Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Fantastic.
Now I need a cold shower instead of a hot one.
The mark on my arm is fainter than I’ve seen it since it appeared. It’s barely a dull warmth under my skin. Is it because Declan and I aren’t together? Because we were together last night? Or is the curse trying to trick me?
I lather my hands and scrub the mark until my arm stings.
Still there.
I turn off the water, wrap myself in a towel, and comb detangler through my hair.
Wren. I need to call her. She sent me a dozen texts last night, then tried to call this morning. Her next step will be filing a missing person report.
I flop onto the bed with my phone. Should I tell her about Declan? We usually share all sorts of details about guys we’re seeing. But this feels different.
Before I can lose my nerve, I hit Wren’s name.
She answers on the second ring. “Em? I’ve been freaking out. Everything okay?”
“More than okay,” I gush, then stop myself.
“Whoa.” She laughs. “Does that mean you actually found evidence of this curse?”
A prickle of guilt stabs me. My story, that’s what I should be focused on, not mooning over a guy. I glance at the faint green shimmer on my arm.
“Not exactly.” There, that’s not lying to my best friend.
“Well, you sound chipper. What’s up?”
I stare at the ceiling. “Hypothetically speaking, if someone…slept with a person connected to their investigation, on a scale of one to ten how unethical would that be?”
There’s a beat of silence, then Wren snorts. “Oh my God. Did you sleep with the hot, grumpy tattoo artist?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“Yeah, you kind of did,” she insists.
I groan and pull a pillow over my face. “I’m serious, Wren.”
“So am I. Congrats on breaking your dry spell.”
“That’s not the point. This is complicated. He’s a source. Maybe. Kind of. And the story is kinda messy.”
“Is he sleazy?” she asks. “Manipulative? Your boss? Married?”
I sigh in annoyance. “No.”
“Did you use him for info?”
“No.”
“Did he use you for info?”
“No.”
“Then what exactly is the ethical crime, Emery?”
I open my mouth. Close it. “It feels messy.”
“Sex is messy,” she says.
I blow out a breath. “No, it was amazing.”
“Amazing first sex is newsworthy on its own.” Wren clears her throat. “Do you like him?”
My heart does a weird little swoop. “I…yeah. I do.”
“Then stop overthinking it.” She pauses. “Is he as hot as he sounds?”
“Ohhh, yes.” I let out a happy sigh. “Every inch.”
“You lucky little wench. Next time, I’m coming with you.”
“Not a chance,” I say, though I’m smiling. “I’d be lost without you doing the editing. I’ll handle the field work.”
“I can edit on the road.”
Laughing, I finally agree to let her join me on the next adventure. “Do you have any leads on where we’re investigating when I’m done here?”
Whoa.
A pang of regret thrums through me. I don’t want to be done here. I like Declan more than I should. I’m even enjoying this quirky little town.
“…there was that haunted hotel in Salem. Bobby Rocket’s team was just there and they had some activity.”
“Ugh.” I groan at the mention of my competition. “I don’t want to copy Rocket.”
“You’d do a much better job, though,” Wren insists. “They were screaming at every single noise and swirl of dust in the air. You’d do a much more professional and thorough investigation.”
“What are their numbers?”
“High. Really high. So, if people are looking for more content about the hotel, you could ride that wave.”
“I’ll think about it. Let’s see what I come up with here, first.”
“All right.” Her voice rises to an excited pitch. “I’ll keep looking.”
“What about our comment sections?” I ask. “Any more tips from subscribers?”
“No.” She pauses for so long, I almost ask if the signal dropped. “It’s weird. No more comments about Crowsbridge Hollow, either.”
“Interesting,” I mutter. “I’ve run into a few people here who recognized me from the channel. I wonder if any of them sent in the tips,” I muse.
“Could be.”
“Mason was found,” I say. “No spooky mysteries there.”
“The news is saying it was just a ‘miscommunication’ with his parents. Have you heard different?” she asks.
“Just that he took off to meet his online girlfriend.” I shrug. “He’s a minor and he’s home safe. No reason for me to poke around and bother the family.”
“Good call,” she agrees.
“Thanks, Wren.”
We say goodbye, then disconnect.
I toss the phone on the comforter and lay there, staring at the ceiling. The memory of Declan’s big hands worshiping my body overrides the nagging anxiety in my stomach.
Live in the moment for once.
I roll over and sit up. I have a channel to run, and despite my brief detour to pierced dick nirvana, the “investigator” part of my brain is itching to learn more about the town and the curse.
I dress quickly—jeans, boots, and a dry coat. Something simple to help me blend in with the other tourists. I grab my bag, making sure my favorite gel pens are clipped to the inside pocket and my camera is fully charged, and pop a piece of cinnamon gum in my mouth. The familiar, spicy flavor motivates me to move my ass.