Eros (Contemporary Mythos Book 4)

I smiled to myself, listening to a client preen through the phone.

“He proposed, Elani. I can’t believe it,” Anna squealed.

“That’s incredible. Where’d he do it? How?” I clicked through several screens on my work monitor, pulling up her profile. The algorithm matched her with Bryan O’Connor. They went to the same college but were never in the same courses. The fact they met through my dating service was “serendipity,” as Anna called it at the time.

“Where we had our first date.”

Quickly pulling up the notes, I skimmed for reminders I left for myself. It was impossible to remember the small details with so many clients through the years.

“The wharf? Wow. That must’ve been beautiful.” I leaned back, slumping until my head pressed against the backrest.

“You have no idea. It was nighttime. Full moon. The pier had those sparkly lights hanging everywhere. It was like walking through starlit clouds.”

Anna had a way of describing things—romantic enough to take your breath away at the mere thought. I closed my eyes, imagining the scene she painted. My heels clicked against the wooden dock—arms wrapped around myself from the chill in the air. Gazing up at the moon, my breath curling in the air like smoke, a man stepped up behind me, wrapping his jacket around my shoulders.

“Like a fairy tale, isn’t it?” His voice rumbled against my ear—a voice I’d heard before. Recently.

I smiled to myself, turning to face him. He grinned with his dimpled chin.

Eric, the goddamned bartender.

My eyes flew open. “Get out of my daydreams,” I yelled.

“Pardon me?” Anna said, still on the other line.

I pinched my lips together. “Not you, Anna. Sorry, I got lost in thought there for a second.”

“Alright.” She let out a fluttery chuckle. “Anyway, I know you must be busy helping out other couples, but I wanted to call and thank you personally. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

My chest warmed. “You’re very welcome, Anna. I wish nothing but eternal happiness for you both.”

Silence fell over the line.

“Anna?”

“I wanted to—well, no. It’d be way too much to ask.”

I shifted in my seat. “By all means, ask away.”

“I want to invite you to the wedding.”

My stomach gurgled. “Oh, no, no. I appreciate the thought, but you don’t have to—”

“I would love for you to be there, Elani. You’re the reason we’re together. I know it’s a lot to ask with the travel and everything, but if you can swing it, it’d mean the world to me.”

It wouldn’t be the first time a client invited me to their wedding. But none of them had been my client as long as Anna. She signed on before I fine-tuned the system and stuck through it until I found her “the one.” Considering she was practically my guinea pig, I felt compelled to pay her back somehow.

Did it have to be this, though?

Fine.

“I’d be happy to.” I forced an upward inflection in my tone. “But where exactly?”

The Caribbean? Jamaica?

“Oh, this will be amazing. We’re having the ceremony in Ireland.”

I shot from my chair, the phone’s cord creaking in protest. “Ireland?”

“It made sense with both our ancestries. You can still come, right?”

I turned to look at my wall calendar, the cord wrapping around my torso. Dad and I would be traveling to Scotland soon to represent Clan Stewart for the yearly Calling of the Clans festival. Ireland was a short charter airplane flight away.

How freaking convenient. Too convenient.

Dad could be my date. That wasn’t that weird, right?

“Elani?”

I turned back to the monitor, the chord tightening over my chest. “It’s perfect. I’ll be there. Send over the information when you have it.”

She squealed. “Alright. Take care.”

Click.

I peeled the receiver away from my head, trying to put it on its cradle, the cord resisting my efforts.

Note to self: Say hello to the twenty-first century and order a cordless phone.

Grumbling, I made several circles, untangling myself from the phone’s vine. An alarm went off on my cell phone, displaying the name “Jason” in all caps—another two dates tonight. It should be exciting, an adrenaline rush, but all I felt was remorse and nausea after the first two nightmares.

Making my way to the hallway, I shoved the phone in my purse. Alex sat on the edge of her desk, glaring at me.

“What have I done to deserve your stare of deathly intent?” I made sure to keep three feet between us.

“You text me in the middle of your date with Michael about how brutally hot he was and then go radio silent?” Her glare deepened.

I picked my nail against the strap of my purse. “That’s because it didn’t end well. I thought it did, but then he sent a half-naked photo right before I went to bed.”

She pushed from the desk. “Half-naked, you say?”

“Uh-huh. We both know that was one step away from a—” I glanced around at the dozens of cubicles able to hear our conversation. “DP.”

“Double penetration?” She raised a quizzical brow.

I smacked a hand over her filthy mouth.

“D.P. And I don’t mean Deadpool.”

Her eyes sparkled to life, and she mumbled the words “dick pic” against my palm.

“Exactly.” I dropped my hand. “And I’m not in this for Mr. Temporary.”

“Understandable.” She took out her cell. “Is there a reason you haven’t sent that pic yet?”

“Of—” I squinted at her. “Of Michael?”

