Emma spent the next twenty minutes after the nurse left doing what any rational person would do after discovering they'd died and woken up in someone else's ridiculously attractive body.
She poked things.
Okay, these are definitely real biceps. Holy crap, they're like rocks. Jake, were you secretly a bodybuilder? Because these arms could probably carry groceries AND open pickle jars AND—oh my god, I can flex.
She flexed. Then flexed again. Then spent five minutes flexing different muscle groups just because she could.
This is better than Christmas morning.
But eventually, nature called. Or rather, nature demanded immediate attention with the subtlety of a fire alarm.
Right. Bathroom. How hard can it be?
Emma made her way to the small hospital bathroom, still marveling at the fact that walking was now something she could do without planning it like a military operation. She flicked on the light, looked in the mirror, and promptly froze.
Jesus, Jake. Were you trying to make everyone else feel inadequate?
The man staring back at her looked like he'd stepped out of a cologne commercial. The kind where attractive people do inexplicably attractive things like chopping wood in designer jeans or broodingly staring at the ocean while their hair defied physics.
No wonder you had fifty-seven dating app matches. I'd swipe right on you and I'm currently you.
But then the pressing matter at hand reasserted itself, and Emma turned toward the toilet with the confidence of someone who had absolutely no idea what they were doing.
Alright, Emma. You've seen movies. You've lived with a male nurse. This is basic anatomy. Stand, aim, done. Easy.
She lifted the toilet seat with the pride of someone mastering advanced technology, then stood there for a moment, trying to figure out the mechanics.
Okay, so... different equipment, different approach. This should be instinctive, right? Jake's body should know what to do?
She looked down and immediately understood why men seemed so fascinated with their own anatomy.
Well. That's... significantly different from what I'm used to. Also, hello there. You're... substantial.
Emma stared for a moment, caught between scientific curiosity and complete bewilderment.
No wonder guys are always adjusting things. This seems like it would get in the way of... well, everything. How do you sit comfortably? How do you run? How do you wear skinny jeans?
Focus, Emma. Bathroom first, existential anatomy questions later.
She positioned herself what she hoped was appropriately and... completely missed the toilet.
Oh, come ON. It's right there! How is this rocket science?
After cleaning up her first attempt and trying to figure out the trajectory physics involved, Emma tried again. This time she managed to hit the general vicinity of the toilet bowl.
This is like learning to use a completely different... well, everything. No wonder guys spend so much time in bathrooms. This requires engineering.
Finally successful, she washed Jake's hands and caught herself staring in the mirror again.
I have got to stop doing that. But seriously, Jake, what moisturizer were you using? Your skin is ridiculous.
She touched her—his—face experimentally. The jawline felt as sharp as it looked, and there was the beginning of stubble that made a scratching sound when she ran her fingers over it.
Facial hair! I have facial hair! Well, the beginnings of it. This is going to require maintenance, isn't it? Do I need to learn how to shave? Oh god, what if I cut myself? What if I accidentally shave off an eyebrow? What if—
Stop, Emma. One crisis at a time.
She walked back into the main room and caught sight of Jake's phone on the bedside table. The screen lit up with a notification, and Emma's eyes went wide.
Seventeen missed calls from Marcus. Twelve text messages. And... oh my god, Jake, your phone is buzzing constantly with dating app notifications.
She picked up the phone, and the lock screen showed a preview of messages that made her blush in a body that probably hadn't blushed in years.
Well. You were certainly popular. Also, I had no idea people were so... direct... in their messaging.
[Note: This would be a good place for Emma to discover Jake's active dating life and react with her characteristic mix of excitement and complete confusion about modern dating culture.]
Emma set the phone down and walked back to the mirror, this time with purpose.
Alright, Emma. Let's take inventory. You have died and somehow ended up in the body of Jake Morrison, who was apparently some kind of fitness model slash heartthrob slash very popular dating app user. You have working legs, working arms, working... everything. You're in a hospital, but you're apparently making a full recovery from whatever accident landed Jake here.
She looked at her reflection seriously.
So the question is: what are you going to do with this second chance?
