TWENTY-THREE
“You didn’t have to pick me up, I could have met you back here,” I tell Sophie, knowing she rushed back from work to shower and get changed, pulling out another banging outfit—which I should do more of honestly, but comfy clothes are the comfiest for a reason—and fluffing her styled, blonde curls away from her face. She’s pushing up on her eyelashes, so they don’t stick out at a ninety-degree angle but seemingly open up her eyes instead, blinking at me.
I don’t know how she was able to keep her eyeshadow and eyelashes on during her shower, but that’s just another one of life’s mysteries, I guess.
Next to her, I could feel frumpy, but that would require too much effort.
Besides, we’re just at Cousin Katie’s for dinner, and I’m always down to sample Dean’s cooking, which is
