Page 57 of Hunter

“Daily,” she says cheerfully, spinning once before settling into a straddle across from me. “Now, stop stalling and tell me the rest. Because that little flush on your cheeks is telling me there’s definitely more.”

I laugh and climb again, thighs burning in the best way. The instructor calls out the next combo, and the room fills with the sound of poles creaking and bodies moving.

“We went to the zoo after,” I admit, a little breathless. “He bought me food, we hung out with the snow leopards… and then he walked me home. And he kissed me. Like, really kissed me. On my doorstep.”

Lucy lets out a dramatic squeal and nearly loses her grip. “He kissed you?! And then what? Did you⁠—?”

“I invited him up,” I say, cutting her off before she can get too excited. “And he said no.”

She freezes mid-spin. “He said no?”

“Yeah. Said he didn’t want to be something I’d regret in the morning. That he’s still figuring out his own shit and didn’t want to make mine worse.”

Lucy slides down her pole and comes to stand right in front of mine, eyes wide with something between shock and approval.

“Okay… that’s actually really decent,” she says, sounding surprised by her own words. “Most guys would’ve been upstairs so fast they’d leave skid marks. Especially after kissing you.”

I drop into a pole sit, legs extended, trying to ignore the way my stomach flips every time I remember his mouth on mine.

“I know,” I murmur. “That’s what’s messing with my head. He’s…intense. Like really intense, and I don’t do intense, Luce. That type stars in every single bad decision I’ve ever made. Including the one that landed me in Conversion Therapy.”

Lucy’s face softens. She leans against her pole, watching me as I hook one leg higher and lean back into a slow, controlled spin. The studio lights blur overhead, the bass vibrating through the metal and into my bones.

“I get it,” she says quietly. “But…hear me out…what if this time it’s different? He really could’ve taken advantage last night. He didn’t. And that tells me that maybe he’s not terrible.”

I huff a breathless laugh and slide down the pole. “Not terrible? That is such a glowing endorsement.”

Lucy climbs back up her pole and drops into a straddle, eyes serious now.

“Look, I’m not saying go full throttle. But don’t write him off just because he makes you feel something big. You deserve to feel wanted without your head turning it into a nightmare.” She spins once, slow and graceful. “And if he does turn out to be another disaster… I’ll help you hide the body. Bestie privileges.”

I laugh despite myself, the sound echoing with the creak of poles and the instructor calling out the next combo. Across the room, Maya nails a dramatic drop and whoops triumphantly. Heather’s still grumbling about her shoulder while she attempts a simple spin. The new guys in the back look like they wish they could jump out the window to escape. They probably won’t be back.

I hook my leg high again and lean back, letting the spin pull everything loose for a moment. The movement feels good—grounding—but my mind keeps circling back to Hunter’s face last night. The way his jaw tightened when he stepped back. The hunger in his eyes even as he chose to walk away.

“I’m scared, Luce,” I admit when I’m right-side up again, voice low enough that only she can hear. “I haven’t felt this pulled toward someone in years. And the last time I did… I ended up on my knees in that prayer room begging God to make me straight.”

Lucy slides down and comes to stand right in front of me, sweat glistening on her collarbones. She reaches out and squeezes my arm.

“I know,” she says gently. “But you’re not that kid anymore. You’re stronger now. And maybe—just maybe—this guy is worth the risk. Or at least worth a few more kisses before you decide.”

“Maybe,” I say.

“No maybe about it.”

I hook my leg high and lean back into a slow, controlled spin. The studio lights blur overhead, the bass thrumming through the pole and into my bones. But my mind slips somewhere else entirely.

I was fifteen.

His name was Elias.

We were best friends first—the kind who stayed up all night talking about everything and nothing, who shared headphones and secrets and stolen glances when no one was looking. He had messy brown hair that always fell into his eyes and the gentlest smile I’d ever seen. We started with nervous kisses behind the youth group building after Wednesday night service. Soft. Tentative. Terrified. Then it grew into something more—experimental touches under blankets during sleepovers, hands shaking as we learned each other’s bodies in the dark, whispering promises we were too young to understand.

It felt like flying.

It was intense.

For three beautiful, secret months, Elias was my entire world. We said “I love you” like it was sacred. We planned futures we knew we’d never get. We were so careful.