Page 97 of Coveted By Cupid

Putting on my big-girl panties, I straighten in my seat. “Well, you’ve already started. You might as well finish.”

Romy is putting on the final touches—no pun intended—when Crypt and Cookie arrive. Cookie is his normal, chill self, waving a hello before taking the barstool next to me. Crypt, on the other hand, saddles up beside Romy, penetrating her personal bubble like he has no clue how invasive he’s behaving. He stares at her as if he were a man possessed.

To her credit, Romy doesn’t flinch under his intense gaze. She keeps on working as if she’s used to his odd behavior. “Hi, Crypt.”

He doesn’t say hello back. Instead, he takes a silky lock of her long hair in his hand, rolling it between his fingers, almost like he can’t help himself from touching her.

Geez. Could he be any more obvious? He’s infatuated with Romy.

Yes, Crypt displays signs of being on the spectrum. However, he still needs to recognize inappropriate behavior when it happens, or he’ll never learn healthy boundaries.

When Romy is distracted, I nudge Crypt with my foot to get his attention. He shoots me an irritated glare, upset with me bothering him from his examination of his infatuation. I discreetly eye his hand holding Romy’s hair before looking back at him and mouthing, let go.

Crypt pouts, dropping her hair as if it pains him to do so. He watches me, waiting for more cues.

Cookie observes our exchange with an amused smirk.

When Romy is putting her supplies away in her traveling case, I motion with my hand for the enforcer to step back.

He puckers his lips in disappointment, but moves away to give Romy room to move around more freely. Crypt looks at me again, clueless.

I mouth, Talk to her.

He nods his understanding before addressing the mortician. “You don’t smell like embalming fluid this morning. You must not have worked on any dead people yet.”

I’d palm my forehead if I wasn’t covered in mortuary makeup. Instead, I hang my head. Cookie chuckles under his breath at my defeat.

“Thanks, Crypt,” Romy says brightly, giving him a kind smile. She seems not to mind his quirky crassness, reacting way nicer than most people would. “You’re right. I won’t be working on anyone until this afternoon. I’ve got a date with the late Mister Hammerstein. Misses Hammerstein told me I need to make him look less of a crotchety old man than he did when he was alive.”

A small smile curls at the corners of Crypt’s lips, pleased with their interaction. He moves toward her again, handing her supplies off the counter to help her pack faster.

At least he’s not totally lost. Crypt is trying to build a connection with her. He just needs a little polishing and a crash course in etiquette.

Romy hands me a mirror. “What do you think?”

Whoa. Whatever is in that death paint sure did a stellar job of covering my injury. No one will tell what is being concealed.

“It looks great, Romy. Thank you.”

“Tonight, I’ll bring some living people foundation instead. What you’re wearing won’t allow your skin to breathe, but it will do for today. Just don’t do a ton of facial expressions. This stuff doesn’t flex well.”

“Resting bitch face for the rest of the day? Got it.”

The mortician pulls her cell out of her purse, typing away on it. “What’s your number? If you run into any trouble with the makeup at school, call me and I’ll walk you through how to touch it up.”

“Good idea,” I say before giving her my number. She sends me a text, and I create a new contact for Romy the Mortician. Never thought I’d have an undertaker on speed dial, but here I am.

“Are you ready to go to class?” Cookie asks, getting off the barstool and heading toward the entrance, like my answer can only be yes.

“Wait. You’re coming with me?”

He gives me a duh look. “Did you think you’d go by yourself? Cupid would never allow it, not with those two fuckers still on the loose. Until they’re caught, you’re stuck with me and Crypt as your bodyguards.”

Great. A sarcastic jackass and a guy with no concept of personal space tagging along as my muscle going forward is going to make me stick out like a sore thumb. That they’re mean-looking bikers will only compound it. Too bad Cupid has club business to handle this morning. He’s intense enough, but these two following me around could scare someone into thinking I’m being followed.

“Can you two try not to scare the general population when you’re escorting me today? We don’t need anyone calling the cops out of concern for my well-being.”

“I will give them my most friendly smile,” Cookie says cynically. “No such luck with Crypt. He only wears a mean mug.”