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He laughed, shrugging. “Keeping your mind elsewhere.” It was a simple enough answer. So why did it make me feel so many things? Why did it make me feel seen?

I sat up and attempted to wipe off the sand that was all over me, but it was useless. It waseverywhere.

Greyson stood up and held his hand out for me. “Come on.”

I reached out to him, and he pulled me up. And then he walked straight down to the shore and dove into the water, expecting me to follow, I assumed, but he was crazy. The water was just hitting me at my ankles from where I stood, and it wasfreezing.No way in hell was I getting in there with him.

His head popped up above the surface a few yards out. “Get in!” he yelled over the crashing waves.

“No way! Not happening!” I yelled back.

It was then that he proceeded to make his way out of the water, head straight towards me, and throw me over his shoulder—Good job, Jess! You really should’ve seen that one coming!—and walked us right back into the ocean, with no small amount of struggling on my end, or expletives thrown his way.

How the ocean wasn’t frozen, I have absolutely no idea. Because the frigid water that was attacking every inch of my skin wasso. Mother. Effing. Cold!I was going to die of hypothermia, I was sure of it. And I think my bones were turning into bone-shaped blocks of ice, too.

“You are such anasshole!” I screamed through my laughter.

He smirked in response, amused; we both knew he was the furthest thing from it.

It was only a few torturously cold seconds later that we ran out of the water, grabbed our things, and raced back to his car. He cranked the heat way up as we sat there, our teeth chattering.

“Okay, that might’ve been a terrible idea,” he said through the sound of his teeth knocking together.

“Yeah,” I replied, but that was a total lie. Because it was thebestidea—that whole night. One of the best, ever.

And as I curled into the warmth of my bed later that night, I had the starting realization that I hadn’t once thought about kissing him. I hadn’t worried about the dynamics of our relationship, or what any of it meant. What a look or word from his mouth could be construed as. That night, we were just two friends. Mutually platonic.

And somewhere in the middle of all that platonic-ness, I guess I had found something in Greyson that I’d never really had before:

A friend I could count on.

Twenty-two After

“SHE’S GOT DEMONSin Her Throat and Dreams in Her Eyes.”

It’s my favorite piece for this collection. A woman clutching her chest, looking off into the distance. A graveyard of war and wings and ruin at her feet; a vast, beautiful sky of stars and wonder beyond her. That’s what she’s focused on, the beauty beyond the devastation.

My phone chimes from across the room. I wrap the painting up and slide it into the slim cardboard box for transport tomorrow before walking over and picking up my cell.Seventeenmessages. Five missed calls. Two voicemails.

I listen to the voicemails first—both from my agent—updating me on the details of this weekend’s showing, and then I scroll through my messages. Almost all of them are from a single group-text thread. I shake my head, smiling. My friends are nuts.

Sita:Bitch! Where are you?!

Maggie:We’re at the bar when you get here!

Like they’d be anywhere else,I think to myself and bite back another smile. I’ve been so wrapped up in work that they’ve forced me into a night out now that I’m done, before the showing. Not that I would have fought them on it. And these messages are a huge reminder of how much I miss them.

Maggie:Prime Sam ogling vantage point, BTW.

Kat:Rest assured, I’ve managed to get Sita to slow her roll with a few Moscow Mules. But seriously, where are you?

Maggie:OMG Sam just reached up for top-shelf liquor. Eight pack abs. Yes, I counted them. Yes, it was worth the $27.

Sita:Bitch! WHERE ARE YOU?!

Kat:Sita. Calm your tits.

Sita:Texting from the restroom, really? Do you have any idea how many microbes are lurking in there, ready to attach themselves to your dirty, grubby, potty-texting hands and phone?