1
SOPHIE
Liquid Courage was exactly what it sounded like.
Loud. Sticky. Neon-lit in a way that felt slightly unhinged. The kind of place where the drinks came in colors that didn’t exist in nature and the floors were perpetually damp for reasons no one questioned anymore.
Frozen drink machines lined the bar like a row of humming beasts, churning out electric blues and radioactive greens. The music pulsed hard enough that I felt it in my ribcage, and the air smelled like sugar, alcohol, and salt blown in from the harbor.
Beth slapped her hand down on the bar like she’d just found religion.
She had that effortless, bombshell kind of beauty—golden-blonde hair that fell in soft waves no matter what she did to it, full lips always on the verge of a smile, and curves that somehow managed to look both soft and powerful at the same time.
“This,” she announced, “is where personal growth goes to die.”
Natasha grinned, lifting her drink. “Rest in peace, self-awareness.”
Natasha, too, had the kind of beauty that didn’t need permission. Dark, luminous skin that caught the light like it was designed for it, sharp cheekbones softened by a smile that knew exactly what it was doing. Her hair was cropped close tonight, intentional and elegant, drawing attention to her eyes—warm, expressive, endlessly observant. Men noticed her, women trusted her, and she moved through the world like it had already made room.
I laughed, the sound coming easy, and raised my own cup in agreement. The bartender had warned me it was strong. He’d been right. One sip and my shoulders dropped an inch, the tight coil in my chest loosening.
Liquid Courage had a reputation. Big drinks. No shame. A place people came to forget who they were supposed to be.
Honestly? I got it.
“This place is insane,” I said, leaning closer so they could hear me. “Do people actually survive these drinks?”
Beth shrugged. “Spiritually? No.”
Natasha clinked her cup against mine. “But, yes.”
We’d been in Charleston less than twelve hours, and already the city felt like it was doing something to me. The pastel buildings. The way time seemed to slow without fully stopping. The fact that strangers smiled at you like it wasn’t an inconvenience.
Austin had its charm. It was home, after all. But Charleston felt … intentional. Like it knew what it was and didn’t apologize for it.
Beth scanned the room with approval. “Okay, I officially declare this trip a success.”
For a fleeting second, I caught our reflection in the mirrored panel behind the bar—three women shoulder to shoulder, all different, all unmistakably striking. Beth’s golden confidence. Natasha’s quiet, magnetic poise. And me in the middle, softerand fuller, all curves and copper hair and a body I was still learning how to inhabit.
We looked like the kind of women people noticed when they walked into a room, the kind who didn’t need to chase attention because it found them, anyway. The realization startled me more than it should have.
Natasha cocked her head. “Is it a success because of the ambiance or because no one has asked Sophie what her five-year plan is?”
“Both,” Beth said immediately.
I groaned. “I am standing right here.”
“And thriving,” Natasha added kindly. “You’re smiling.”
“I smile all the time.”
“Not like that,” Beth said.
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. Because … maybe she was right.
I was smiling differently.
The music shifted, the DJ sliding into something louder, heavier, and the crowd responded immediately. Laughter rose. Someone whooped. A group of women nearby started dancing like no one was filming them, which felt increasingly rare in the world.
