Paper Fools (Hearts and Arrows Book 1) Read online

  “The winner will receive a token from the loser, which will grant them any favor, a favor that cannot be refused.”

  Whistles and shouts rose from the crowd, and Hermes held up a hand to quiet them.

  “Settle down, folks. We all know how valuable these little babies are.” He rolled his wrist in a flourish, and a glass orb appeared between his thumb and forefinger. “Now, since the only way to win this glorious little favor is through the competitions, it’s only fair that a token should be played if you want another god to help you. Otherwise, you’re on your own. The only time a favor can be refused is if you’re trying to cash it in to win a competition. For instance, if you asked me to help you, I would politely request that you sod off because the last thing I’d want to do is help any of you assholes acquire another token.”

  A chuckle rolled through the crowd. Hermes had been slain in his last competition and was still pouting.

  “All right, let’s talk about our humans, shall we? Our players need to stay alive, so no gods may kill, maim, inflict disease, or impose any other permanent physical or mental damage on either of them. And, to keep the game fair, neither human player can be interfered with directly. This includes but is not limited to possession, embodiment, or direct communication. All other humans are fair game.”

  A device appeared on the bar, summoned by Heff. A small replica of Aphrodite stood on a seashell in a pool of water, golden hair waving behind her. Waves lapped a small beach surrounding the platform where her likeness stood, and tiny mechanical doves flew around her. The iridescent water seemed to be of colors and none.

  Dita pushed her chair back and stepped over to the statue. When she ran her finger through the sand, the doves flew to where she had touched the display and pecked around for a moment before taking wing again.

  She turned to Heff, beaming. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  He smiled down at his breakfast and pushed his eggs around his plate. “You’re welcome.”

  She ran her hand across his shoulders as she walked past him and sat down, turning her attention back to Hermes.

  Hermes sauntered over to the alarm and gestured to the statue. “You all know what this is, though to avoid any legal issues through the course of the competition, let it be stated for the record: this statue is the alarm for the contest. The water will change color based upon the outcome. If you cheat, the water will turn orange. Green means the couple has chosen to be together. If they’re separated irreparably, the water will turn red, and if the timer runs out, the water will turn black. Once the contest is over, that’s it. No take-backs if the couple gets together or breaks up once the alarm has gone off.”

  Turning to the crowd, Hermes asked, “Apollo, since we’re going alphabetically, you’re up first. Are you willing to play?”

  “Absolutely,” Apollo answered.

  Dita swung out of her chair, coffee in hand, and strutted up to Apollo to slap him on the shoulder with a cheery smile. “Game on. You think you can win this time?”

  The sadness that lined his face surprised her as he looked up at her and said, “I hope so.”

  Apollo chewed on his thumbnail as he paced his apartment a few hours later, worrying over which human he should choose as his player. He only had an hour left to make a decision, and he had to choose wisely. The chance to compete with Dita for a token was rare, and it was a chance he had to take full advantage of.

  It was the only way she would agree to give Daphne back to him.

  So he walked the length of his living room, one hand in his pocket and his free thumb between his teeth in an attempt to narrow down his list. There were always a few humans who he was tied to more than others — humans who shared his traits, his passions. They were the ones he had the greatest influence on and were always creative types: musicians, artists, actors. The trick to competing with Dita was to find someone so damaged, they couldn’t possibly be fixed in twenty-eight days.

  Running down the clock was the best chance any of the gods had against her.

  Apollo stopped in front of the long wall of windows and looked down to Central Park, considering his options. His favorite for the moment was Joe, an artist who mostly painted nudes — mostly nudes because it was an excuse to get naked models into his studio. He was too good-looking and had far too many ready and willing women around for chastity. Joe would definitely be a formidable player, but if Dita found the right girl … well, anyone could change for the right girl.

  The image of 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-backed white leather couch, and picked up a pad and pen, listing the names of his potentials before crossing out the ones who would be too easy for Dita to beat. There were two left: Joe or Dean, the musician.

  Apollo stared at the list for a few minutes before deciding.

  It had to be Dean.

