Page 85 of The Assist
I throw a cushion at her, which she dodges with far too much satisfaction.
She’s already raided my bathroom, spreading out her entire makeup bag like she’s prepping for war. Brushes, palettes, some strange sparkly serum that reminds me of marshmallows. Sophie doesn’t do half measures. Especially not when the worddateis involved.
And not just any date. It’s a date withDylan Winters. It doesn’t matter that we’ve already passed all the bases and hit a home run several times. This is technically our first date, and it’s exciting and nerve-wracking all at the same time.
God help me.
“Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate excuse to attack my eyebrows?”
She grins. “Babe, I have been waiting to get my hands on your face for months. You’ve been walking around with this natural, dewy, fresh-out-the-clinic thing and frankly, it’s offensive.”
“Thank you?”
“Not a compliment.” Her face is scrunched up as she examines me, obviously trying to figure out how she’s going to make a purse out of a pig’s ear.
I roll my eyes and sit back, letting her pluck and blend and dab with surgical precision. It’s nice having her here. It’s grounding. Familiar. Like breathing air I forgot I missed.
And I need that today. Because underneath the fluttering nerves and giddy excitement about tonight, something heavier is sitting in my chest.
My phone buzzes beside me. Again.
Dylan: How long does it take to pick an outfit? I’m dying here.
Mia: You said 7. It’s 3:40. Try surviving one more hour without sending a thirst trap.
Dylan: No promises. I’m wearing a towel right now.
Dylan: That was a lie. I’m wearing nothing and thinking about you in my hoodie.
Sophie leans over my shoulder. “Ohmy god. Is that Dylan?”
“Don’t read my texts!” I screech as I fumble to lock out my phone, but I’m too late.
She snatches the phone and gasps. “He’s NAKED?! Isthere a picture?” she’s desperately trying to click on each message in hope her quest will be rewarded.
I grab it back. “That’s between me and the towel-less menace.”
Sophie flops down next to me, her eyes wide. “You’ve got itbad.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“Shut up.”
“Youdo! And he’s into you, like, reallyintoyou.”
I press my lips together and don’t answer. Because she’s not wrong. And that’s the part that scares me most. I’m not used to this. To letting someone in. Towantingto.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s not Dylan.
It’s my mum.
Mum: GP appointment moved. Tuesday, 2pm. He’s getting worse, Mia. He couldn’t remember Ben’s name this morning. Please come.
My stomach drops.
Sophie sees my expression shift. She gently takes the phone from my hand, scans the message, and wraps an arm around me.
