She wanted to check up on him? How very thoughtful; however, he was the one who should be inquiring about her. She’d tangled with the Decapitator this morning—a brush with evil that had left her feeling rejected and angry once again, when really he’d only been saving her.
I’m a godsdamned hero. Did it matter that it was his fault that she’d been in danger? Nah. Me. Hero. All the way.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’m not much of a runner. You left me in the dust after the first block.”
“That’s strange, because I could see you—I mean you are pretty tall. About seven feet, right?”
Hmmm…Margarita seemed suspicious. He decided to play innocent.
With a chuckle he said, “Then you must’ve witnessed my very masculine display of panting.”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
“Cut the crap, Acan. I watched you being corralled into a tavern by a horde of sandwich fixings, and I followed you inside. You scrambled out the back door when I called your name.”
Uh-oh. It seemed that she’d figured him out.
Not good.
He could not afford any more problems, and problems he would have if she’d caught on to who he truly was. He would have to report it, and the gods would demand that her memory be wiped—a disaster for her because they usually left it to A.C., the God of Eclipses, or K’ak, the God of…well, he didn’t have an official title yet, but Acan supposed he’d be the God of Enormous Serpent Headdresses, Togas, or Lightning. All very respectable skills, of course. In any case, when they wiped a memory, it was the equivalent of using a sledgehammer. The human sometimes lost years of memories.
I must nip this in the bud. And he’d use Forgetty, who could easily reach into the mind of a human and extract particular memories. She’s like a neurosurgeon without the scalpel. But before he did that, he would need to determine if the rules had truly been broken.
“I assure you, Margarita, I was in no such tavern. You must’ve mistaken me for someone else. My brother perhaps?”
“Yeah. That’s the thing. I could’ve sworn I saw you leaving out the back door, but I found your brother in the alley. Just why is that, Acan?”
All right, she was either catching on to him or she believed him to be a very sly and sleazy man who worked with his belligerent brother to trap women in alleys in order to have their way with them. Which was it?
Ha. I know what to do.
“Margarita, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” If she believed him to be one of those scoundrels who preyed on women, then she would not want anything to do with him.
“What I want are answers. Be at my place. Nine o’clock. But no bullshit. I want to know what the hell is going on.”
Jesus Hey-sus Cristo. Please tell me she has no clue. Because if she knew too much, it would mean that he’d have to ask Forgetty to handle this. And then she will forget all about me. Forever.
His heart fell to his bare feet. Wait. Waaait… He froze and witnessed with absolute clarity how his body seemed heavy, drooping with sadness. He then thought of seeing her again, those large green eyes, her tight little butt, the other unmentionables he would gladly mention if it were not for his current state of undress. Dear gods, could fuzzy cunt be the one?
No. No! You cannot refer to your mate like that.
What? Dear gods! No. Why did I think that? She could not be his mate. She hated him. He thought she was uptight.
Yet she still finds you hot enough to shag you in your state of awesome beer belliness. Acan rubbed his brow. He had to be mistaken. Fucking horrible Universe, you would do this to me, wouldn’t you? If the Universe had mated him with his polar opposite, someone who didn’t like to have a good time and party, he’d rather die. Only he couldn’t die.
Yes. But you can reject her and choose another. It used to be unheard of—this not marrying the one your mother (aka the Universe) picked out for you—but there were instances popping up of immortals rejecting their intended mates in lieu of a soul mate. That demigod Andrus had just done it, and then Andrus’s rejected mate, Charlotte, mated with another demigod, Tommaso. They’d been shuffling the deck of love cards, so to speak.
Then I shall do the same. He would meet with Margarita, confirm what she knew, and then have him wiped from her memory. He’d have his mixer, find a more suitable woman, and party happily ever after.
“Text me the address. See you at nine.” He ended the call, feeling completely annoyed. The thought of seeing Margarita again made him all squishy inside. Likewise, the thought of never seeing her again rubbed him the wrong way.
