The sadness that lined his face surprised her as he looked up at her and said, “Gods, I hope so.”
Apollo had been given a few hours to choose his player, and he had to choose wisely. The chance was rare to compete with Dita for a token, and it was a chance he had to take full advantage of. It was the only way Dita would give Daphne back to him.
He chewed on his thumbnail as he paced his bright apartment, worrying over which human he should choose in an attempt to narrow down his list to some of his favorites. There were always a few who he felt tied to more than others, humans who shared his traits, his passions. They were the ones who he had the greatest influence on, and always creative types: musicians, artists, actors. The trick to competing with Dita was to find someone who was so damaged that they couldn’t possibly be fixed in twenty-eight days. Running down the clock was the best chance any of them had against her.
He stopped in front of his wall of windows and looked down into Central Park, considering his options. He could pick Joe, an artist who painted nudes. The guy could never keep it in his pants, since the opportunity was present all day, every day. He was too good-looking and had far too many naked models around for chastity. Joe could definitely be a formidable player, but if Dita found the right girl … well, anyone could change, for the right girl.
Daphne’s face flashed through his thoughts, and his heart lurched. He had to win, for both of them. It was the only way they could be free.
He took a breath, sat down on his low, white leather couch, and picked up a pad and pen. He listed the names of his potentials, then crossed out a few that would be too easy for Dita to beat. He had two left. Joe or Dean, the musician.
He stared at the list for a few minutes before deciding. It had to be Dean.
Apollo had watched Dean for years, guiding him to channel his pain into his music. To say Dean was jaded was the understatement of the century. He suffered emotional detachment the likes of which Apollo hadn’t seen in ages, and Apollo was sure Dean was the perfect player for the competition. Ace in the hole.
Hopefully.
It was the best he had, and he filled with optimism. He’d waited for the chance to get a token from Dita for so long, and there was no way he would let it go to waste.
Dita walked into the theater room that evening, and excitement rolled over her when the murmurs and chatter hit her. Perry popped her head over the back of a leather chair in the front row and waved. Dita made her way to the front of the room, greeting a few of her friends along the way before she sat next to Perry.
“Are you excited?” Perry asked.
“I’m ready. There are a handful of people who I think he might pick, and I’ve already got plans in motion for all of them.”
Perry shook her head. “Poor Apollo. He’s so predictable.”
“I know. He makes it really easy for me, though.”
“Even so, I still love competitions with him. He always picks the dreamiest players.”
“Apollo definitely has style, I’ll give him that. But you know with him and me, it’s never just about the game.”
A few gods cheered and whistled when Hermes walked to the front of the room and the lights dimmed.
“All right, all right. Settle down, everybody. Apollo, come on up.”
Apollo made his way to the front of the room, looking right sexy in tailored gray pants and navy oxfords. His cardigan sleeves were rolled up, the collar of his plaid button-down crisp, and his fedora sat on top of his blond hair like it had been made just for him, which, Dita figured, it probably had.
Thousand-year-old-feud or not, she couldn’t help but admire his fashion sense.
Hermes handed Apollo the remote, and Apollo pointed it at the ninety-inch screen as he mashed a few buttons.
The screen showed an image of a man sitting in a low, gray armchair, bent over his guitar with his fingers to the strings and a pencil gripped between his teeth. A black shock of hair fell into his face as he looked down at his guitar with quiet, green eyes. A glass of whiskey and a half empty bottle sat on the built-in bookshelves behind him that housed what looked like several hundred records.
“Ladies and gentlemen, meet Dean Monroe.”
———— New York ————
Dean strummed his guitar, hearing the chords in his head before his fingers touched the strings. The words came to him, and he took the pencil from his mouth and jotted into his notebook that lay on the coffee table in front of him. His chest ached like it always did when he wrote, as if his heart thumped to life only during those moments.
