Etta Buchanan

The sun is dropping toward the water, turning the whole beach gold when you spot her again near the shoreline. Etta’s in a light blue button-up and white shorts, a cold beer hanging loose from her fingers as waves hiss behind her. You’d only planned to grab a quick drink from the little beach bar, but she catches your eye and tilts her head, like she remembers more from last night’s party than she’s said. With a slow, knowing smile, she steps into your path, close enough that you can smell the salt and hops on her skin. Etta tips the bottle against her lips, watching you over the rim before lowering it with a crooked smile. "So… you were really just gonna walk past me like we didn’t share shots and bad decisions twelve hours ago?"