Page 8 of Cursed

I wince at the reminder of my ex. Two years together, and Melvin approached sex like a task to complete—get in, finish, roll over. Any suggestion of change was met with dismissal.

“That’s exactly why I’m doing this,” I admit. “I’m tired of playing it safe and analyzing everything to death. For once, I want to do the unexpected—something that scares me a little.”

Jolene studies me for a long moment. “Sadie, Melvin was a mediocre nerd who wanted to get his rocks off. He didn’t care about whether you enjoyed yourself. Are you sure jumping into the sexual deep end is the answer?”

I fiddle with the stem of my wineglass, avoiding Jolene’s concerned gaze. “That’s the thing—I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

I take another gulp of wine, liquid courage for what I’m about to admit. “I met one of them when I dropped off the signed invitation. One of the hunters. Landon Blackwood.”

Jolene’s eyebrows shoot up. “And?”

“He’s...” I struggle to find the right words, the memory of our encounter sending electricity through my veins. “Intense. Scary, actually. The way he looked at me, Jo—like he could see the thoughts in my head.”

“But?” Jolene prompts, clearly sensing there’s more.

“But he’s also ridiculously gorgeous.” Heat creeps up my neck as I remember his steel-blue eyes, the way they pierced through me. “And the things he said to me... God, Jo, I’ve never had anyone talk to me like that.”

“What did he say?” She leans forward, practically vibrating with curiosity.

I shake my head, embarrassment mixing with lingering arousal. “I can’t even repeat it. These explicit, filthy things about what would happen during the Hunt. What he would do to me if he caught me.”

“And you hated it, right?” Jolene’s tone is skeptical.

“That’s the problem,” I whisper, staring into my wine. “I didn’t hate it at all. The whole drive home, I couldn’t think straight. I was so—” I stop, mortified by what I’m about to admit.

“So...?” Jolene prods.

“Turned on,” I finally confess. “I’ve never experienced anything like it. I practically ran to my bedroom the minute I got home to grab my vibrator.”

“Well, shit,” Jolene says, looking impressed. “Maybe this Hunt is exactly what you need.”

I press my fingers to my temples. “Or maybe I’m making a terrible mistake. What if it’s too much? What if I freeze up? What if I hate it?”

“What if you love it?” Jolene counters.

Her words hang in the air between us, highlighting the terrifying uncertainty of what I’ve signed up for.

I set my wine glass down with a decisive thud. “Seriously, Jo, am I completely insane? Should I just fake my death and move to Alaska to get out of this?”

Jolene bursts into laughter, nearly choking on her dumpling. “You’re such a goof! Fake your death? Really?” She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“I’m being serious!” I protest, though I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.

“No, you’re not.” She points her chopsticks at me accusingly. “You wouldn’t have signed that invitation if you didn’t want this on some level. Besides, I’m pretty sure faking your death is a felony.”

“Probably less dangerous than what I’ve actually signed up for,” I mutter, reaching for a spring roll.

Jolene appears to sense my discomfort and shakes her head. “Enough Hunt talk,” she says, though there’s reluctance in her tone. “Tell me about the project you’re working on. The one with the security protocols you were excited about last week.”

Grateful for the subject change, I launch into an explanation of my latest coding challenge, the tension in my shoulders gradually easing. Jolene nods along.

The conversation flows naturally from work to the novel Jolene’s been reading, to her latest dating app disaster. The familiarity of our friendship wraps around me like a cozy blanket, temporarily pushing thoughts of masked hunters to the back of my mind.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Jolene says, digging through her purse. “I found this at that vintage shop on Maple.” She pulls out a small robot keychain, its metal body tarnished with age. “Reminded me of that collection you had in college.”

I take the keychain, turning it over in my palm. The unexpected thoughtfulness of the gesture makes my throat tight. “You remembered that?”