Part 3My Curse Is His Only Fortune

The rules of Gideon's game were brutally simple.

He would select a target, and I would "jinx" it.

If my words materialized, I won.

The first target... was him.

"Whenever you're ready, Cassie. The stage is yours." He leaned back against the leather booth, crossing his arms over his chest, looking entirely too amused.

A slow, sultry saxophone track was playing softly through the café speakers.

I studied him.

He was undeniably gorgeous. Deep-set eyes, a sharp jawline, lips that were a fraction too thin, giving him a naturally arrogant look. It was the kind of face that belonged on a billboard, the kind that screamed untouchable.

I cleared my throat.

"I hope..." I dragged the words out, watching his reaction.

He raised a single, dark brow, waiting.

"...that the second you walk out that door, a pigeon takes a massive shit directly on your head."

I almost laughed as I said it. It felt so juvenile.

Gideon’s arrogant mask slipped for a fraction of a second.

"Is that the best you can do?" he asked, clearly disappointed.

"What did you want me to say?" I threw my hands up. "That I hope you walk out and get hit by a bus? I'm not putting a murder charge on my conscience for your little experiment."

He stared at me for a long, heavy moment. Then, he stood up.

"Alright. Let's see which is stronger: your little parlor trick, or my luck."

He picked up his jacket and strode toward the exit.

I didn't move. I picked up his untouched coffee and took a sip.

Bitter. Too strong.

I watched through the massive front window as he pushed open the glass door.

He took exactly one step onto the sunlit sidewalk.

From the awning above, a thick, white splatter dropped straight down from the sky.

It landed dead-center in his perfectly styled, dark hair.

He froze. His entire body locked up like a statue.

Somewhere in the café, a barista snorted, desperately trying to stifle a laugh.

Moving with agonizing slowness, Gideon raised a hand, touched the top of his head, and looked at his fingers.

His face went murderous.

He pivoted on his heel and glared straight through the glass at me.

If looks could kill, I would have been a pile of ash in the booth.

I raised his coffee cup toward him, mouthing the word, Cheers.

Then, I slammed the cup down, bolted from the booth, and slipped out the café’s back exit.

I ran. I sprinted down the alleyway behind the building, the air thick with the smell of dumpsters and damp brick.

I pressed my back against the wall of a dead-end alcove, gasping for air.

My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Half of it was the adrenaline of running. The other half was... the sheer, unadulterated thrill of it.

For the first time in my miserable, guarded life, my cursed mouth had actually done something entirely hilarious.

I was just starting to grin when a shadow fell over the mouth of the alley.

It was Gideon.

He was holding a wet wipe, methodically cleaning his hand as he stalked toward me.

Instinctively, I scrambled backward, but my shoulder hit the rough brick. I was trapped.

He stopped directly in front of me, planting a hand on the wall beside my head, caging me in.

He was tall. Even standing straight up, the top of my head barely reached his collarbone.

"Where are you running?" he asked. His voice was still cold, but there was a dark, gravelly edge to it now.

"I... I have to get home to make dinner," I stammered, my eyes darting everywhere but his face.

"You're very gifted, Cassie," he murmured, tossing the soiled wet wipe into a nearby trash can without looking.

"I do my best," I whispered.

He took a step closer. The remaining space between us vanished.

I could smell him. Clean, sharp cedar, mixed with the faint, bitter tang of the coffee in his hair. It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

"The fifty thousand is yours," he said, looking down at me, a strange, feral heat flickering in his dark eyes. "But the game isn't over."

"What... what else do you want?" My throat was so dry it ached.

"I want to know where your limits are," he said softly. "I want to see just how dark those words of yours can get."

He lowered his head. He was so close I could see the reflection of my own panicked face in his pupils. Small. Cornered.

"Tell me, Cassie," his voice dropped to a near-whisper, ghosting over my ear. "What would happen if I kissed you right now?"