Page 11 of The Perfect Matchmaking

“Athena?”

The Goddess of Wisdom simply smirked. “I mean, sure you were together for a split second there, so I might give you the benefit of the doubt that you genuinely forgot about Aphrodite’s dislike for interruptions. Or drool, for that matter.”

His face underwent a comical series of changes as Athena spoke, from dumbfounded to enraged to lost for words. He really wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and perhaps he was reminded that Athena wasn’t a sparring partner he would take on willingly. Ares stalked off in a cloud of disgruntlement, veiled threats, and excessive macho bravado. As she watched the crowd swallow him, Aphrodite felt a gentle touch of fabric on her hand and turned around to find Athena extending a silk handkerchief to her, which she had just pulled out of her jacket’s front pocket.

And damn, with Ares and his bumbling interruptions, she’d almost missed Athena’s attire. Except she didn’t think it was really missable, since she was wearing a dark navy velvet suit. A tight-fitting, dark navy suit, with darker lapels and a barely-there see-through blouse underneath. The handkerchief matched the translucent material of the blouse, and as Aphrodite took it, she could sense the remainder of Athena’s body heat emanating from the square of silk in her hand. Something inside her clenched, not unpleasantly. As amber eyes met hers without the barrier of glasses, Aphrodite knew exactly what—and where—clenched. Want. Pure, unadulterated want almost shook her.

The kind, watchful eyes blinked once and with a graceful nod, Athena disappeared into the crowd.

“Wow! Ares is such a gentleman! And so tall! Wow!” From her left, Maddison’s ecstatic voice ended whatever moment Aphrodite had been having. For surely she wasn’t experiencing lust in front of two thousand cupids and assorted gods.

No way.

“Wow, indeed.” Sabine took a long sip from her flute and extended a hand to intercept another one from a passing server. She handed it to Aphrodite. “I think you might need this.”

“I would too, if that hunk of a god grabbed me like that.” With those parting words, Maddison almost danced in the direction Ares had disappeared.

“See, I would be swooning if a certain skin tight suit-wearing Goddess totally annihilated my oaf of an ex and his grabby hands.” At Aphrodite’s sideways glance, Sabine clinked their flutes. “I guess we can bury Erato’s idea of a second chance romance right here, right now.”

“I might bury Erato and her big mouth.”

“Aww, she cares. And gossip is a muse’s prerogative. A cupid’s too. Just passing the time while twiddling our thumbs at this, what did Zeus call it? ‘Little shindig?’ Asshole.” It was Aphrodite’s turn to extend her flute for a clink with Sabine’s.

“But, to Erato’s credit, she didn’t really believe in thissecond chancething either. Now theenemies to loversone, however…”

“Sabine, how many times do I have to tell everyone? We were never actual enemies. It was rough going for her as the Goddess of Wisdom and War. Obviously, the latter did not sit well with her. She was angry and went on ill-advised rampages. Like, who didn’t back then? Medusa still doesn’t speak to me. But please, let the sleeping Cerberus lie. We were never enemies.”

“Well, if you put it like that. However, it’s not as if being enemies is a prerequisite for being lovers, Boss.”

And with that, Sabine sauntered off, leaving Aphrodite with a growing number of problems.

4

WHERE THE SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE IS UNREALISTIC (BECAUSE IT DOESN’T WORK WHEN ONE OF THEM IS STILL A WANKER)

Several things were becoming abundantly clear as the Convention progressed.

Ares was hellbent—sorry Hades—on somehow getting back with her and was using any and all pretense and chicanery to corner her.

Athena was equally hellbent on coming to her rescue.

The cupids were whipped into a frenzy of trying and discarding candidates for her perfect match, and Sabine Goddard was a constant lurker in the periphery of her sight, her quiver at the ready.

Zeus partied like there was no tomorrow.

After the fiasco of the Opening Night Banquet and the public showdown between herself and Ares, she had done her best to avoid him. It was becoming increasingly difficult since Maddison St. James and her cohorts of swooning cupids were bodily throwing themselves into making that connection happen, all in the name of the second chance romance trope.

“It’s the superior trope,” Maddison boasted during the workshop on romantic tropes and clichés. “It is one where the lovers are given the opportunity to evaluate and reflect upon their mistakes and see that they are still perfect for each other.”

Trapped by Ares in a secluded corridor, Aphrodite did not believe that either of them had anything to evaluate. She had no idea what his motives were, and couldn’t for the life of her understand why he was pursuing her to begin with.

“We can be so good together. We were once before.”

Okay, gag. Because no, they never were.

“You left me to bear the brunt of the fake ass moral outrage of the rest of the gods once we were discovered! You think we were ‘good together’?”

“You’re hot, I’m hot. What else do you need?”

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