No. I must end this. She’s just not right for me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
From the moment Margarita hung up with Acan, she felt completely ridiculous. What exactly was she accusing him of, anyway? Doing magic tricks and switching places with his brother to try to fool her? Yeah. Because they look so identical. She shook her head at herself, loading the dishwasher. I’m ridiculous.
What reason would Acan have to play games with her? Yet she couldn’t deny that something big and horrible kept nagging away in the back of her mind. She was not a needy, reckless, or an overtly horny woman. She did not and would not simply throw herself at a man—twice—simply because he smelled nice. Nope. Nuh-uh. She knew herself. She was a strong, mature woman who knew exactly what she wanted. And that Belch guy isn’t it. He was the most socially inept, offensive man she’d ever met. No filter whatsoever. No class. And he was a flasher! Or a nudist with no sense of propriety. Yet she’d wanted him.
Why?
Perhaps the guy had roofied her somehow. Yes, an airborne roofy that he sprayed on his body or something like that.
That’s even more ridiculous.
Ugh, she growled, putting the last mixing bowl into the dishwasher. She’d prepared one of her famous healthy meatloaves, a recipe she’d made up when Jessica was little and refused to eat veggies. Since then, she made it a daily habit to sneak finely chopped or shredded veggies into their food—burgers, spaghetti sauce, quesadillas—and switched out beef for turkey in order to cut down the calories. This recipe was her favorite, though.
In a large mixing bowl, combine:
- 1 lb lean ground beef
- 2 lbs ground turkey
- 2 cups of dry, quick-cooking oatmeal
- 1 cup of egg whites or egg substitute
- 2-3 cups of firmly packed shredded vegetables. Carrots, zucchini, yellow squash or cauliflower. A cheese grater can be used if a food processor isn’t an option.
- 1 medium-sized, finely chopped onion of any kind
- 1 tbsp of chipotle chili peppers, powdered or from a can
- 2 tbsp of Italian herbs, depending on taste: oregano, thyme, basil. Tarragon is also a great add.
- 2-3 cloves of chopped garlic or 1 tbsp of garlic powder
- 2 tsps salt
Mix the ingredients well.
Test: Take one spoonful and either microwave for thirty seconds (or until done) or fry the sample in a pan with a dab of oil. If the mixture tastes great, go to the next step. If it needs more salt or isn’t sticking together enough, add a little extra egg or salt. Test again before cooking.
Spread mixture in a shallow glass baking dish (approximately 2x10x16) and cover with a thin layer of organic catsup. The shallow dish will make it cook faster and more evenly.
Cook at 400 degrees for approximately forty minutes. Test middle to ensure it’s cooked all the way before removing.
Viola! A complete healthy meal.
Margarita hadn’t really invited Acan over for dinner, but she had to cook for herself and Jess, so if he showed up expecting to eat, she wouldn’t feel unclassy. If he showed up only expecting to talk, her famous healthy meatloaf never went to waste.
Margarita removed her apron and glanced at the clock on the wall of her insanely small kitchen—white cupboards, brown tile counters, and a ten-year-old electric range—the space barely b
ig enough for one person to move around. Someday, she’d buy a house with a gas stove, chef’s island, and tons of cupboards for her juicer, food processor, and other gadgets. She so loved to cook, although there was never enough time. Still, thinking about a better life, home, and financial situation got her out of bed each morning. There was so much to look forward to, but for the moment, she would settle for a daughter who arrived on time. Jessica was an hour late from her study group.
Study group, my study ass.
The door buzzed, and Margarita’s breath hitched. He’s here. Acan was so beautiful it hurt to look at him. That silky soft caramel brown hair, that golden brown skin, those soulful turquoise eyes. He was seven feet of lean, hard, chiseled muscle, and if anything like his brother, he was hung like a stallion.
