Page 39 of Before We Break

Asshole Landlord: Chance encounters aren’t in the contract.

Me: Neither is staring at my ass, but here we are.

Asshole Landlord: I didn’t stare at your ass.

Me: You did. It’s ok. Couples do that kind of thing. You have a nice ass too, Weston.

Asshole Landlord: Pick you up at 4.

I groan, ripping off my shirt and tossing it onto the bed before changing into a green floral maxi dress. It’s all wrong, just like the other two times I tried it on. I slump onto my mattress and grab my phone off the nightstand, swiping over to my text thread with my sister.

Me: What the hell do you wear to a first date?

Copycat: Who cares? I thought this was fake.

Me: It is, but I want to look good.

Copycat: You always look good, babe.

Me: You’re really not helping.

Copycat: Give me a second. I’m calling in reinforcements.

Angelina has been added to the chat.

Lina: I need a visual. Send me some options.

I spend the next thirty minutes laying out several outfits on my bed and snapping photos to send to Callie and Angelina.

Lina: White tank, pink cardigan, wide-leg jeans, white Converse.

Me: How did you do that? It wasn’t even one of the options.

Lina: It’s a talent. I built myself a capsule wardrobe years ago. It’s a game changer for mixing and matching.

Me: You’re a lifesaver. Thanks.

Lina: Anytime. Have fun on your date!

Copycat: I want all the details later!

“Mom! I’m home.”

“In here.”

She strides into the room, holds her arms out wide, and falls backward onto my plush mattress, rolling onto her side and propping her face in her hand. “So. You and Noah?”

I blow out a breath, puffing out my cheeks ending in a quiet raspberry. “Kind of. It’s temporary. I’m helping him out with something.”

“What could you possibly be helping him with that would involve cuddling in the back of a movie theater and getting engaged?”

I run my brush through my hair, taking in my appearance in the full-length mirror. For a second, I wonder if Noah will like what he sees, but I think better of it. Noah’s opinion of me doesn't matter.

“It’s a long story. Just trust me, ok?”

“Me? I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“What? Why?”