Free Cupid’s Misfire by Katriena Knights Page A

a minor one. Humans couldn’t see him unless he wanted them to, and he almost never wanted them to. But a few young men and a lady or two were approaching him hesitantly, peering at him as he lay there, helpless, clutching his chest, his back aching where his wings had been, his hip bone driving into the cold concrete.
    Oh, fuck. He was naked. Stark. Buck. Whatever prefix meant the most naked, he was that.
    “Where did he even come from?” someone asked. Another voice called, “Does anybody know CPR?”
    “I do.” That voice was like cream and velvet, honey and figs, the finest, sweetest, most beautiful thing you could possibly imagine. Cupid blinked up into the face of the woman he’d had his arrow trained upon. She sat right down on the concrete next to him, slim business suit and all, and touched his forehead. “Are you okay? Do you even need CPR?”
    “Oh, by Hera,” he said. She was so beautiful. He could smell her, feel her warmth. Deep inside his chest, the arrow seemed to shake, as if it were laughing at him. “God, you are so...” He reached up, grasped the soft, frizzy pouf of hair behind her head, and kissed her. Hard.
    The woman jerked back. “The fuck?” And she slapped him across the face.
    He fell back onto the concrete, and everything went black.
     
    * * *
    “That didn’t look like CPR to me.”
    Aja Hastings looked up at her friend Billy, who was whiter than white and gayer than Christmas. He had crossed his arms over his chest and was eyeing her disapprovingly. Shit, he was even tapping his toe on the sidewalk. Disapprovingly.
    “Did you see what he did?”
    “I thought you were giving him mouth-to-mouth.”
    “He’s not not breathing! He doesn’t need mouth-to-mouth!” She stopped. Had that made any sense?
    “Well, if you’re giving him CPR, you need to hit him in the chest, not in the face.” Billy hit the concrete next to her and lifted a fist, fully prepared to crush the pretty naked man’s sternum. Aja intercepted his attempt, closing her hand around his arm in mid-arc.
    “Stop it, Billy.” She bent over the prostrate man, who was blinking and mumbling a little, so at least she hadn’t killed him. Why the hell had he kissed her, though? Maybe he was just delirious. Drunk. High? There was no telling these days. “Don’t just stand there. Be useful and call 911.”
    Billy rubbed his arm where she’d grabbed it. “Fine. Don’t let me use my natural medical skills.”
    “You have no natural medical skills. You’re an accountant.”
    He made a snorting sound and pulled out his phone.
    “Also give me your jacket,” Aja added.
    Grumbling a bit more, Billy pulled off his jacket and handed it over. Aja laid it over the man so he’d be a tiny bit less naked—that body sprawled out in front of her was amazingly distracting, even knowing he was hurt or high or drunk or stoned or about to start a flu-pocalypse. He was trying to sit up. She took his hand and carefully helped him.
    “Ow,” he said. Behind her, Aja heard Billy calling for an ambulance. The other passersby had dispersed, no longer interested. Somebody else had claimed the problem, so they could leave without it weighing on their consciences.
    “I’m sorry, honey,” Aja told him. He struggled until he was sitting up, the jacket pooling in his lap. That was okay, Aja thought. She needed that lap covered most of all. “You shouldn’t have grabbed my hair.”
    “You’re so beautiful,” he said. He really did sound stoned. Maybe he was from Washington State or Colorado and was suffering some kind of withdrawal from all the marijuana he normally consumed. That was possible, right? Then again, he’d said she was beautiful, so he had to have a few screws that weren’t entirely loose.
    “You’ve hit your head or something, honey,” she told him. “There’s help on the way.”
    “The arrow...” His voice trailed off. He looked stoned, too, his pupils dilated. What she could see of the irises was nearly as