  Ever since Dean was a little boy, Apollo had watched him, guiding him to channel the pain he’d endured into music, lyrics, poetry. To say Dean was jaded would be the understatement of the century. He suffered emotional detachment the likes of which Apollo hadn’t seen in ages, which potentially made Dean the perfect player. Ace in the hole.

  Hopefully.

  It was the best he had, and he filled with optimism at the chance to get a token from Dita after so long. Because this time he had a real shot, and there was no way he would let the opportunity go to waste.

  Dita walked into the theater room that evening, and excitement fluttered through her at the sound of the murmurs and chatter of the crowd. Perry popped her head over the back of a leather chair in the front row and waved, and Dita made her way over, greeting a few of her friends along the way before taking a seat.

  “Excited?” Perry asked, practically bouncing.

  “I’m ready,” she answered, not even needing to think about it. “There are a handful of people I think Apollo’s going to pick, and I’ve already got plans in motion for each of them.”

  Perry shook her head. “Poor Apollo. He’s so predictable.”

  She snickered. “He makes it really easy.”

  “Even so, I still love competitions with him. He always picks the dreamiest players.”

  “Apollo definitely has style. I’ll give him that.” Dita’s smile fell only a touch, just enough to betray the weight of the situation. “But you know that with him and me, it’s never just about the game.”

  A few gods cheered and whistled, marking Hermes’s entrance, and dozens of eyes followed him as he walked to the front of the room.

  “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 a Panama hat sat back on his blond crown 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 panache.

  Hermes handed Apollo the TV remote, and Apollo pointed it at the ninety-inch screen as he pushed a few buttons.

  The screen flashed to life, displaying an image of a man sitting in a mid-century 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, and a glass of whiskey sat next to a half-empty bottle on the built-in bookshelves behind him, housing what looked like several hundred records.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, meet Dean Monroe.”

  Dean strummed his guitar, hearing the chords in his head before his fingers touched the strings. He took the pencil from his mouth when the words came to him, jotting them into his notebook lying 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 m
oments. Maybe it was why it was all he ever wanted to do.

  A small knock rapped on the door, and his brow quirked as he looked toward the sound. He propped his guitar on the couch and walked to the door, surprised when he opened it to find Jenny standing in the hallway with wild eyes, a wicked grin, and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

  Jenny had been a regular fixture at band practice for months, ever since she’d started dating Elliot, their drummer. She’d never given Dean a second glance — at least not one that broadcasted attraction — and he happily complied with her lack of interest. The band had gone through a string of drummers, each one splitting after their girlfriends had thrown themselves at Dean.

  The real problem was that he never refused.

  But at the end of the day, drummers were expendable. Dean wasn’t.

  As Jenny slipped past him and into his apartment, he caught the scent of roses and booze in her wake. Dean closed the door and leaned up against it, folding his arms across his chest, watching her as she set the bottle down, almost positive that he knew exactly what she wanted. And when she turned to him, she twisted the tie of her coat around her fist, gave it a tug, and dropped the garment to the ground, confirming his hunch.

  The hot pink lace that made up her bra barely contained her overflowing breasts, and her tiny panties showed him exactly what was on offer. Jenny slinked over to him and ran her hands over his chest and down to his belt, pulling it open as she looked up at him with a scandalous smile and crazy, crazy eyes.

  She bit her plump bottom lip, her big eyes on fire as she popped his button and opened his zipper. Her hands moved down to his hips, opened his pants, and reached into them to grip him.

  He sucked in a breath at the contact, and she kept on smiling, never speaking, and neither did he, only watched her with lids growing heavier by the second. Jenny slipped her hands around his hips and pushed his jeans down to his ankles, lowering her body until she was kneeling before him.

  When she flipped her platinum curls and looked up at him, he knew right then and there that he was going to be in deep shit.

  If Elliot found out.

  A little while later, Jenny’s head rested on Dean’s shoulder, her fingers tracing slow circles on his chest as they lay in his bed.

  He was instantly uncomfortable.