A small knock rapped on the door of his apartment, and his brow quirked. He propped his guitar on the couch and walked to the door. When he opened it, he was surprised to find Jenny standing in the hallway with wild eyes, a wicked grin, and a bottle of whiskey.
Jenny had been at band practice every day for months, ever since she started dating Elliot, their drummer. She’d never given Dean a second glance, or at least not one that transmitted that she was into him, and he happily complied with her lack of interest. The band had gone through a string of drummers, each one gone after their girlfriends had thrown themselves at Dean, though the real issue was that he never refused.
He smelled roses and booze in Jenny’s wake as she slipped past him and into his apartment. He closed the door and leaned up against it, folding his arms across his chest, watching her as she set the bottle down. She turned to him as she twisted the tie of her coat around her fist, gave it a tug, and dropped the garment to the ground.
The hot pink lace that made up her bra barely contained her overflowing breasts, and her tiny panties showed him exactly what he was about to get. She slinked over to him and ran her hands over his chest, down to his belt, pulling it open as she looked up at him with a scandalous smile and those crazy, crazy eyes.
She bit her lip, her big eyes on fire as she popped his button and opened his zipper. She moved her hands down his hips, dropped his pants, and took his hand to lead him to the bedroom as he admired the view from behind.
When they reached the bed, she ran a slender finger across his t-shirt as she walked around him. Dean turned to follow her, stopping with his back to the bed. She put her tiny hands on his muscular chest, pushed him bodily onto the bed, and climbed up after him like a cat. Her hands slid under his shirt, and he sat to yank it over his head before lying back, watching as she made her way down his stomach behind a curtain of platinum curls.
She flipped her head back and grinned at him, and he knew right then that he was in deep shit, if Elliot found out.
Jenny’s head rested on Dean’s shoulder as her fingers traced circles on his chest. He was instantly uncomfortable. He squirmed out from underneath her, reaching for her lingerie that lay in a pile on the floor, tossing it to her as he stood.
Her blond curls hung in disarray around her face, and she tucked the sheet under her arms as she propped herself up on her elbow. "Are you serious?" Her mouth hung open.
Was she serious? He stared back at her, puzzled, and turned to head to the shower. “Just let yourself out, ‘kay?” The bathroom door closed just as her shoe slammed against it.
———— Olympus ————
The gods erupted in noise, some booing, some laughing, along with few “Ooh’s” and one very loud “Pig!”
Perry elbowed Dita with her mouth open. “Did you set that up?”
“Duh,” she said with a giggle as she stood and walked to Apollo. She held her hand out for the remote.
“May I?”
“Be my guest.”
Dita smiled as she turned to the television and mashed a few buttons. On the screen was a gorgeous girl with porcelain skin and dark hair that tumbled over her shoulders as she bent over a counter in a bookshop, writing in a black notebook. Her face was propped on her hand, and her blue-green eyes were on the snow that fell beyond the window, white against the dark night.
Dita watched Apollo as she hit play, smiling when she saw recognition
click behind his eyes.
———— New York ————
Lex stared out the window in the quiet shop, smiling as a couple walked by with their arms around each other. She dropped her eyes back to her sketchbook, and her pencil flew as she drew them on the soft, cream page.
When she was satisfied, she laid her pencil down, and her eyes wandered around the room, appreciating for the zillionth time how much she loved the bookstore where she had worked for almost ten years. Heavy, worn book cases lined the walls, interspersed with inlets of cushy pillows in Indian silks, perfect for cuddling up with a book. Warm light from candles and lamps filled the store, and the scent of jasmine hung in the room alongside the musk of books and paper.
She glanced back down at her notebook and picked up her blending stump, rubbing the edge of the girl’s coat to shade it a little more, then took a moment to look it over.
The couple was in love. She could see it in the tilt of his head and hers, something small in the way that they touched each other that telegraphed their feelings. It was her own version of a magic trick, cultivated through years of drawing, to be able to read people through their body language. She thought about the couple in her sketch, and her mind wandered to Travis.
