CHAPTER TEN
After the paramedics arrived and hauled Linda away to the hospital—merely a precaution, as she seemed to only be suffering from extreme horniness and a bump on the head—one of the other women in the salon took Acan back to the sinks to rinse out his hair.
He was absolutely going to kill Jill for this disaster, he thought while having his scalp massaged. For starters, she’d sent him to a salon where fitness woman, Margarita, just happened to show up—very funny, Universe, harhar—forcing him to pretend to be his own damned brother. All right, perhaps Jill is not to blame; however, I do not have time for such ridiculous charades. Nor did he have time to deal with human women fainting and requiring medical attention when he entered a room simply because he’d done a few hours of toning.
Prior to his God of Wine days, he did not recall such bizarre behavior, although ten thousand years ago, the human population was significantly less and he rarely spent time in it. Nevertheless, he was a deity. He supposed he should’ve known that his form would bounce back so quickly and that the ladies would become excited by it.
Still, that was a bit extreme.
As the stylist finished his soothing scalp pampering, he reached to touch his stomach. Although, I must admit, the ripples are quite magnificent. And strangely, while he’d been working out last night, he hadn’t thought about partying one little bit.
Nor had he thought about fucking her, the CrossFit fuzzy cu—
No. That is your evil side speaking. Her name is Margarita.
He glanced over at Margarita from the corner of his eye. She was at the sink next to him, having her hair rinsed out, too. His eyes washed down the length of her stretched-out body in tight workout clothes. Plump breasts, lean arms, and long, long legs.
Very fucking sexy. Ironic. Her name is Margarita, one of my all-time favorite drinks.
“So,” she said with her eyes closed, “do you come here often?”
“Are you speaking to me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“No. Never. I rarely have time for such things.” I’m quite busy partying. And if I’m not partying, I’m thinking about partying.
“Of course. You must spend a lot of time working out.”
He tried not to laugh. “More like working.”
“Really?” The woman rinsing Margarita’s hair turned off the water and began towel drying her hair. “What do you do?” Margarita asked.
Besides showing the entire world a good time, turning evil, and accidentally decapitating my brethren? “I own a global chain of nightclubs and bars. My sister is the co-owner.” But headless. And soon to be very, very cranky with me. He wondered if he could get Forgetty to use her powers on herself.
Margarita sat up. “Wow. Very impressive. So when do you find the time to work out?”
He stared blankly at her.
“Oh. Sorry. I’m not trying to be nosy. It’s just that I own a gym and many of my clients are successful business owners or working mothers. They find it difficult to juggle family, work, and exercise.”
“I have no wife or children, and my work allows me plenty of leisure time.” In fact, his work was leisure time.
“Right. You probably have a lot of downtime during the day.”
“Yes,” he replied. And downtime at night, weekends, and holidays, too.
The young blonde stylist, who was currently drooling over him while rinsing out his hair, finished and wrapped a giant towel around his head before sitting his chair up.
Margarita snickered at him.
He must look like a fool with a towel on his head. No. Never. I am a god. I look awesome.
All right, but just to be certain, perhaps I should remove my shirt again. He thought about that for a moment and decided that would not be prudent. Accidents and all.
“Well, if you’re free tomorrow,” she said, “you should join me—I’m one of the sponsors for the Run Wild Marathon and we don’t have a man on our team.”
Run Wild? That sounded like something he should stay away from until he was cured and settled down. “I’m afraid I will be occupied tomorrow.”
She nodded politely and then looked down at her lap. “Sure. Of course you are.”
Her words and body language told him that she had just regretted her decision to ask him for a playdate.
Loud banter in the front of the salon, followed by women hollering and woop-wooping, echoed through the room.
“Sounds like they’re having fun.” Margarita stood.
“Indeed. Listen, about tomorr—”
“I should get going. Nice to meet you…”
“Acan.” He pulled off his towel. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, too.” He felt a twinge of guilt for lying to her, but what other choice was there? He couldn’t very well tell her he was a deity who had transformed his body with merely a few hours of exercise or that he couldn’t waste time on any females who were not potential mates. Millions could die if he became distracted.
