Page 18 of Perfectly Matching Again

Breathing heavily and distracting Erato to no end with her heaving bosom, Demeter raised an eyebrow, managing to look both outraged and incredulous. A true fit of godly perfection in Erato’s book, since those features were indeed perfect. And divine. And gorgeous?—

“Your inside thoughts are on the outside, dearest.”

The dulcet tone wrenched Erato out of her absolutely delusional musings. They had to be delusional. Maybe she had eaten something? Or drunk? Because this was some kind of sorcery. And what in the hounds of hell was Aphrodite doing here? Running?

“Jesus, Dite!”

“Wrong religion, dearest. And do not invoke baby Cerberus. I am told he has not recovered from whatever ruckus you caused on his mommy’s boat recently.”

Erato huffed, more indignant than tired, and looked back to see Demeter fixing her earphones and determinately ignoring the entire world around her. Well, at least she had some privacy to talk.

“It was Hera who caused that ruckus.”

Aphrodite adjusted her headband, once again ensuring she looked ridiculously beautiful even halfway into a grueling race. Erato blinked and subtly pinched herself. Was she dreaming?

“You aren’t. And yes, I know it was Hera. But the sheer fact that she left whatever palatial dwelling she currently occupies in New York and deigned to travel to Hades’s boat, exert herself to insult and humiliate and do that?” Aphrodite pointed to the barely visible golden thread, stretched to its maximum six feet in length between Erato and Demeter’s wrists.

Erato rolled her eyes. “She enjoys the insults and the humiliation.”

“Be that as it may. She never cared about her sister. Nobody really did and this entire kerfuffle with Hades, Hera, Poseidon, and even Zeus suddenly getting all bothered about Demeter is strange. Hence I am here.”

Aphrodite flicked a speck of dust off her running top. Erato goggled.

“Poseidon? Zeus?”

“What asshat did you think you were chasing in the aquamarine bodysuit?”

Erato narrowed her eyes.

“No wonder he looked familiar.”

The finish line was drawing closer and, peering ahead, Erato recognized the God of the Seas. Preening and congratulating himself on finishing the race. Next to her, Demeter seemedoblivious to the hulking figure. Aphrodite kept her silence. Something about what she had said earlier burned an acid hole in Erato’s chest.

“Maybe if they paid attention to her when she is overworking herself, and falling asleep over her damn spreadsheets. As well as making sure the Earth doesn’t immediately roll over and die, pun intended, from their misuse, maybe he or any of those gods would have a claim on her. Or the right to interfere in her business. But they don’t.”

Aphrodite gave her a long sideways look as they approached the finishing line, staying just a touch behind Demeter to allow her to finish first and to make sure they weren’t overheard. When she spoke, it was low and the hair on Erato’s neck stood on end.

“And suddenly it’s your business, Muse of Erotic Poetry and Writing? You wish to tell me that the Goddess of Harvest, one of the most important deities walking this world, is your business to mind?”

As ominous went, Aphrodite had Hera beat, Erato decided before she crossed the line. If her heart jumping out of her chest was any indication, she had crossed more than one line at that very moment. And the palpitations had nothing to do with the exertion and everything with the glorious creature running in front of her.

8

WHERE A BALL IS HELD AND THE MUSE IS BRAVE (AND SARCASTIC AND THUS EVEN MORE DEVASTATINGLY ATTRACTIVE)

There was a ball. Of course, there was a ball. Demeter, to her credit, had warned her about it. Pink Reception or something. As if Erato needed to see Demeter swan around in a skin tight gown that showed off very little, yet left exactly nothing to the imagination.

Not that Erato needed her imagination. She had had her hands, mouth and tongue on every single one of those curves. Yes, they had only spent a few blessed hours together—and she hadn’t even removed all of Demeter’s clothing—but nobody ever said Erato was an underachiever.

She was and had always been quite the opposite, thank you very much, and seeing all those people swoon and drool over such gorgeous breasts and swaying hips and those to die for thighs?—

“You are only making yourself blush, Erato.”

Aphrodite, in her mind reading mood, interrupted Erato’s uncharacteristic train of thought. It wasn’t like she had been spending her days reminiscing about the ample attributes of the Goddess of Harvest. Absolutely not.

“You have. And it’s all over your now crimson face. Hence, I don’t need my powers of mindreading. I just use deductive reasoning.”

“Listen, Sherlock Holmes, maybe you shouldn’t use either, since she is standing not six feet away?”

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