The last thing Emma Martinez remembered was the gentle beeping of her heart monitor slowing down, like a metronome running out of batteries. Twenty-four years of being trapped in a body that worked from the chest up, and now even that was giving out. She'd closed her eyes in her narrow hospital bed, thinking about all the things she'd never done. Never danced. Never ran. Never had mind-blowing sex with a gorgeous stranger.
Well, at least I won't have to pretend to be interested in another episode of daytime TV, had been her last coherent thought.
So when she opened her eyes and immediately noticed two things—first, that she was definitely not dead, and second, that she was staring at a ceiling she'd never seen before—Emma's brain did what any rational person's brain would do.
It completely shut down for about thirty seconds.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Okay, still a heart monitor. That was... familiar? But this beeping sounded stronger, more confident. Like her heart had been hitting the gym.
Emma tried to move her head and—holy shit—it actually moved. Easily. Without the careful, measured effort that every movement had required for the past twenty-four years. She turned to look around the room and nearly gave herself whiplash from the speed of it.
What the hell?
This was definitely not her room. Gone were the faded yellow walls and the motivational posters her mother had hung up ("Hang in There!" featuring the world's most determined kitten). Instead, she was surrounded by clean white walls, modern equipment, and—was that a flat-screen TV?
Fancy hospital. Did Mom finally switch insurance plans?
But then Emma tried to sit up, and that's when her world officially went completely insane.
She sat up.
Not the careful, mechanical lift with the bed assistance she was used to. Not the slow, deliberate process of engaging her core and hoping her arms could do all the work. She just... sat up. Like a normal person. Like she had working abdominal muscles.
What in the fresh hell?
Emma looked down at her body and immediately started hyperventilating.
First of all, she had abs. Actual, visible, holy-mother-of-six-packs abdominal muscles. Second, her legs—her legs that hadn't moved voluntarily since she was three years old—were stretched out under the blanket, looking suspiciously... functional.
But the real kicker? The absolute mind-bending, reality-breaking detail that made her wonder if she'd fallen into some kind of weird coma dream?
She was a man.
Not just any man. A ridiculously, unfairly, comic-book-hero-level attractive man.
Okay, Emma. Don't panic. There's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Maybe you're hallucinating. Maybe this is what dying feels like. Maybe—
She lifted her hands to examine them, and her brain promptly short-circuited again. These hands were huge. Strong. The kind of hands that could open jars without a struggle or carry groceries without stopping to rest every five steps. They were attached to arms that had actual biceps—not the barely-there muscle definition she'd maintained through physical therapy, but real, honest-to-god, could-probably-bench-press-a-small-car biceps.
Oh my god. Oh my GOD. I'm having the world's weirdest out-of-body experience.
Emma flexed her fingers experimentally, watching in fascination as the foreign-yet-somehow-familiar muscles responded instantly. No delay, no careful concentration, just immediate, effortless movement.
This is either the best dream I've ever had or I've completely lost my mind. Either way, I'm going with it.
She threw off the blanket with more enthusiasm than grace and immediately regretted it. Because there, in all its glory, was proof positive that she was definitely, absolutely, one-hundred-percent male.
Well. That's... new.
Emma stared down at her—his?—body with the same expression she imagined early humans had when they first discovered fire. Wonder, terror, and the distinct feeling that she was about to burn something down by accident.
Okay, Emma. Think. Last thing you remember: dying in your own body. Current situation: very much alive in someone else's body. Someone else's MALE body. Someone else's ridiculously attractive male body.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and they moved. They actually moved. Without effort, without the mechanical assistance she'd relied on for decades, without the careful planning required for every position change. Her feet touched the floor, and she could feel it. The cold tiles, the slight roughness of the texture, the way her toes could wiggle and flex.
I have feeling in my feet. I HAVE FEELING IN MY FEET.
Emma tried to stand up and immediately face-planted into the bedside table.
Okay, so walking still requires practice. Good to know.
As she picked herself up off the floor—I picked myself up off the floor!—Emma caught sight of herself in the bathroom mirror across the room. The face staring back at her was definitely not her own. It belonged to someone who looked like he'd been personally sculpted by a deity with excellent taste in jawlines and probably some serious unresolved issues about cheekbone symmetry.
Wow. Previous owner had some serious genetic lottery luck.
Dark hair that looked like he'd just rolled out of bed in the most attractive way possible. Eyes that were some impossible shade between green and brown that probably made people forget their own names. And that jawline... Emma was pretty sure that jawline was a weapon in several states.
No wonder he had fifty-seven dating app matches.
Wait. How did she know about dating app matches?
Focus, Emma. First things first. If you're somehow alive in someone else's body, you need to figure out whose body this is.
She looked around the room more carefully and spotted a wallet on the bedside table. Moving with the careful precision of someone who was still getting used to limbs that actually responded to brain signals, Emma grabbed it and flipped it open.
Jake Morrison. Twenty-eight years old. Definitely an organ donor, which seemed ironically appropriate. Home address in downtown Seattle, which explained the view of the Space Needle outside the window.
Hi, Jake. Thanks for the body. Sorry about whatever happened to you. I promise to take good care of... well, you.
A knock on the door interrupted her introduction to her new identity.
"Mr. Morrison? You're awake!" A nurse bustled in, all smiles and clipboard efficiency. "How are you feeling? You gave everyone quite a scare with that accident."
Accident. Right. That explains the hospital.
"I'm..." Emma started, then realized she had no idea what Jake's voice sounded like. What came out was definitely deeper than her usual range and had a slight raspiness that probably made ordering coffee sound like verbal foreplay. Nice voice, Jake. Very nice voice.
"I'm feeling... different," she finished, which was possibly the understatement of both her lives.
The nurse nodded sympathetically. "That's completely normal after a traumatic brain injury. Some disorientation, maybe some personality changes. The important thing is that all your scans look good. The doctor will want to run a few more tests, but honestly? You're looking at a full recovery. You're very lucky."
Lucky. Right. I died and woke up in someone else's body. That's definitely one way to describe it.
"The accident..." Emma ventured, hoping to get more information without sounding completely insane.
"Car accident three days ago. You were unconscious the whole time. Your friend Marcus has been calling every hour." The nurse made some notes on her chart. "I'll let him know you're awake. He'll be so relieved."
Marcus. Okay. I have a friend named Marcus. This is manageable.
After the nurse left, Emma stood in the middle of the hospital room, trying to process the complete impossibility of her situation.
Alright, Emma. Let's think about this logically. You died. You're now alive in a different body. A male body. A ridiculously attractive male body that apparently belongs to someone named Jake Morrison who was recently in a car accident.
She walked to the window—I walked to the window!—and looked out at the Seattle skyline.
So either I'm having the most elaborate hallucination in medical history, or I've somehow gotten a second chance at life. And not just any second chance. A second chance with legs that work, arms that work, and apparently the kind of face that could launch a thousand... well, probably a thousand something.
Emma grinned at her reflection in the window. It was Jake's grin, but it was powered by her excitement.
You know what? I'm going with second chance. Because if this is real, if I somehow get to experience all the things I never could...
She looked down at Jake's body again, this time with pure anticipation instead of shock.
Oh, Jake, my man. We are going to have SO much fun.
The heart monitor continued its steady, strong beeping, and for the first time in her life—either of them—Emma Martinez was excited to be alive.