I know I look good.
I hate that I know it—but I do.
The dress. The hair. The gloss. Sage 2.0.
We’re moving, laughing, bodies loose, the bass crawling up through my legs. The lights flash purple, blue, gold. Sweat sticks to my collarbone.
Guys start circling almost immediately.
Like sharks.
Mostly for Sage.
Always for Sage.
She’s magnetic. Effortless. Tossing her hair, laughing, leaning in close like she’s sharing secrets.
But then she grabs my hand and yanks me forward.
“This is Beth!” she shouts over the music. “Beth is single, right?”
I choke.
Single.
The word hits weird.
Sean.
Firehouse.
Voicemail.
My chest tightens.
“Uh—”
Too late.
We’re swallowed into a foursome dance circle. Bodies everywhere. Hands in the air. Heat and noise and someone’s cologne way too strong.
Sage is grinding on some guy like she’s been single her whole life.
I feel eyes on us.
I glance across the bar.
Ethan.
Watching.
Not smiling.
Not moving.
Just staring.
Locked in.