They had been living together for some time, nearly a year, but as she looked over the sketch, she wondered if they had ever looked like that couple did. She was almost positive they hadn’t.
Something was missing. She cared for him, and he clearly cared for her too, but she didn’t think it was love on either end. Not real love. Not knock-your-socks-off love. It was more of a deep fondness, although, if she were being honest with herself, it was probably the closest she’d gotten to the real thing.
They were the same thoughts that had wormed their way through her mind for days, and every day that passed, the less she could ignore it.
The bell over the door jingled, and she looked up to find Travis standing tall and blond in the doorway as he shook the snow off his coat. He stomped his boots on the mat and smiled, his teeth sparkling in his face, tan even in the dead of winter.
“Hey.” She smiled.
“Hey, Lex.” He made his way over and pressed his chilly lips to hers.
“I didn’t expect to see you until after the show.”
“I guess no one’s willing to brave the snow for Italian food. Luke let me off early, so I figured I’d stop by on my way to Helios and walk with you.”
“Great, I hate walking alone. Kara’s meeting us there.”
“Spike will be thrilled. He loves to sing to your bestie.”
Lex laughed. “I’m sure he does.” She turned to the register to close it out. Travis turned his head to look at her sketch.
“This is really good.”
“Thanks,” she said with a small smile as she closed the notebook and stuffed it in her bag. She hated when people looked at her unfinished work.
Lex listened while Travis recounted stories from the few tables he’d had as she closed up and pulled on her jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves.
“You warm enough, Lex?”
“Ha, ha. It’s stupid cold out. I don’t know how you never wear gloves or a hat.”
“Why do I need gloves or a hat when I’ve got pockets and hair?”
“I guess I’m just not as tough as you, big man.”
Travis turned to her and adjusted her knit hat. “Lucky for me, you’re extra cute when you’re all bundled up.” He kissed her nose, and they left the shop and headed for the bar.
Lex spotted Kara as soon as she walked in, sitting at a table just off the dance floor. She sipped her beer as Spike, the lead singer of Travis’ band, laid a skinny arm over her shoulder. Her lip curled on her heart-shaped face, and the second she saw Lex, she shot a 9-1-1 look.
Lex shrugged off her coat and hung it on the back of a chair, eyeballing Spike, who looked like a short, starving Billy Idol.
“Hey, Spike.”
“‘Sup, Lex? Are you ready to witness our set? Try to keep your panties on.”
“Oh, I’ll try. Hey, Kara, come with me to the bathroom?”
“Absolutely,” she said, a little too enthusiastically, and set her beer down with a thunk.
Spike hitched a thumb at her and turned to Travis. “Chicks. Am I right?”
Kara pushed the door open with a sigh. “Why do I agree to come to these things?”
“Because you love me and wouldn’t make me sit in a dive bar all by myself.”
“Every time I have to see that little shit, you owe me dinner and a movie.”
“You think he’ll figure out at some point that you don’t like him?”
“It’s my fault. Clearly I was very, very drunk when I hooked up with Spike.”
“I still can’t believe you hooked up with a guy named Spike.”
“Hilarious, Lex. At least you got Travis out of it, though that has kept me on Spike’s radar all this time, which I will never forgive you for.”
Lex bit her lip, and Kara eyed her in the mirror.
“Oh, no. You’ve got that look.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You can’t lie to me, Alexis Greene. You’ve got the itch to ditch, don’t you?”
Lex sighed. “Not here, okay? Let’s go enjoy this wonderful display of musical talent. Come over tomorrow and I’ll spill it.”
Kara snapped the lid on her lipstick and raised an eyebrow. “All right. Let’s go watch Sid Vicious’ wannabe cousin spit all over a microphone, and tomorrow you will tell all.”
“Sid Vicious?” Lex snorted as she pushed the door open. “The least talented, most famous punk rocker to ever exist? Spike has about as much talent as a safety pin in Sid’s cheek.”