She sighed, momentarily distracted by the image of Belch’s long, thick cock, which only led her to the memories of how good he felt inside her, which then led to thoughts of how he’d left her high and dry, figuratively speaking, of course. All right, now that I’m properly humiliated…
She quickly checked her outfit—tight jeans, a little red sweater, and black boots—for any remnants from her cooking—all clear—and then jerked open the door. “Acan, how nice to…” Her eyes washed over a very tall, sexy man with a deep tan, shimmering turquoise green eyes, and waves of silky hair falling over his broad shoulders. He wore a button-down white shirt and jeans that caressed his muscular legs.
“I bet you even have perfect toes.” Oh crap. Why did I say that?
“Errr…I’m sure yours are especially lovely, too?” He held out a bottle of fresh-squeezed wheat grass with carrot and pineapple juice.
“Wow. That’s my favorite. How did you know?”
“I asked this woman at the store, who was wearing a very unflattering tie-dye dress and smelled of sopes, what she might drink if she wished to have prolonged diarrhea.”
Margarita almost swallowed her tongue. “I’m sorry…but…” Hack, hack. “Did you say—”
“Sopes are a Mexican dish often topped with chopped onions.”
Ewww. And that wasn’t even close to landing near her diarrhea question, but okeydokey.
“Umm…thanks?” She took the bottle of green liquid and stepped aside to let him in.
The top of Acan’s head looked like it might collide with the door jamb as he entered. “Your home is so small and lacking any festive qualities. How do you have parties here?”
Wow. Nice manners. “I don’t, and it suits me and my daughter just fine.”
He turned with a startle in his translucent green eyes. “You have a child? How old is it?”
“It is sixteen, and its name is Jessica,” she said with a snap.
“So…you are married and in love with a man who is her father?”
What planet was this guy from?
“No. Not married. No. Not in love. Her father is out of the picture, and has anyone ever told you that it’s rude to ask such personal questions?”
He made a little shrug, his eyes scanning her modest living room slash eating area. “I’m not one for pomp and circumstance. Gets old after a few millennia.”
“Millennia?”
“I meant years. It’s been a long day at work.”
“I thought you worked nights at your clubs,” she questioned.
He gave her a stern look. “Are you always so inquisitive?”
“No. I’m generally too busy trying to run my business and support my daughter, so I rarely have time.”
He grinned. “Excellent.”
What a strange response. “So are you hungry?” She went over to her tiny fridge and put away the juice. It would be perfect for breakfast.
“I don’t eat.”
She frowned and closed the refrigerator. “You must eat something. I mean, look at the size of you.” Her eyes involuntarily fell to the substantial bulge in his groin.
“Eh-hem. Eyes up here, woman. It may not look it, but I too have feelings.”
She swallowed down a shameful lump and looked him in the eyes. I bet he does. With equipment like that, he had at least eleven inches of feelings. Just like his brother.
She cleared her throat. “Sorry. I’m not usually so…”
“Sexually degrading?”
She blinked. “You feel degraded because I looked at your pants?”
“It’s impossible for you to degrade me; however, had I been a lesser man, the answer would be yes. So I feel obligated to speak out in the name of weak males—basically all of them.”
Huh? How had this conversation gone so sideways on her?
“Would you like to sit?” She gestured toward her espresso brown sofa and black coffee table. She’d picked them because they easily hid dirt and stains. She couldn’t afford to waste a dime, so her furniture had to last.
“I prefer to stand.” He crossed his arms and stared down at her like some nasty general who felt displeased. “I suggest that we get on with it.”
She blinked. “With what?”
“It.”
“Uhhh…and ‘it’ would be?” she asked.
“The reason you summoned me.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you speak like a robotic pirate who’s been robbed of his soul?”
“Maybe—I wouldn’t remember. But that’s beside the point. Why did you ask me to come? And please make it quick. I have work to do.”
“Okay. If you want to push aside any sort of civility, then I can do that. But then you have to answer my questions honestly.”
“I can do that, but first you must answer my questions,” he said.
“I’m the one who summoned you.” This felt like a game of Crazy Battleship.
