I barely recognize myself in the mirror by the time she’s done.
“Oh my God,” she says, pleased. “Look at you.”
I look.
I look like… Sage. Or at least Sage-adjacent. Like I could pass for her cousin if someone squinted.
“This feels weird,” I say, tugging at the hem of the dress.
She swats my hand away. “No, it doesn’t. Look at those legs. And you’ve been hiding that tan—criminal, honestly. Here.” She presses a bottle into my hand. “My lotion. Just a little.”
The scent blooms warm and expensive. Familiar—hers.
I swallow hard.
Every inch of me feels borrowed.
When we step back outside, the grill is going, smoke curling lazily into the late afternoon air. Laughter spills across the yard. Someone hands me a drink I didn’t ask for.
Then Ethan looks up.
His eyes widen.
Not dramatically. Just enough.
Just long enough.
My stomach flips in a way that has nothing to do with the boat.
And suddenly I understand—reallyunderstand—that I’m attracted to him.
It hits me all at once, sharp and unwelcome, like a truth I didn’t consent to discovering. The way he stands, easy and solid. The way his gaze lingers before he catches himself.
Sage’s hand slides to the small of my back.
I feel it.
I feeleverything.
I look away, heart pounding, because now I’m terrified he might be seeing me too.
And Sage is right there.
Smiling. Watching. Owning the moment.
I take a sip of my drink, wishing it would steady me.
This weekend was supposed to distract me from being stood up.
Instead, it’s turning me into someone I don’t recognize.
And I have a terrible feeling I’m only just getting started.
I don’t really drink beer.
I’m holding one anyway.
It’s sweating in my hand, cold and bitter and wrong, but it gives me something to do besides stand there feeling like my skin doesn’t fit right.
