CORA
“What do you think about this?” I ask Aspen, my bottom lip caught between my teeth as I stare at myself in the mirror. The bikini is electric blue and looks incredible with my red hair.
“You look smokin’ hot.” She narrows her eyes at me. “What’s the face for?”
“It’s new and I just?—”
I don’t have to say the rest because Aspen was there. She witnessed the years of doctors’ appointments and then physical therapy to finally get the go-ahead for surgery.
She saw my old boobs.
And now my new ones.
The ones that don’t need two sports bras to hold them in place, the ones that I’m not desperate to hide because they are so massive people can’t help but stare.
But they are stillnewto me and while I love them, scars and all, it is still hard to reconcile wearing anything revealing, and that includes a basic scoop-neck shirt.
“You look beautiful.” Aspen takes my hand and squeezes it, the gesture grounding me and allowing my shoulders to fall a little.
“Thanks.” My smile is a little brighter as we stare at my reflection.
This bathing suit had been a late-night, three glasses of wine, online purchase that I couldn’t force myself to return once the hangover had dissipated. Until then, I’d stuck to more conservative options which had earned me a side-eye from Aspen on more than one occasion.
“Are we ready?”
“Yeah, my bag is downstairs, and I packed the cooler.”
“So we’re ready?”
“Ready.”
We move in sync, grabbing our things and climbing into my car as we navigate our way through Magnolia Point to the beach. I spend plenty of time on the May River paddleboarding, but today definitely calls for some salt water.
“I think I’m craving queso,” Aspen says as Just in Queso comes into view. They have the best queso—not surprising considering the name—and the place is bright and loud and a whole lot of fun.
“For the beach or later?”
“Yes,” she says emphatically, and I snort out a laugh as I pull into the lot across the street and park.
But I’ve barely taken one step out of the car when something catches me eye.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I growl, earning a glance from Aspen as she follows my gaze.
And snickers.
A group of young college girls have Talon surrounded on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, listening intently as he pointsup and down the street. He flashes them a smile and they giggle—all of them—like he’s the hottest man they’ve ever met.
To be fair, he probably is.
Talon Banks has no right to be as good-looking as he is, ruggedly handsome and a freaking delight to absolutely everyone but me.
“You’re glaring,” Aspen says as she pulls me down the sidewalk and in the opposite direction.
“I was not,” I huff. “And besides, I’m wearing sunglasses so you can’t tell.”
“Yeah, that’s not really how that works. Your jaw was clenched so tight I thought you were gonna crack a molar.”
“Where are we going?” I huff as she picks up the pace.
