Dionysus had spent a near sleepless night tossing and turning after he’d escorted Ariadne home. Not taking her to his bed when she’d been practically begging him had been the hardest thing he’d ever done in his entire life. But this was part of his plan. He would reduce her to a puddle of need and make her fall in love with him, and then, only then, he’d reveal to her that he knew about her deception. He would humiliate her like she had humiliated him. Then they’d be even.
The only problem with his brilliant plan was that not only was he having a hard time stopping himself from making love to her, he felt like a total sack of shit for treating her that way, for leading her on. As if he’d developed scruples. Or maybe it was simply the fact that he couldn’t contain his desire for her, because no matter her deception and the games she’d played with him, it did nothing to quell the need to have her in his arms, to kiss her, touch her, and make love to her. Now that he remembered the one night they’d spent together in each other’s arms, he knew how good it would be with her. And he wanted it again.
He wanted to feel her writhing against him. He wanted to sense her heartbeat and feel her breath bounce against his lips. And tasting her again, by the gods, he needed that too. No wonder he’d thought himself in love with her during his amnesia. His body must have remembered what it was like with her and had yearned for more of it. Or was it more than just sense memory? Was he truly feeling things he’d previously thought himself incapable of? What if everything she’d made him believe in had turned into reality?
Dio took a deep breath. Her scent still permeated throughout his apartment. He doubted that it would ever completely vanish no matter how much time passed. His own hands still retained her scent. It drove him insane, making it impossible to ban her from his mind. Not even after he’d masturbated in the shower, imagining she was with him, had he been able to let go of her image.
He could only hope that once he’d executed his plan, he would finally be over his infatuation with Ari. Because that was what it had to be: an infatuation, nothing more serious.
It was almost sunrise when he finally fell asleep. The door bell ringing in the downstairs apartment jolted him from his sleep. When he turned his head and glanced at his watch, he reared up. Shit! He would be late for work.
He bolted from his bed, took the quickest shower in his life and resorted to his godly powers for the rest: one flick of his fingers dried him without a towel, another combed his hair, and a last one put a set of clothes on his naked body. Knowing his delay was already bad enough, he teleported to the alley behind the restaurant and used the entrance through the kitchen to get into the restaurant.
Luis, the Latino chef who was as wide as he was tall, tossed him an annoyed look. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Hey, you’re not the boss of me!” Dio snarled back. If the idiot pissed him off any further, he’d turn him into a toad.
“No, but I am!” The curt tone in Natalie’s voice didn’t leave any doubt as to her mood.
He turned slowly and pasted an apologetic smile on his face. “So sorry, Natalie, but I walked Ariadne home after our dinner, and then I still had to clean up the kitchen.” Not entirely true since his servants had taken care of that by the time he’d returned home. But he figured the more he made it sound like it was all because he wanted to please Ari, the less grief Natalie would give him.
Warring emotions skidded over Natalie’s face until she finally nodded. “Fine, fine. It’s just bad timing. The dining room is full. I have no idea where all these people suddenly came from. They’re not even our regulars. There must be a convention of cover models in town, or something.”
Dionysus walked past her. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.” Through the round glass in the door, he peered out into the restaurant. “Ah, shit!” he cursed.
Natalie pressed an apron into his hand, and he absentmindedly tied it around his waist. “See, what did I tell you? And they’re all ready to order.”
As if that was the problem! He would have happily served the entire population of Charleston, but the guests that occupied the tables right now were an entirely different cup of tea.
“What are you waiting for? Go.”
A shove from Natalie catapulted him into the lion’s den. Like wolves, they would devour him, and like hyenas they’d laugh at his expense. Because if the gods knew about one thing it was this: how to delight in another god’s humiliation.
Every table in the small dining room was occupied by a face he knew. Three nymphs sat in a corner, Orion shared a table with Aphrodite while Helius, Apollo and Ares had banded together at another. The goddesses Eos and Selene had taken seats at the bar, and his friends Eros and Hermes sat by a table at the door. At least he had two allies in the pack of wolves who had come to gloat.
Dio figured he should be grateful that neither Zeus nor Hera had shown up, even though he was sure that his evil stepmother knew full well that he was relegated to being a waiter. Sure, he could ditch the job right now, but that would also mean giving up his plan of getting his revenge with Ariadne, and he wasn’t prepared to trade for that.
“Waiter, we’re still waiting.” An impatient voice made him snap his head toward Orion, the god of hunters and Triton’s half-brother. But just because Dio was best friends with Triton didn’t mean he got on with Orion. Hell, not even Triton did.
Dio’s lips pressed into a thin line as he forced a snide remark back. He pulled in a deep breath and walked to Orion’s table. “Yes?”
Both Aphrodite and Orion chuckled, even though at least the goddess of beauty had the good graces to look somewhat embarrassed.
Orion met Dio’s stern stare. “Two glasses of your house Merlot, and I’ll have the steak, medium rare.”
Aphrodite pointed at the spot on the menu. “I’ll take the seafood salad.”