Jake's face grinned back at her, but the excitement behind it was all Emma.
Everything. I'm going to do absolutely everything.
She started pacing—I can pace! I'm pacing!—as ideas flooded her mind.
I can dance. I can run. I can go hiking and swimming and rock climbing and... and... oh my god, I can have sex. With people. People who will want to have sex with Jake's body, which is now my body, which means...
Emma stopped pacing and stared at herself in the mirror again.
I have no idea what I'm doing.
But that's never stopped me before. Well, it has, actually, because my body literally wouldn't let me do things. But now? Now I have this ridiculous perfect body that apparently comes with its own fan club.
She flexed again, just because she could.
Jake, my man, I promise you this: I am going to live the hell out of this life. I'm going to experience everything you might have experienced, plus everything I never could. I'm going to be so grateful for every single day in this body that I'll probably make other people sick with my enthusiasm.
A knock on the door interrupted her motivational speech to herself.
"Jake? Dude, they said you were awake!" A voice called from the hallway.
Marcus. Okay, Emma. Time for your first real test. How hard can it be to pretend to be someone you've never met?
She looked in the mirror one more time, straightened Jake's hospital gown, and tried to arrange his features into what she hoped looked like a normal expression instead of the manic glee she was feeling.
Showtime.
"Come in," she called, and immediately winced at how the deeper voice still surprised her.
The door opened, and a guy who looked like he could bench press a small car walked in, carrying what appeared to be enough flowers to stock a funeral home.
"Holy shit, man, you look good for someone who tried to turn his car into abstract art," Marcus said, setting the flowers down and giving Emma the kind of once-over that suggested he was checking for missing limbs.
Abstract art. Okay. Jake was in a bad accident. Play along, Emma.
"Yeah, I feel... different," Emma said, which was becoming her go-to response for everything.
"Different how? Like, concussion different or philosophical different?" Marcus plopped into the visitor's chair like someone who'd spent a lot of time in hospital rooms recently.
Both. Definitely both.
"A little of everything, I think," Emma said carefully. "What happened, exactly? It's all kind of... fuzzy."
Marcus's expression shifted to something more serious. "You don't remember? Dude, you were driving home from that client dinner Thursday night. Some drunk asshole ran a red light and T-boned you. Your car was totaled. We thought..." He swallowed hard. "We thought we were going to lose you, man."
Emma felt a unexpected pang of guilt. This man had obviously been terrified of losing his friend, and here she was, essentially wearing Jake's face while Jake was... where? Gone?
Focus on the living, Emma. You can't bring Jake back, but you can make sure his body gets the life it deserves.
"I'm okay," she said, and was surprised by how much she meant it. "Better than okay, actually. I feel like I've been given a second chance."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "That's very... zen of you. Usually after a near-death experience you'd be making jokes about how the other guy looks worse."
Note to self: Jake apparently had a dark sense of humor.
"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," Emma said.
"A new leaf." Marcus stared at her. "Jake Morrison. Turning over a new leaf. After a car accident." He leaned forward. "Dude, did you hit your head harder than they thought? Because you're being weird. Like, weirdly positive."
Shit. I'm already blowing my cover and I've been Jake for less than an hour.
"I just..." Emma scrambled for an explanation that wouldn't sound completely insane. "I guess almost dying puts things in perspective, you know? Life's short. I want to make the most of it."
Marcus continued staring at her for a long moment, then broke into a grin.
"You know what? Good for you, man. You've been in a weird funk lately anyway. Maybe getting flattened by a drunk driver was exactly what you needed."
A funk? What kind of funk? Was Jake depressed? Anxious? Going through a breakup?
"What kind of funk?" Emma asked, genuinely curious about the life she'd inherited.
"You know, just... going through the motions. Work, gym, home, repeat. You kept saying you felt like you were just existing instead of living." Marcus shrugged. "Sounds like that problem's solved itself."
Emma felt another pang, this one different. Jake had felt like he was just existing instead of living, and here she was, someone who'd spent twenty-four years unable to live at all, suddenly given his chance.
Maybe this isn't just random. Maybe this is exactly what we both needed.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "I think it has."