Page 6 of Hunter

I nearly choke on my own laugh, cheeks heating even though it’s just us. “Jesus, Luce. Buy me dinner first.”

“Fine. After class I’m buying you the greasiest halal cart food on the block, and you’re gonna tell me every filthy detail about whatever sad, broody man you’re gonna eye-fuck in group tonight.”

I freeze mid-spin, then recover with a little flourish. “I do not eye-fuck anyone in group.”

“Liar. Last week you spent forty minutes staring at that quiet tattooed guy like he was a rescue puppy you wanted to take home and fix.”

“He had sad eyes!”

“You have a type, babe. Tall, damaged, and emotionally unavailable. It’s concerning.” She grins, spinning upside down like it’s nothing. “Just promise me if you bring one home, you’ll let me vet him first. I don’t need another repeat of Derek-the-closeted-wall-street-wolf disaster.”

“That was one time,” I groan, dropping into a slow body roll. “And he only ghosted me because his mother found my lipstick on his collar.”

“Exactly. So next time we do full background checks. Including dick size. For science. You don’t want your poor evil cat to have a bad second daddy, do you?”

“Leave Sofia out of this.” I barely get the words out before I burst out laughing so hard I have to hook my leg tighter to stay on the pole. “You’re terrible.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

We keep trading shit the whole warm-up—stupid, filthy, ridiculous banter that makes the heavy stuff feel a little lighter. By the time the slow playlist kicks in and the lights dim, the nightmares feel farther away. Not gone. Never gone. But manageable.

I lose myself in the music and the burn in my muscles, every spin and drop another quiet fuck-you to the people who tried to carve me hollow.

When we’re both covered in sweat and panting, we drop down to the floor mats and lean against our respective poles facing each other. My thighs are burning in the best way, chest heaving, the silver hoops in my ears cool against my flushed skin.

“So, want to go out tonight?” Lucy asks, wiping sweat from her collarbone with the hem of her loose shirt. “There’s this new queer night at The Spot. Cheap drinks, good music, and zero chance of straight boys crying about their feelings.”

I shake my head, still catching my breath. “I’m going to group, and then tonight I am going to focus on my painting. I think I need it after that nightmare.”

Lucy’s grin softens, but she doesn’t push the idea. She never does. That’s why she’s Lucy and my best friend in the entire world. “Fair. You want me to walk you over? I can be your emotional support and silently threaten anyone who looks at you funny. I’ll scare them off with my superior upper-body strength and great thighs.”

I laugh under my breath. “Tempting. But I think I can handle walking a couple blocks. Besides, doesn’t that bartender you have your eyes on work at The Spot?”

She shrugs. “He’s hot, but the ‘ma’am’ thing does things to me I’m not proud of. Last time I almost begged him to let me follow him into the backroom. And he might be gay. Maybe you should hit on him.”

“Maybe you should find out,” I suggest with a smile.

“Maybe I will,” she shoots back with a wink.

I take a long drink from my water bottle, finally starting to cool down. “I should get ready to leave.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Lucy stands first, offering me a hand up even though we both know I don’t need it. She pulls me into a quick, sweaty hug anyway, her chin resting on my shoulder for a second.

“Have a great day at work and text me after group if you need to vent, or if any of the haunted boys are extra pretty tonight,” she murmurs. “I’m serious about the intervention if you try to adopt another sad one.”

“I’m not adopting anyone,” I mutter into her hair, but I’m smiling because we both know it’s true, at least partially.

“Sure you’re not.” She pulls back and taps my nose with one finger. “Have a great day. Remember: you’re healing, not their therapist. And if anyone gives you shit, you have my permission to go full sassy.”

“I’ll keep it to a low simmer,” I promise.

She grins, already grabbing her bag. “That’s my good girl. Love you, princess.”