She beamed down at him with those wide green eyes. “How is it possible that two brothers could be so different?”
“In what way?”
She laughed. “Oh, come on.”
“Come on to what?”
She made a little huff and cocked a golden brown brow. “You really don’t see the difference?”
“Aside from our physical appearances, not much.” In fact, there could not be two brothers more alike. Simply because we’re not brothers.
“Oh no. Trust me. You’re like night and day.”
“Elaborate.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“He’s a misogynistic a-hole.” She rubbed her forehead and added with a mumble, “And yet, still surprisingly attractive at the same time.”
Interesting. So his little CrossFit queen saw something sexy in the sloppy, beer-belly version of him?
“So you feel like he might have a few pleasing qualities?” he asked.
Margarita gave him a strange look, one he could not interpret. “Only one, and he’s got a lot to learn about women.” She glanced at the clock on the wall above the sinks. “Dammit. I’m late. Gotta run.” She smiled at him again, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. Perhaps because her smile was genuine.
Just like the old people. Maybe that was the reason he’d hit on her when they’d first met. He liked her authenticity.
“Bye, Acan. Nice meeting you.”
He watched her sexy little behind exit the room while a few thoughts clicked around in his mind. He genuinely found her tempting and attractive, which was odd given her squeaky-clean persona and lack of immaturity. Can you say uptight and in need of some fun? That said, he could not afford distractions because his priority was finding Mrs. Party Like It’s 1999.
Hold on. All is not lost. Margarita seemed to have an informed opinion about what he might need to change in order to increase his chances of catching his special someone. With mates, it wasn’t always love at first sight. Sometimes it took a while for things to settle into place and for the two to realize they couldn’t live without each other. Take his brother Votan, God of Death and War, for example. He’d met his mate when she was born and obviously had no clue she was the one. As she grew older, he felt more protective and possessive. She hated his guts. When she finally grew into a woman, those two fought every time they got into the same room, like two snakes determined to devour one and other. Then it happened: They realized who they were to each other. But it was a painful process for them or anyone near them, including the gods. I’d rather rip out my ears than listen to those two fighting. And he could not afford to wait years.
That reminds me, I must check in with Zac. He had heard nothing about this mixer to assist him with quickly finding a mate. The party was supposed to happen in a few days. By then they’d be done with the house setup, his brethren would be back—looking for a little sweet revenge—and he would have to show them that he was in control of the situation.
Sadly, I am not. He felt miserable, haunted by how he’d hurt Forgetty. He also had no clue if his efforts to find Mrs. Right All Night would pan out.
Alone in the back room of the salon, he slid his phone from his pocket and called Zac. It went to voicemail. “Zac. It is I, Acan, God of Wine—I mean to say…Decapitation, so you should fear me when I tell you that we are running out of time and this party better happen. Call me back.”
Acan shoved his phone into his jeans pocket and made his way out front to pay. Before he could utter a word to the receptionist, the women in the salon rushed toward him, screaming like a mob of sex-starved groupies. “There he is! Ohmygod! So sexy!”
“Back off, ladies!” He held out his hands, but they continued to scream like wild kittens, grabbing at his arms, torso, and hair.
“What in the world?” He reached into his pocket, threw a wadded-up hundred at the receptionist, and ran for the door, not stopping until he reached his eco-friendly, chick magnet of a car—a black Tesla. The saleswoman had told him that being green was the new black, so he went with it.
Once safely inside his vehicle, Acan took a deep breath, but an effort to find calmness only resulted in millions of voices chanting his name across the planet: “Belch, Belch, Belch…”
“Dammit.” It killed him to turn his back on the people he was hardwired to help. “And I need a Big Gulp-sized mojito.” It was Friday, after all.
No. No partying. He started the engine and headed straight for the gym. He would do crunches until his urge to throw down passed. Yes, I will focus on perfecting my body for my future mate. Of course, his body was already perfect—a forgotten perk of being a deity. But keeping away from the fun and focusing on his abs was the only thing standing between him and world destruction.