WOKE UP IN CHENG'S BODY

AMILIA'S POV I slumped against the torn seat as Eliot’s old Honda coughed its way down a palm-lined street in Los Angeles. The engine wheezed each time he hit the gas, and the dash light flickered like it couldn’t decide whether to stay alive. My eyelids felt heavy after a twelve-hour shift at Reginald Enterprises. The quarterly marketing campaign had everyone on overtime, and as a junior marketing executive, I was stuck with the weekend grind. And a presentation waiting for me tommorow. “You still with me, babe?” Eliot glanced over, his dark hair catching a flash of moonlight through the cracked windshield. “Barely.” I stifled a yawn. “Remind me why we couldn’t move our reservation to tomorrow, when I could be face-planting into my bed right now?” “Because it’s your birthday, babe.” He reached over and squeezed my knee. “And because you look stunning in that dress I bought you.” I looked down at the black cocktail dress he’d insisted I wear. The neckline plunged lower than I’d normally choose, the hemline rode high enough to make me tug at it every time I sat. He’d shown up earlier with the dress folded inside a wrinkled thrift-store bag, eyes gleaming as I tried it on. “I still think it’s too much for a birthday dinner.” I tugged the fabric higher. “Mil, we’ve been dating since we were sixteen. I know what looks good on you better than you do. Trust me—every guy out there will wish he was me tonight.” “Is that what this is about? Marking your territory?” “Can you blame me?” He winked, turning down another street. My eyes darted around. “Eliot, this isn’t the way to Sir Steve’s.” “Yeah, just hang on.” He pressed harder on the pedal. The car rattled in protest. “Slow down.” I gripped the seatbelt as he swung into a narrow lane lined with dim porch lights and overgrown yards. He pulled into a short, uneven driveway in front of a peeling beige duplex. “Wait…” I frowned out the window. “Eliot, this is your place.” The cool night air brushed my bare arms when I stepped out, carrying the smell of damp asphalt. “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” he replied, too casually. “Seriously, Eliot, this is all about s*x to you?” “What? You think this is about your virginity?” “Oh, don’t say it like that.” “Say it like what?” “Like it doesn’t matter. Because why else would you lie about the restaurant and bring me here?” He sighed. “Can we just go in?” “I hate lies.” “Please.” His hand slid around my waist, fingers resting too low on my hip. “Let go.” I shoved his hand away and walked up the cracked steps. He hurried after me, unlocking the door. “Surprise!” A burst of voices filled the tiny living room. I blinked under strings of mismatched fairy lights. The place was packed—people squeezed shoulder to shoulder, plastic cups in hand. Someone’s elbow knocked a bowl of chips onto the floor. Mally, our high-school beauty queen, waved from the couch; Jack the nerd shouted my name; Will, the former prom prince, lifted a beer in greeting; and even my best friend Jane stood near the stereo, sparkling in a gold sequined dress. “Oh my God, Eliot…” I turned to him, speechless. “This is huge! Where did you get the money for all this?” “I wanted to do something special for my woman.” He kissed me, and the crowd whooped. “This is insane.” I laughed. “See? Worth getting dressed up for,” he said, proud grin shining under the weak bulb overhead. “See who’s twenty-three today!” Jane stepped forward and hugged me tight. Jane and Eliot didn’t usually get along; I still couldn’t believe he’d convinced her to come. “Happy birthday, girl,” she said, squeezing my hand. Then she leaned closer, whispering, “Your boyfriend—which I still hate—looks delicious tonight.” Eliot’s hand pressed to the small of my back as we wove through the crowd. The air was thick with the scent of cheap beer, sweat, and the faint tang of smoke from someone’s vape. The roof had a water stain spreading like a map, and the old TV in the corner flickered beside a dented radio blasting music. Colored lights looped unevenly around the window frame. “Drink?” Eliot asked. “God, yes. The strongest.” He chuckled. “That’s my girl. Be right back.” Eliot disappeared toward the narrow kitchen, piled with paper plates and half-empty six-packs. From the doorway of the living room, a voice called out. “Amilia Morgan, get your ass over here!” I turned and grinned. No way. Bad girl Riri. “Riri! What are you doing here?” “I heard it’s your birthday. What better present than me?” She threw her arms around me. “Mmhmm.” I forced a smile. Her eyes roamed the cramped room. “So this is Eliot’s place? Girl, you’re still slumming it since sophomore year.” That’s Riri—real name Rina Douglas, but she insists on “Rihanna” because she swears her voice is record-label material. Meanwhile, she sings like a dying crow. “Holy crap, your boobs look amazing in that dress. Did Eliot pick it out?” I felt my cheeks heat. “Is it that obvious?” “Yeahhh. You’ve got the dress sense of a fourteen-year-old.” “Could you say that louder? I don’t think everyone in Malibu heard you.” “Sorry, can’t help it. You’re too easy to embarrass.” She smirked. “By the way, I haven’t seen your Eliot.” “Yeah, he went to get some beer.” I scanned the crowd. Maybe thirty people were crammed into the room now, voices overlapping with bass-heavy music. Someone laughed too loudly near the couch; another shouted over the noise for more ice. “Maybe he’s outside sneaking a cigarette,” Riri said. “No, he went inside. Probably his room.” “He won’t be hard to find, it’s a tiny house,” she teased. “I’ll go get him.” I tugged my dress down and squeezed past two guys arguing about football. The hallway was narrow and smelled faintly of damp carpet. I peeked into his room—empty. As I turned back, a sound stopped me. A moan? A laugh? Something in-between, muffled through a thin wall. It came again—clearer this time. Definitely a moan. Great. Some couple had found Eliot’s tiny bathroom with the broken sink to hook up in. Classy. Then I heard it again—a woman’s voice, breathless, urgent. “Yes, right there.” I froze. The voice was familiar. A man answered, low and rough. “You like that, don’t you?” My stomach dropped. Eliot. I should have turned away, but my legs moved on their own. I pushed the door open. The image seared into my mind: Jane bent over the sink, her gold dress hitched up. Eliot behind her, his hands gripping her waist. “Harder,” Jane gasped. “Make me feel it tomorrow.” “What the f**k—” The words tore out of me before I could stop them. They both froze. Eliot’s head snapped around, eyes wide with shock.