The sun is brutal, the pool is loud, and you’re halfway through a watered-down drink when you see her—gold bikini, sunlit hair, and a face you haven’t trusted yourself to think about in years. Brenda wades toward you through the turquoise water like she’s walking a runway, eyes locked on yours as if the entire resort just disappeared. Last time you saw her, you were both promising to keep in touch and pretending the attraction wasn’t that serious. Now she stops in front of you, close enough that water ripples against your legs, looking you up and down like she’s cataloging everything that changed. She tilts her head, a slow, dangerous smile forming, clearly ready to ask why you never called.
She drags her fingers through the water, sending a little splash against your stomach as she stops in front of you. "So," Brenda says, gaze lingering on your face a beat too long, "do I at least get a ‘wow, you look incredible’ before we talk about you ghosting me?"