She raised her brow and looked left to right, re-emphasizing the phone in her hand.

I exaggerated pressing my thumb against my phone’s screen, and the sound of rustling paper echoed, deleting it.

Alex’s jaw dropped. “You witch.”

I booped her on the nose. “See you tomorrow.”

Her mouth remained open even after I turned away and headed for the elevator.

I entered the bar with about as much enthusiasm as going to the dentist. Not bothering to make eye contact, I threw my purse and jacket onto an empty stool and sat in the one next to it. Eric finished beaming at a couple of lady customers, thanking them for the generous tip. His smile brightened when he spotted me and casually slipped the cash into the register before coming over.

He leaned against the bar. “No sexy dress tonight? Still donning your business casual?”

I smiled at him with all my teeth.

His brow wrinkled. “What are you doing?”

Sighing, I pointed at my mouth, further widening my lips into a warped smile.

It took a few beats before the lightbulb lit his face—a snarky grin following. “Ah. Not work out with ‘ol mutant eyes, I take it?”

“Can I talk now?” My voice muffled from still baring my fangs.

“As long as it’s not about Michael, sure.”

“Can I have that nightly drink you promised me?” I sulked. “Bachelor number three is due in five minutes.”

“Gee. Try to tone down the excitement.” He tried to wink again, doing that weird double blinkety-blink thing.

I didn’t have the energy to call him out on it.

“We have this bet, yes. But don’t assume you understand what I’m going through.”

“Oh? You think I haven’t been through the dating circles of hell?” He busied his hands behind the bar.

My gaze fell to the light peppering of chest hair peeking from the several undone buttons at the top of his plaid shirt—a red and black one tonight.

“To say no would compliment you, but fine, I have a hard time believing you couldn’t nab any tail you laid your eyes on.” I flicked a curled empty straw wrapper across the bar.

He snatched the wrapper with a curl of his lip and threw it in the garbage behind him. “Maybe. But that’s not what you’re doing here, is it? You’re trying to find a partner.”

I pinched my mouth shut, not answering.

He placed a shot glass in front of me with perfectly separated liquids—the top a tannish hue, bottom clear.

“We’re doing shots now?” I lowered my head, eyeing it like a booby trap.

“Sounds like you could use one.”

“What is it?”

He tapped his fingers on the bar with an outstretched hand, making the muscles in his forearm dance. “A Slippery Nipple. Irish cream and sambuca.”

I snort-laughed with the glass close to my mouth, spilling some cream on my hand.

“Hey now. The top layer is the best part.” He grabbed a towel and dragged it over my hand, grazing his finger down a knuckle.

Bubbles floated and popped in my stomach.

Ignoring it, I tilted my head back and sank the drink. I’d expected it to taste like ass for some reason but was surprised with the way the Irish crème made it smooth, silky, and inviting.

“It’s like you know what you’re doing back there, or something.” I slammed the glass down, licking excess cream from my lips.

He caught my gaze. “It’s part of my job—to know people.”

“Maybe you should’ve been a therapist. A lot more money in that line of work.”

“Mm.” The sound vibrated from the back of his throat—deep and husky. “But not near as much fun.” His eyes lifted to the door.

I groaned. “It’s him, isn’t it? Copper-colored hair? Six foot one?”

Eric rested his chin in his hand. “Uh-huh. And…a woman.”

“What?” Sweat beaded at the base of my spine. “He came in with a woman?”

“An older woman.”

My eyes fell shut, and I gripped the edges of the bar top to keep from falling off my stool.

“Does your questionnaire have anything about being close with your mother?”

My eyes flew open. “Why?”

“Because I’m fairly certain he just called her ‘mom’ and pulled a seat out for her.”

Whimpering, I slapped my hands to my face before leaning over the bar. “You have to help me get out of this.”

“Oh, do I?” His grin turned downright slimy.

I sucked in a sharp breath. “You can’t in good conscience stand there and watch this catastrophe unfold and do nothing.”

“Are we upping the stakes then?”

I ground my teeth together. He stared at me, his blue eyes drowning me with questionable intent. “Fine.”

“At some point in time, I get to go on a date with you. I say when and where.”

My neck numbed.

No big deal. I’d already gone on plenty of horrible dates. What was one with a know-it-all bartender?

“Deal.”

He grinned. “Go introduce yourself. I’ll intervene at the right moment.”

“The right moment? How about now? Right now?”

“What do you want me to do? Kiss you?” A fire lit in his gaze.

I pressed my knees together. “Five minutes. Intervene in five minutes.”

He half-smiled and shook his head, watching me stumble off my stool.

I folded my jacket over an arm, said a silent prayer to the heavens above, and walked over.

My date’s smile spread wide once he caught sight of me, and his tall frame shot from his seat. “Elani?”

“Yes. George?”

His emerald eyes brightened, and the overhead lights made the scattering of freckles on his cheeks stand out. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. Please, sit.”

