The Accidental Cupid
By Xavier Mayne
3/5
()
About this ebook
While performing as Cupid on Valentine’s Day, Josh has the unpleasant task of delivering a break-up message to Dallas from his girlfriend, Jess. Jess is convinced Dallas is gay, and when Josh tries to comfort him, he finds she may very well be right. When Dallas’s best friend Austin arrives, it’s up to Josh to show both young men the love and acceptance they’ve always had in each other.
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Reviews for The Accidental Cupid
4 ratings1 review
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Cute story. I like Xavier Mayne's humor and Josh is just hilarious. I've read some of the other stories with Josh as the cupid (in the others he's more figuratively the cupid -- no costume involved :)) and now I just want him to get his HEA. :)
Book preview
The Accidental Cupid - Xavier Mayne
The Accidental Cupid
CUPID GETS a raw deal.
Valentine’s Day is supposed to be this big romantic thing, and instead of celebrating it with the love of my life—or my week, or whatever—I’m dressed up in a little white Speedo and a toy archery set, delivering romantic messages and candy and shit all over town. This is the worst job I’ve ever had, and I once worked at Applebee’s.
I thought it would be fun, kinda sexy and romantic, right? When I saw the flyer posted in the hallway outside my math class, I pulled a tab off the bottom and tucked it in my back pocket. Perfect opportunity for aspiring actors, it promised. Make great money while making people happy, it urged. Stand in front of strangers in a tiny Speedo looking stupid, it should have said. Ugh.
The clientele for this service falls into two camps: gay couples who want to gawk at a college guy in a tiny Speedo (which I totally get), and herds of leathery cougars who eye me like I’m a choice cut of veal, served up for their delectation (which totally creeps me out).
This evening I’ve had four of each, and I’m exhausted. The cougar parties were harrowing, and after I read my poem and threw my glitter, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough; on the other hand, the guys ranged from twenties to sixties, and several of them asked if I could stay for some additional off-the-books performance. Which honestly I would have considered if I didn’t have to go shake my quiver at another client six blocks away, who apparently picked me out of the Cupid book and insisted I be the one to deliver the message. I figure that will lead to a bigger tip, and I’m all about that.
So now I’m at the last one, a third-floor walk-up that leaves me panting and digging that fucking white Speedo out of my ass as I finally reach the door.
Ring ring, Cupid calling.
No answer.
I check the dispatch slip and ring again. This time I hear footsteps and then the locks unlatching. This takes a moment—this isn’t the worst neighborhood, but it’s far from the best. A deep voice from inside calls You’re early!
and then the door opens just a crack. I see an eye rake me up and down, and then the door opens wide. Oh,
says a surprised but still deeply sexy voice.
My night’s looking up.
Standing before me is a man, probably twenty-five, who is most assuredly shocked to find Cupid on his doorstep at 9:00 p.m. on Valentine’s Day. He furrows his adorable brow at me and shakes his head slowly. He stands about six feet, and under his somewhat rumpled plaid flannel shirt and torn jeans lurks the lean body of a runner.
Under his clothes is definitely where I’d like to be.
Then I remember I’m still on the clock. I consult my slip and clear my throat. Dallas?
I ask, reading the name on the printed across the top.
That’s me,
he says softly. His resonant voice betrays a hint of uncertainty. He still has no idea why I’m here.
I open the envelope the slip is stapled to. Your professional Cupids probably review the salient details before knocking on the door, but I’m so worn out from the eight appearances before this one that I didn’t bother—and so its contents will be a surprise to both of us.
Dear Dallas:
I sent