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...
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"I know it looks big, but I promise it won't hurt."
The Great Dane whimpers as I approach him with the syringe. He's a big boy, the same one who nearly pulled my arm out of my socket a couple of weeks ago. I love dogs—they're one of my favorite animals—but even I'm wary when approaching one that's as big as I am and at least as heavy. We manage with no one getting injured, and I can finally breathe out. Because of the flu knocking out several of my colleagues, I've done little but work lately and I'm happy that my shift is finally over.
Another Friday night spent at work rather than making out with Eros. I glance at the clock as I switch out of my work clothes into my jeans and a jumper. It's nearly midnight. The disadvantage of working at a 24/7 vet clinic. If I remember correctly, Eros was going out with a friend tonight so he either won't be back or might be asleep already. In either case, it seems a little too desperate to be knocking on his door this late at night and calling him would just scream booty call. Not doing that. Even if I'd love a booty call.
Maybe I am desperate. I ponder this as I wave good night to my colleagues stuck working the night shift. Eros asked if we could take it slow and I agreed. Considering he seems to have been quite the player before, I think it's sweet he wants things to be different with me. That said... I didn't realize quite how slow he meant. It's been two weeks since our first kiss and we're still basically making out like teenagers, never going further than second base. Maybe snail pace wasn't quite what I had in mind. We could at least increase to—I don't know... Sloth pace?
Who am I kidding? I want him. I don't want to take it slow. But even my blabbermouth isn't quite forward enough to say that aloud.
I hurry home in the cold winter night, my breath fogging in the freezing air. At least I don't live far away, so I push into the foyer of my apartment building a short while later, stomping my feet on the tiled floor to rid my boots of snow. Fishing the keys out of my pocket, I mount the stairs to the third floor quickly, counting them as I go. It's the same amount of steps as yesterday. And the day before. And, well, every day.
When I walk down the hallway toward my apartment, I hesitate as I see a tall form leaning against the wall next to my door. Who could be waiting for me this late? Or is it a coincidence that they're at my door? It's not Eros since the man is dark-haired. As he catches sight of me, he pushes away from the wall and takes an unsteady step towards me.
"Trevor?" I put my keys back in my pocket. "What are you doing here?"
He stares at me, his eyes bloodshot, and as I get closer, I can smell the alcohol on his breath. "You," he says accusingly. "You've bewitched me."
"I what now?" I shake my head. "Bewitched? I'm not frigging Harry Potter."
Swaying lightly, he frowns. "Wouldn't you be Hermione?"
I'll admit, I'm impressed that he knows the character names. Maybe he's actually read the books, or at least watched the movies. But he's still not making any sense.
