Can't Fix Cupid

The smile on my face slowly melts off like wax escaping a candle.

Warren Knight is sitting there at the table, drink in hand, glaring right at me.

His suit jacket is noticeably absent, and the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up on his forearms all sexy-cool, while his tie is still neatly in place.

He’s lounging back against his chair, swirling alcohol in his cup as he watches me. And though we’re on opposite ends of the club, I swear I can feel those dark eyes of his boring straight through my skin.

But that’s not why my gut starts churning or why the smile abandons my face. It’s because he’s sitting across the table from a beautiful woman.

Confusing emotions swirl through my head before I settle on anger. Crazy, intense, fuming anger.

Before I fully think it through, I find myself marching my denim-clad ass straight to his table.

As soon as he sees me heading in his direction, his body tenses and he sits up straight. The woman he’s with has long platinum blonde hair, and she’s wearing a skin-tight red dress with spiky stilettos that are at least four inches high. She’s a solid ten, a shiny model just like usual. And from the looks of things, as she simultaneously talks his ear off while scrolling through her phone, he seems to be bored out of his mind like usual too.

After weaving past the crowd of people, I make it to his table and place my hands on my hips. “You’re on a date?” I say accusingly.

Like the bastard he is, he makes me wait by taking a long drink before answering me. “Yes.”

I’m pissed. My eyes feel like I could shoot lasers out of them and burn him to a crisp. I try it, just in case my Veil powers wanna throw me a bone, but no such luck.

“I’m your matchmaker,” I say through gritted teeth. “You said you didn’t want to go on any more dates.”

He leans forward slightly, letting his forearm rest against the edge of the table as he regards me coolly. “No, I just said I didn’t want to be set up with any more women by you.”

I bristle and point a finger at his stupid, hot asshole face. “For the record, I’m an excellent matchmaker. I’ve already got four couples hooked up tonight. And for the second record, at least my date didn’t bore you out of your mind.”

The woman’s blonde head snaps over to me, finally peeling her eyes away from her phone. “Hey, bitch!” she snaps.

“It’s not you, it’s him,” I assure her.

She seems immediately appeased as she nods and turns her attention back to her phone. “Hashtag true,” she says.

Warren’s face hardens. “If I were you, I’d slow down on the drinks, Miss Valentine,” he says with mock civility. “Wouldn’t want to spend another night puking on the sidewalk, now would we?”

A flush of embarrassment tinges my cheeks, and because of my blush, he actually has the audacity to smirk at me.

How can this man, who so sweetly took care of me that night, throw it back in my face now?

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” he says with leveled indifference.

The woman, obviously over this whole exchange, turns to him with a lip gloss pout. “I need another drink, Knight.”

“Finally, something we seem to have in common,” he mutters.

He raises a hand to signal a waitress over, but I don’t want to stick around for another second. This whole exchange has me angry, hurt, and confused. I can’t analyze exactly what I’m feeling, especially not with all the alcohol running through my veins.

I turn on my platforms and march away as quickly as my ankles allow me to.

Blue intercepts me just as I’m about to pass the dance floor. “Hey, girl! Are you having fun?”

I give her a shaky smile and nod. “Oh, yeah. Tons. You?”

“Yup. Harvey just got here, but I’m making him sweat a little,” she says with a grin, nodding over at him where he’s currently watching her from his spot near the DJ. “Wanna dance with us?”

I shake my head. “Nah, you guys do your thing. I’m gonna go check on some of the others and see how they’re doing, and then catch a cab home.”