  Cuddling wasn’t something he’d ever done — it wasn’t something he was built for. He didn’t know how to date, either. Or talk about his feelings. Or even have feelings.

  He squirmed out from underneath her, reaching for her underwear 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 with her elbow with her mouth hanging open.

  "Are you serious?" she asked, hurt for some reason, but he couldn’t figure out why.

  He stared back at her, puzzled, before shaking his head and walking into his bathroom. “Just let yourself out, ‘kay?”

  But before he could get the door closed all the way, her shoe slammed against it with a thunk and a shriek.

  The gods erupted in noise — some booing, some laughing along with a few oohs 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.” He bowed, looking smug.

  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 rested 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.

  Lex stared out the window in the quiet shop, smiling as a couple walked by with their arms around each other, inspired. She dropped her eyes to the blank page of her sketchbook, and her pencil flew as she drew them on the soft, cream page.

  Time always slowed when she drew, stretched out, fuzzy and dim around her. But her hand made easy work of the sketch, seeing all the lines, all the shadows before they were on the paper. She couldn’t get it out fast enough.

  Once she was satisfied a few minutes later, 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, her first job that was so perfect, she never left. Heavy, worn bookcases 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 before taking 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 smile in the corner of her mouth, something about the way they touched each other, telegraphing their feelings. It was a trick she’d picked up — reading people through their body language — cultivated through years of drawing.

  But as she imagined a story for the couple in her sketch, her mind wandered to Travis.

  They had been living together for some time, nearly a year, but as she looked over her drawing, she wondered if they had ever looked like that couple did.

  She was almost positive they hadn’t.

  Something was missing, though she didn’t quite know what. She cared for Travis, 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 all the same thoughts that had wormed their way through her mind for days, and with each traitorous day that had passed, the less she found she could ignore the feeling.

  The bell over the door jingled, and she looked up to find Travis himself, 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 bright against his skin, tan even in the dead of winter.

  “Hey.” She smiled.

  “Hey.” He made his way over and pressed his chilly lips to hers.

  “I didn’t expect to see you until after the show.”

  Travis shrugged. “I guess no one was 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 glanced at her sketch. “This is really good.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a small smile as she closed the notebook and stuffed it into her bag where it would be safe.

  Travis fell into retelling her stories from the few tables he’d had as she listened contently, closing up the shop and pulling on her jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves all the while.

  “You warm enough, Lex?” he joked once almost every inch of her skin was covered.

  She rolled her eyes. “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 she did her best to smile as they left the shop.

  It always happened like this. As soon as she felt the need to run, everything s
eemed wrong. Something so simple as a kiss or a peek in her notebook, and she was convinced that they had no business being together. But as she listed to Travis talk, she knew that was wrong too. He was a catch, a beautiful, sweet, talented catch. Which made her feel like maybe it was her who was all wrong.

  As soon as they walked into the bar, Lex found Kara sitting at a table just off the dance floor. Kara sipped her beer as Spike, the lead singer of Travis’s band, hung a skinny arm over her shoulder. Her lips curled on her heart-shaped face, and the second she saw Lex approaching, she shot over a look and mouthed Save me.

  Lex shrugged off her coat and hung it on the back of a chair next to Kara, eyeballing Spike, who looked like a short, starving Billy Idol.

  “Hey, Spike.”

  He jerked his chin at her. “Sup, Lex? Are you ready to witness our set? Try to keep your panties on.”

  “Oh, I’ll try.” Lex smiled, trying not to look patronizing and probably failing miserably. “Hey, ah, Kara, come with me to the bathroom?”

  “Absolutely,” she said a little too enthusiastically, setting her beer down with a thump.

  Spike hitched a thumb at her and turned to Travis. “Chicks. Am I right?”

  Lex followed Kara as she hurried through the bar and pushed the bathroom 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.”

  She pointed at Lex. “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?” Lex asked as they stopped in front of the sinks.

  “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.”

  Kara rolled her eyes and uncapped her lipstick. “Hilarious, Lex. At least you got Travis out of it, although that has kept me on Spike’s radar all this time, which I will never forgive you for.”