to come to terms with my survivor’s guilt or my subsequent avoidance of Emelle. But I don’t think I can avoid it any longer.

A look of pity flashes over his face, though I pretend not to see it. The next second, it’s gone, replaced with a shrug. “Alright, luv. Whatever you wanna do. Not like you need a partner to make your quotas. Just…don’t get all sad and shite, alright? And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

That last bit makes me laugh. “Sev, you do everything.”

His teeth flash in a dazzling smile. “That’s right, that. Speaking of…” He shoves his empty glass in my hands before licking his lips, eyes latched onto the dance floor. “It’s time for me to go find someone to do at this glorious potluck. See you later, luv.” With a pat on my shoulder, he starts walking off, but then he stops and says, “Oh, and for the love of all the hairy cupid arses, go enjoy yourself for once. Pot and luck. It’s all you need for a good time!”

I watch him sidle himself onto the dance floor, a cupid cheer rising up when all our red-winged peers see it’s him. Sev is very popular. Unlike—

“Hey, could you…move?”

My head snaps toward the voice, noticing a group of cupids with mini bows and arrows in their hands. I frown, eyes flashing up to the male cupid and his friends as they all stare at me expectantly. “You’re in the way of the dart board.”

I whirl around to look over my shoulder on the wall I’ve perched on, and sure enough, there’s a huge dart board in the shape of a heart.

“Oh, yes. Sorry.”

Shuffling out of the way, still awkwardly holding Sev’s empty cocktail glass, I make sure to move before I get shot with a fake Love Arrow. The group immediately claps when the big burly male who so kindly told me to move aims his tiny arrow and hits the heart on the top curve.

“I would’ve gotten a bullseye,” I say to myself with a sniff.

If I were Sev, they’d have probably asked if I wanted to play with them. But I’m…me. Lex. Miss Goodie-Two-Wings. Obsessed with Love Matches and hitting quotas. Every cupid here thinks I’m nothing but a rule-following workaholic, and they’re right.

I have no friends, no ability to let loose. I’m not the fun person anyone seeks out at a party. I’m a loner, and that’s the way I prefer it. It makes me more efficient. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

With a frown, I turn and stride for the archway to leave, setting down the glass on a passing server’s tray as I go. If I hurry, I can probably make it back to the shifters in time to hit my mate match goal first. Just to give myself a confidence boost.

Yep, I’ll go make some matches, and then I’ll drag myself back to the fae realm, and I’ll finally face Emelle.

It’s far past overdue.