Page 2 of The Summoning Spell (The Holiday Glitch #1)

“I’ve developed feelings for someone else,” he said after finishing. “Do you think it was immoral to have sex with you tonight? I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

She blinked. Did he use the word, immoral? Her body still sticky with him, her soul trying to claw its way out through her ribs.

He was still dripping down her leg. And now he wanted moral clarity? From her?

No, it wasn’t okay.

You have feelings for someone else. What about my feelings in this situation? Of course, this other woman would be hurt. You’ve already told her how you feel. And still you thought, I might as well have a one-night stand with the cougar I’ve been leading on?

“I think she might be the one, and I wanted to make sure I checked off an older woman on my list.”

“What list? And I’m only 5 years older than you, it’s not some huge age gap.”

“You know, different people you have sex with in life, list?” He completely ignored the comment about the age gap, probably for his own good.

“No, I haven’t a clue which list you mean.”

“And don’t worry, we’ll stay friends after this. You’re my homie,” he had the audacity to say.

Homie? Was this all a joke? Some elaborate Halloween trick that we’d be laughing about tomorrow?

No, as it turned out, it was not.

So she did what she did best: she lied. She told him exactly what he wanted to hear, as she held the tears back so he couldn’t see them.

Something had gone so very wrong in her life that she was always everyone’s second choice. Not the one you build a life with, just the placeholder, the cautionary tale, the footnote. She never thought she’d get used to it, but here she was, learning.

She wasn’t the girl guys fell in love with. Not the one they committed to. She was the one they cheated with. This was essentially what it was, even though he explained over and over again that they wouldn’t be “officially” boyfriend and girlfriend until next week.

He’d confessed his feelings a month ago and didn’t even think to tell the other girl, herself, he was talking to, so she could protect her heart this one time.

Did she love him? No. But rejection always hurts. Worse when you’re still half-naked and wiping someone else’s sweat off your chest.

Possibly, she had known all along this relationship would never turn into something real, but there was still a small, stupid part of her that hoped, at least once, someone would pick her and mean it.

Not the fun girl, not the placeholder, only her as she was.

And every time they didn’t, she started to wonder if maybe the problem was her after all.

She wiped his sweat off her chest with the sleeve of her coat. Her skin still itched, and her dignity, too.

It was 3 a.m., and precisely one week before Halloween. So as she left his car, she hugged him goodbye and realized that her 5’3 self almost towered over him.

“Give short kings a shot, they’ll treat you right,” she muttered, quoting that dumb video. Funny how that sounded more like a curse now.

No one under 6’2 should have the audacity to break her heart with that much confidence.

She walked through the freezing rain outside, which matched her mood perfectly at the moment, and entered her pin-drop quiet home. Her soaked heels squeaked against the tile, and the cheap corset dug into her ribs like it wanted to make the night worse.

Too wired to go to bed, she got on her cellphone and started scrolling through TikTok, the app known for its short videos and unsettling emotional accuracy.

The algorithm was, as usual, terrifyingly on-point.

Clearly, her phone had heard the conversation.

Because while technically, it wasn’t a breakup, even if it felt like one.

Every video hit too close to home, with snippets of heartbreak, betrayal, and catchy songs that summed up her entire love life better than she ever could. Even a couple of book recommendations, complete with crying emojis and dark covers, promising “unhinged romance with actual orgasms.”

She wasn’t sure if she needed the book or the exorcism.

Then her phone went off with a message from him.

Maybe he changed his mind.

Did she even want that? Could she live her life with terrible sex? What was good sex in the scheme of things, anyway?

“Do I need to send you money for a morning-after pill? I want to make sure I don’t have a baby right now.”

Who says romance is dead?

* * *

She FaceTimed Maya because, really, who else could possibly relate to her cursed dating life better than her self-declared forever-alone best friend?

Maya picked up “Jesus, B. You look like you were exorcised.”

“That would imply something holy ever entered me.”

Maya laughed. “Didn’t he have a cross necklace?”

Blair groaned, “He kept it on. I think it was irony.”

Maya laughed harder. “Or defense. Maybe he figured if he finished too fast, the Lord would forgive him.”

“He did finish too fast and quoted Joe Rogan. No amount of prayer can cleanse that.”

“So, what’s the plan tonight? Cry into ice cream? Drink a bottle of wine? Accidentally summon a sex demon?”

Blair rolled her eyes. “Oh, obviously the last one. Gotta keep the streak alive.”

“Just make sure he’s hot and bound by a blood contract. No more freelancing bros.”

Blair tried to laugh, but it stuck in her throat. Her eyes drifted down to the coffee mug in her hands, lukewarm.

Blair softly added

“I don’t get it. I’m not even asking for fireworks. Just someone who doesn’t make me feel like a backup plan.”

Maya’s smile faded. She reached out toward the screen, palm hovering like she could reach through it and squeeze Blair’s wrist.

“You’re not a backup anything. You’re the damn main event.”

“Tell that to the last three guys who only text me after midnight.”

“Then maybe it’s time for a new kind of magic. Hex the patriarchy.”

“Or actually summon something real. Something that wants me for me. Not because I’m easy to access, or emotionally accommodating, or just, there.”

Maya, firm but kind. “Blair, you’re allowed to want more.”

The call ended a few minutes later. No tears, no breakthrough epiphany. Just a soft click, and then the kind of silence that settles like a reminder: you’re still alone.

Blair exhaled slowly, thumb grazing the side of her mug. Her eyes flicked to the bookshelf across the room, where that dusty grimoire, Maya’s gag birthday gift, sat half-open, wedged between a Sex and the City box set and an unopened tarot deck.

She didn’t touch it.

Not yet.

She sank back onto the couch and resumed doomscrolling—makeup tutorials, fall-themed cocktails, a cat in a vampire cape, then, one video caught her attention.

A woman with perfect eyeliner and suspiciously high-production lighting was kneeling before an altar, candlelight flickering as she whispered in a rhythmic cadence .

The caption: HEX YOUR EX’S EGGPLANT INTO NONFUNCTIONAL OBLIVION.

Blair watched, transfixed, as the woman described a spell designed to make her cheating ex’s penis only work for her, and only if he apologized in full sentences.

It wasn’t a spell, not really; it was vengeance, sass wrapped in ritual.

But Blair didn’t flinch, because honestly? It wasn’t petty.

It was community service.