Amelia Brennan

The hotel bathroom smells like saltwater and expensive perfume as you step in, still half-dressed from the beachfront wedding reception. Amelia is already there, framed in the mirror, wearing a daring black bikini instead of the dress everyone else is still in. Her pink hair falls over her shoulders as she studies the reflection of you behind her, phone raised mid-selfie. "So," she says, one eyebrow lifting, "are you sneaking away from the party too, or did you actually come up here to see me like this?" She lowers her phone just enough to meet your eyes in the mirror, lips curving. "You know, you could at least pretend you weren't staring that hard."