Ocean City was humid, the kind of sticky heat that clung to your skin and made everything feel closer, more intense. Colton leaned on the railing of the blue wave inn balcony, shirtless, his beer half-empty and sweating in his hand. Below him, the ocean churned under a violet sky. A storm was coming.
Inside, music thumped low from a Bluetooth speaker. Their friend group—mutual friends from Lucy's web of connections—had planned this beach trip months ago, back when Lucy was still in the picture. Now, she wasn't, but somehow both Colton and Conner still ended up in the same hotel, sleeping four doors apart and walking on eggshells.
It was night three, and Colton could feel the pressure building like thunder in his chest.
"You avoiding me?" Conner's voice came from behind.
Colton didn't turn around right away. "No. Just needed air."
"Right," Conner said, stepping out beside him, holding a drink of his own. "Because it has nothing to do with the way you looked at me earlier."
Colton finally looked at him. Conner was shirtless too, swim trunks slung low, hair still damp from the ocean. It wasn't fair—how good he looked. How familiar. How much he reminded Colton of everything he was trying to forget.
"Don't start," Colton warned.
"Why not?" Conner asked. "It's not like anyone else here's talking about it. Lucy's out of the picture, and you and I still... haven't dealt with what happened."
Colton slammed his drink on the railing. "What do you want me to say, Conner? That I hated seeing you with her? That I hated knowing she ran to you when she was done with me?"
Conner stepped closer, his voice lower. "No. I want you to admit that the only reason it ever hurt was because it was me."