“Yes. However, I drove forty minutes in LA traffic to get here, which entitles me to ask my question first.”
Ugh. “Fine. What’s your question?”
“What do you think happened this morning?”
“Honestly?” she asked.
“Yes. Honestly.”
“I have no clue,” she replied, honestly.
“If you were to guess?” he asked.
“I would guess that you and your brother are playing some sort of strange game with me, and the fact you’re asking me this question only validates the shadiness of it all.”
He bobbed his head and scratched his short brown beard that accentuated the strong lines of his masculine jaw. “So the most likely scenario in your mind is that my brother and I are two shady men who enjoy mind-fucking women for sexual pleasure in dirty alleys?”
Gasp! “He told you about this morning?”
“Answer the question. Is this what you believe to be the likeliest scenario?”
“Yes.”
“And your least likely scenario?” he prodded.
“There isn’t one. Now it’s my turn.”
“Very well.”
“Why do you and your brother smell so sweet?” For example, her apartment was now filled with the most delicious scent known to woman. It made her nipples hard, her c-spot throb, and her neck tingle.
“I know not what you mean.”
“Liar,” she snapped. “You smell like…sex. Like sinful, dirty, hot sex.” She slapped her hands over her mouth. Her words had just sort of popped out.
He tilted his head to one side. “Are you, by chance, smelling it right now?”
“No. Maybe.”
“Would you like me to take you to your bedroom and fuck you senseless?” he asked.
“No! Okay, maybe. Wait. No! Definitely no! What the hell is going on? I feel like I’m going crazy, and I don’t know why.” It was awful. Just awful. “I’m too young to go senile. How am I going to take care of Jessica?” She looked up at the ceiling and shook her head. Why is this happening to me? To make matters worse, she had this beautiful—strange but beautiful—man in her apartment, witnessing her ungraceful descent into dementia.
He stepped towards her and sighed, staring into her eyes for several long moments, but not speaking.
“You are not going crazy.”
“Then what the hell is going on?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but instead whooshed out a breath.
“What! Just say it! Tell me! Because I honestly feel like I’m losing my mind, which is the only explanation for why I can’t shake these strange feelings I have for you.”
With a sadness in his sublime eyes, he reached out and ran his thumb along her lower lip while gently pinching her chin. “I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you. Not now.”
“Tell me what?”
“We are mates, and I am a god.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
To Acan’s surprise, Margarita laughed in his face the moment he uttered the painful truth: She was his mate. He supposed it was a surprise to him as well; however, there could be no other explanation for her wanton feelings. Or his.
I should’ve known. From the first moment he’d seen her in the elevator, he’d been mesmerized. When he saw her the next morning at her gym, he should’ve known, too, but he hadn’t been ready to accept the truth. Now, after seeing her the last few times, things became clearer. She was the one the Universe had chosen for him, only he didn’t want her. Her life was fitness and eating the sort of foul-smelling healthy crap that now sat cooling in her kitchen and likely contained almost no fat, sugar, or preservatives. Ewww… Her life was the opposite of late night parties, delicious deep-fried snacks, and fun. He merely had to look at her to know. It was his gift, after all, looking into people’s eyes and seeing their essence. Margarita was boring. Super-duper stick in the mud. Boring.
Still, he liked her. The way she smiled. The way she moaned. He especially liked the way his heart skipped when he thought about seeing her. But it wasn’t enough, was it? She would never accept the real him, and that meant he’d have to give up who he was merely to please her. And if I can’t be the party god, I’d have to be the decap god. Not so fun. Not when he faced an eternity with his choices, which was something most humans couldn’t comprehend.
“You need to leave,” she spouted in response to his confession.
“Margarita.” He took her hand between his. “I fully realize that what I’ve said sounds insane, which is why I’m prepared to prove every word to you. However, before I do that, I simply need to know if you could ever love a man who stays up all night—seven days a week—drinks approximately fifteen gallons of alcohol each day, and pretty much forgets to wear clothing on his bottom half.”