Blazing Bedtime Stories

For all my
Love at First Bite
fans,
your e-mails and letters have meant
the world to me!
Thanks, and here we go again…

And for Rhonda and Leslie,
I’m so thrilled to be included with two
of my all-time-favorite Blaze Babes!

“T
HERE ARE ONE HUNDRED
and seventy million, seven hundred and fifty-nine thousand, one hundred and twenty-three people having sex at this exact moment,” Burt reported.

Burt was a short, bald guy, who fidgeted as he stood in the middle of LB Patterson’s office. The man wore his usual blue leisure suit, a dozen chains around his neck and a look that said
How’s it hanging, baby?
“That’s not counting several thousand ménage à trois, a few hundred group orgies and a woman up in Jersey getting up close and personal with an authentic African python named Daisy. Needless to say, I’ve got animal control on stand-by,” he added.

“Not bad.” LB—known affectionately as Lover Boy and officially as Cupid—punched a few buttons on his state-of-the-art computer and pulled up a spreadsheet. Based on last year’s statistics, the sex was up by over a million. A grin tugged at his lips. “We’re definitely doing something right.”

“I wouldn’t pop open the champagne yet,” Burt continued. “The number of people doing
it
is definitely on the rise, but less than one third are actually
in
love. Except the Jersey lady. She’s definitely head-over-heels for Daisy.”

LB’s gaze swiveled to the Love category and a bolt of panic went through him. When it came to
amore
, he was the head honcho. The big cheese. The MIC. “But that’s down by half.”

“I told you not to crack open the bottle. Then again, you could probably use a drink right about now. Venus isn’t going to be too happy.”

Venus headed the Interaction division for Humans, Inc., a worldwide conglomerate that micromanaged the human race. She was just one of a handful of upper-tier management, but she was no one to mess with. There was also Jupiter, CEO and mega control freak.
Mars was in charge of war and domestic conflicts. Vesta ran morality. Juno monitored reality TV (rumor had it that her two-timing hubby, Jupiter, had a thing for the newest
Bachelorette
and she was determined to catch him screwing around). Bacchus handled addiction. Mercury headed up postal workers. And then there were a half dozen others who managed various aspects of human existence.

LB stared at the numbers again and the Starbucks special blend he’d sucked down earlier started to churn in his stomach.

Contrary to popular myth, Venus wasn’t warm or elegant or Miss Touchy-Feely. She was cold, stuck-up and a certifiable ballbuster when she didn’t get her way. And her way was dominating the top statistical tier of the organization.

Even more, she wasn’t just LB’s boss. She was the woman who’d endured hours and hours of labor, a fat backside and swollen ankles—all on his behalf.

“Holy shit,” LB muttered. “Mom’s going to fry my ass faster than I can say ‘till death do us part.’”

Literally.

In addition to being blessed with ethereal beauty, Venus was notorious for borrowing Jupiter’s lightning bolt. She also had a black belt in guilt. If the fire didn’t end his miserable existence, the mega-dose of “I can’t believe my own son is stabbing me in the back and making me the laughingstock of the company” was sure to do the trick.

“Nice knowing you, buddy.” Burt shrugged. His gold chains caught the early-morning light that pushed through the wall-to-wall windows. Light danced across the ceiling. “Listen, do you think you might put in a good word for me before she smokes you?” He glanced at the window. “I’m the only sex manager in history who isn’t a member of the mile high club because I’m afraid to fly.” He glanced at the window that overlooked Chicago (it was a far cry from Rome and an up-close view of the Colosseum, but hey, we’re talking the twenty-first century). “This isn’t the top floor, but I could make it work.”

“Get out.”

He shrugged. “You need some quiet time to reflect before you bite the bullet. I understand. Think about the office. I could hook you up with that cute little receptionist down in addiction. She’s been wanting to do you for ages.”

“Out.”

The door closed and LB shifted his attention to the numbers scrolling across his computer screen.

Sex? Way, way up.

Conversation? Not as sky-high, but still higher than last year.

Internet chat? Always on the rise.

Hell, even cuddling was holding its own.

But his baby, his pride and joy, his
livelihood
, had taken a nosedive straight to the bottom of the list. And he was responsible.

People just didn’t believe anymore, and he couldn’t say he blamed them. They lived in an era of instant, effortless gratification. From food to shopping, applying for a mortgage to sex. It was all just a mouse-click away. A person could order a pizza, buy the latest bestseller, pay bills and jack off, all without leaving his or her chair.

Love was different. Love required time. Energy. Effort. Even more, love required faith.

That was the real problem. People just didn’t believe. They were disheartened, disillusioned and just plain pissed. Which explained the newest
What the hell is this?
memo he’d received yesterday from his dear mother.

He keyed in the Web address referenced on the note. His screen shimmered and flashed as the Web site loaded.

A split-second later, kissmyasscupid.com blazed in black letters across the header, along with a flashing red heart. “Love Stinks” started to play and the heart cracked in two.

Ouch.

He scrolled down to the three video finalists for the site’s current anti-Valentine’s Day contest. They featured three women—the worst of the worst when it came to non-believers—who despised V-day. They bashed. They scoffed. They bitched about bad dates and loser boyfriends and meaningless one night stands. One even pitched a few handfuls of spaghetti and some gonzo meatballs at the guy doing the video.

They were a prime example of why his numbers were way down.

And
…the fastest way to convince Venus to give him a second chance.

The moment the idea waltzed into his head, he should have
pushed it back out. Really. It was hard enough helping out the ones who actually wanted to find the big L.

At the same time, if he could work his magic with this trio of die-hard disbelievers and give them their very own happily-everafters, then he could prove his worth to the company. Even more, he could convince his mother that the apple didn’t fall
that
far from the tree. Then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to pop a valium before the next Sunday dinner.

If not?

LB forced the thought aside. His numbers might be down, but his faith wasn’t. While 99.99 percent of the world categorized love as the stuff of fairy tales and cheesy chick flicks, he knew better. Love was real. Powerful.
Magical.

Love
did
make the world go round. And it was high time the contest entrants at kissmyasscupid.com learned that firsthand.