Zero mentions about his mom sitting with us at the table. Zilch.

I cleared my throat and sat, keeping my jacket in my lap. “I uh—wasn’t expecting company on our date.” I intentionally did not hide the sneer in my tone.

His mother, an older woman with violet-gray hair pulled into a bun at the base of her skull, pursed her paper-thin lips. “I’m Fiona. His mother. Our family comes from a long line of carefully selective breeding, and we expect a certain—” Her beady black eyes fell to my chest. “Caliber.”

Selective breeding? What were they, racehorses?

With as much stealth as I could manage, I lifted the jacket over my boobs.

Eric was sure taking his sweet time.

With a grimace, I pretended to stretch, stealing a glance at the bar. Eric scratched his back on the corner of a wall like a bear. He rolled his shoulders, flagged down one of the waitresses, and as soon as she was behind the bar, he sprinted to the back.

“You seem distracted,” George said in a melancholy voice.

I snapped my head back, wrapping the jacket around me tighter. “Sorry. First date jitters and everything.”

“Tell me, Elani, do you plan to have kids?” Fiona asked, removing a notepad and ballpoint pen from her purse.

I choked on my spit.

“Mother,” George snapped.

“It is better to get these questions out of the way before you start to like her, Junior.”

“I uh—hadn’t really thought about it.”

Fiona slapped the notepad on the table.

I jolted in my chair with widened eyes.

“Miss Stewart, this is no joking matter. Anyone who is to date my son must be a promising prospect.”

Speechless. The woman made the words freeze in my throat. All I could do was stare at her and pray I’d become a gnat so I could buzz around Eric’s head, wherever the hell he was.

I whipped my chin over my shoulder, glaring at the waitress still behind the bar. “I uh—understand why it’d be so important with your family line and all that jazz.”

“Are you a virgin?” Fiona whispered.

My throat gurgled like a strangled frog as I slowly turned my gaze back to the ridiculous woman across from me.

George’s face lit up.

“No. Absolutely, not.” I narrowed my eyes, looking between the two absurd humans.

Fiona let out a disapproving grunt and jotted on her notepad.

I tightened my grip on my jacket and fought the urge to scream into it.

“And how many sexual partners have you had?” Fiona lifted her eyes, her gaze aloof and bored.

Instead of an answer, I squeaked.

“Miss Stewart?” Eric’s face appeared in front of mine, blocking my view of the two weirdos.

If at any moment I’d have felt like kissing him, it would’ve been now.

“Yes?” The word came out strained.

He grinned at me, and the glint in his eye made my stomach twist. “There’s a call for you at the bar. Your husband.”

My lips parted, my left eye twitching, but I swallowed my words. “Thank you.”

His grin continued as he walked away.

George’s eyes were wide—cheeks flushed.

Fiona tapped her pen against the table and then shoved it and the notepad in her purse. “You’re married?”

I cocked my head to one side. “It’s an open marriage. Will that be an issue?”

“Of course it is. We’ll not sully our family name with a swinger.” Fiona upturned her pointed nose, patting George’s shoulder as she passed. “Come, Junior.”

It was difficult to tell from George’s expression whether he was a leashed dog with his mother or he hadn’t cared about my…lifestyle. Mortification gleamed in his eyes, but his lips curved wickedly. As soon as they were out the door, I huffed over to the bar, slapping my hands on it.

“Married? Seriously? You could’ve come up with virtually anything else.”

He shrugged, drying the inside of a glass with a towel. “It got them out of here, didn’t it? Besides, you were pretty quick-witted. Nice moves, Stewart.”

I groaned and fished for my phone. “I’m canceling my other date tonight. I can’t take any more of this.”

“Hey.” Eric’s hand slipped over my phone screen, and he gently pushed it down. “You have three months. It’s been two days. Ye of little faith, much?”

“You’re supposed to be cheering for my demise.”

“I am. But watching the drive fizzle out of you that quickly is discouraging.” He slid his hand back and half-smirked, creating a tiny dimple at the corner of his cheek.

I let my forehead fall on top of my arm. “I didn’t even look at this guy’s picture.”

“Well, a tall guy just walked in who’s been glancing around the bar with his hands shoved in his finely tailored pants for the past thirty seconds.”

As I lifted my head, hair fell in shambles over my face. “Is he cute?”

“Why don’t you be the judge?” He reached forward, parting my hair, and curling some of it over my ear. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

I blinked and smoothed back wispy bits of hair before turning around. My next date had raven-colored hair pulled back into a low ponytail, golden tanned skin, and when his dark eyes found mine, his smile made them narrow into a sexy squint.

I sauntered to him, jutting out my hand. “Elani Stewart.”

“Graeme MacFarlane,” he replied with a thick Scottish accent.

And there went my head, my heart, and my loins, straight to the ground.