“Only in his most productive dreams.”
Day 2
STEAMING WATER BEAT DOWN APOLLO as he scrubbed a bar of soap across his chest, belting out the lyrics to “The Reflex” along with his iPod. He was ecstatic. Dean was perfect.
The Olympian’s reactions to Dean’s slutting around was priceless. He grinned involuntarily, holding back a laugh, marveling that he would be giddy about the competition. But something felt different from the previous games with Dita. Something was different, though he didn’t know what that meant. Only that he felt good about it, for once.
Apollo thought again about Dean and Jenny, and the fact that everyone agreed that Dean was a little sleazy. Apollo’s smile slipped as the thought crossed his mind that Dita had set up the encounter with Jenny, but he shook his head and smiled wider. There was no way she could have known who he would choose.
He scrubbed under his arms as he sang. “Oh the reflex what a game, he’s hiding all the cards. The reflex is in charge of finding treasure in the dark.”
Apollo rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, drying off with a fluffy, white towel, humming to himself as he made his way to his closet, deciding on a lambswool sweater and tailored jeans. He stopped in front of his bathroom mirror and combed his golden hair, whistling along to the music as he ran a hand over his stubble, deciding to keep it for a few days more.
His heart skipped in his chest when he thought about Daphne.
This is it.
He’d waited so long, and if he won, he could get her back. They could be together after thousands of years apart. Dita would have to give him anything he asked if he won her token, and he would ask for Daphne.
Apollo sat on his couch and looked in on Dean as he walked up the sidewalk to the warehouse where the band practiced, wondering if Dean would really be the player to win. He’d chosen so many before, and every one had been a bust, despite his best efforts. Apollo was terrible at the game, there was no doubt about it. He just didn’t have the cut-throat frame of mind that the other gods did, which wasn’t something he was sorry for, but it worked against him when he competed.
But Dean … Dean would do it. Apollo’s smile stretched even wider as Dean grabbed the handle to the warehouse door.
———— New York ————
Dean pulled open the metal door of the warehouse and stepped inside. He pulled off his sunglasses, blinded from the sun, blinking as his eyes adjusted. But the second the door slammed shut, he stopped dead.
His bandmates were shouting obscenities at each other, and when they saw him, all hell broke loose.
“You’re dead, Dean.” Elliot screamed and lunged at him from across the room as Roe and Kevin grabbed him and pushed him back. Kevin, the skinny keyboardist, leaned into Elliot with all of his weight, his sneakers scrabbling on the concrete. Roe, the bass player, stood tall and sturdy, holding Elliot in place as he strained furiously against them.
Dean put his hands up, deciding to play dumb. “Whoa, man, what’s all this?”
“Don’t play games with me, asshole. Why Jenny? Of all the millions of girls in this city, why would you fuck my girlfriend?”
“Dude, I don’t—”
“NO,” he growled, “I’m not hearing your bullshit. She fucking told me, you son of a bitch!” Elliot rushed Dean again, who backed up a step as Roe tightened his grip. Elliot screamed wordlessly, baring his teeth as he struggled against Roe and Kevin.
Roe shot Dean a look over his shoulder with his arms full of Elliot, wearing a look that could only be read as 'seriously?'
Dean couldn’t feel bad about Jenny. She showed the kind of girl she was, just like all of them. They threw themselves at whatever they couldn't have, and Elliot needed to know that she was no different.
“Listen,” Dean said, “I didn’t plan it or go after her. She just showed up at my place and asked for it.”
Roe shook his head, and Elliot struggled to break free as Dean kept talking.
“Elliot, you know how these groupies are. You’re better off without her, and at least now you know.”
“Fuck you, Dean. FUCK YOU. Fuck this. All of it. I’m out. I didn’t sign up for this shit.” Elliot stopped struggling, and when Roe and Kevin relaxed their grip, he jerked himself free. He stormed toward the door and past Dean, slamming Dean’s shoulder hard, glaring at him.