Dio shook his head. If they wanted to annoy him at his restaurant and make things difficult for him, he’d make the rules. “The steak’s tough. And the seafood salad is bland. I’ll bring you both seafood over grits.”
Orion opened his mouth and raised his hand in protest, but Dio cut him off. “It’s either that or you get out. Now.”
The standoff took a few seconds until Aphrodite put her hand on Orion’s arm and graced Dio with a warm smile. “Seafood over grits sounds perfectly delicious.”
Then Dio walked over to his friends and let himself fall onto the empty chair. Eros grinned. “Fancy seeing you work. Imagine my surprise when I heard—”
“Shut it, Eros, or I’ll deck you right here.”
“He means it,” Hermes added.
Eros crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Nobody is any fun anymore these days.”
Dio ignored him and instead glared at Hermes. “Can nobody keep a secret anymore? Not even my best friends?”
Hermes’ mock-innocent look would have gotten any actor fired. “You should have specified that you didn’t want this to be made known.”
Dio grabbed hold of the front of Hermes’ T-shirt and pulled him close. “I thought that went without saying. Maybe I should find other friends,” he hissed.
Hermes shook off his hold and straightened. “Eros is right, you’re no fun anymore. And besides, why do you always suspect me? If I remember correctly, our dear stepmother had a hand in this. She could have spread the news around.”
Dio’s eyebrows snapped together. Hermes was probably right. Hera was a bitch, and whichever way she could humiliate him, she would do it.
“So I hear this is all about a woman,” Eros interrupted.
Dio glanced at Eros as he casually leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs. “What’s it to you?”
“As the god of love, I have certain responsibilities. So if this is about—”
“It’s not about love. Not part of your territory. So, off you go.” Dio stood and made a shooing movement.
“Well, since I’m already here …” He glanced at the menu in front of him. “What’s good?”
“Seafood over grits,” Dio said automatically.
“I’ll take it.”
“Two,” Hermes added. “And some wine. What do you recommend?”
Remembering that Orion had ordered the house Merlot, Dio decided that everybody would get the same. At least that way he couldn’t possibly mix up the orders and embarrass himself. “The house Merlot is excellent. I’ll bring you two glasses.”
A whistle made him spin on his heels and face the offending party. Ares grinned at him. “Garçon, we’re getting impatient here.”
With two strides, he was at Ares’ table. “I’m not your Garçon!” Dio growled.
Ares exchanged a grin with Helius and Apollo. “But you are our servant today, are you not? So serve us.”
“I’m nobody’s servant!”
Ares looked pointedly at Dio’s apron. “You must be, because you’re wearing the apron.”
He and his table mates broke out in roaring laughter. The sound grated on Dio’s nerves. Fine, if they wanted to be served, he’d serve them—his way.
“The special today is seafood over grits,” he yelled over their laughter, shutting them up instantly.
“Sounds delicious,” Helius commented.
“I’ll have that,” Apollo said.
Ares nodded. “That’ll be all, boy.”
Dio’s hand clenched into a fist and the cords in his neck bulged, but he kept his temper in check. After taking the order for the Nymphs’ table, the two goddesses at the bar, and the other three tables also occupied by gods, he charged into the kitchen and placed the orders.
“Seafood over grits for everybody.”
Natalie raised an eyebrow. “Everybody? They all want the same? What are they, some group traveling together?”
“Something like that.” As the chef started the orders, Dio looked back at Natalie. “And a glass of house Merlot for everybody.”
“Well, that’s easy.”
Dio followed Natalie to the bar where he watched her pour the wine. Within five minutes, each guest had their wine and was patiently waiting for their food. Dio tried not to listen to their conversations, but his superior hearing made it nearly impossible not to. It appeared that the news about his humiliation at the hands of a mortal woman would have made the front page of the Olympus Enquirer if the gods actually had a newspaper. As it was, no such medium was necessary to spread the news. It was easier to tell one gossipmonger and within minutes, all of Olympus and beyond would be in the know.
Dio stalked into the kitchen and collected the first plates. He made a point of serving Ares and his friends last. As he balanced all three plates on his hands, a devilish thought crossed his mind. He carefully placed one plate in front of Helius and the other in front of Apollo before he affected a stumble.
With a quick flick of his wrist, Dio tipped the plate and lurched toward Ares, letting the steaming hot food drop into the war god’s lap while he held onto the plate.
Ares shouted out in pain and jumped up, trying to get the hot, sticky stuff off his groin where it was probably singeing the family jewels. “What the fuck!”
Dio suppressed his grin. “So sorry! Let me help you cool that down.” He grabbed Ares’ half-full wine glass and tossed its contents at the front of Ares’ jeans.
Chuckles from the other tables already rippled through the restaurant.
Ares glared at him, his face read with rage. “You idiot!”
Dio smirked. “You wanted me to serve you. I’m afraid I forgot to mention that I’m not a very good waiter.”
The laughter from the other gods followed him as he retreated into the kitchen. Now the heat was off him, and Ares would be the butt of their jokes for the next hour.