Plot Twist(3)

Sophie Lyon is FUN
Sophie Lyon is secretly unhinged and it’s sending me ??
I hated her book, but I like this?

“Just breathe.” Then Dash’s hand was on her back, steady and warm, which momentarily distracted her, but not for long.

The heat outside had intensified to Palm Springs–level boiling and caused Sophie to break out in either hives or a rash. She furiously clawed at her throat with her free hand. She walked away from Dash and down the porch steps. Her bare feet hit the cool blades of grass in her yard, and when she looked up, the iconic Hollywood sign perched in the Santa Monica Mountains shined pearly white in the distance. Seeing those letters from her yard every morning used to make her feel closer to the success she so deeply craved, but now she felt buried under the weight of its implied expectations.

She stumbled, and Dash was next to her within seconds, holding her steady. He grabbed her elbow with one hand, and the other wrapped around her waist to cup her hip. His skin was warm against her, even through her dress. Her stomach flipped, probably from the lingering alcohol. “Sophie, you really need to sit. You look like you’re about to faint—”

The sound of her phone pinging cut him off. And when she looked down, a familiar name flashed across the screen. Carla. Sophie stopped scratching her throat. Her ex. The woman who she’d dated for close to a year. A year in which Sophie could feel herself beginning to fall head over heels, and then... Carla had ended it and dragged their relationship to the trash. Sophie stared at Carla’s name, and the text underneath, which read Saw the video... As in her ex had seen the video of Sophie having a full-on meltdown.

It was at this moment that she tilted her head back, let the punishing sun burn her eyes, and shouted as loudly as she physically could. When she eventually stopped screaming, her head felt light. The edges of her vision blurred with the realization that she had nothing left, her life was over, and she was completely mortified.

“Seriously, Sophie? My ears are ringing.”

Sophie was so focused on her own humiliation that she must’ve forgotten that Dash was right there.

“Are you on something?” Dash asked.

Sophie frowned. No, she was not on something. She may have been braless, hungover, and hanging by a thread emotionally, but what kind of an accusation was that?

And even if she were on ayahuasca and beginning to see rainbow caticorns encircling her feet—which sounded great, actually—what she did with her body was absolutely none of his business. She paid her rent on time. This was her place. He was the one who’d come bounding over, all wet and wearing a too-tight shirt, and now he had the nerve to suggest she was the one out of line?

She would tell Dash that he needed to leave. But when she opened her mouth to say as much, she felt the bile rise in her throat. Her eyes bulged wide as she closed her mouth and held back something akin to a burp. Dash clocked her panic, and his eyes narrowed. She shook her head, but there was no use. She was definitely going to hurl all over her high-school celebrity crush. And without even being able to call out a warning, she projectile-vomited all over Dash.



2

DASH

Dash growled at the vomit on his shoes.

The thing was, he’d just showered. Like, he’d been in the shower and enjoying a post-workout scrub and tug, to be honest. He’d soaped up his hands, grabbed his dick, and thought about his head between a woman’s thighs, licking his way up while being watched. He was all about eyes. Give him eyes that sizzled like hot pavement in the dead of summer. Eyes that crinkled at the edges with mischief. A woman who could give him a single look and make him hers. He hadn’t had sex in eighteen months, and while he didn’t have much sexual tension with anything these days, beating out any lingering needs never hurt.

But then he’d heard his phone ping, then ring, and when he looked at the caller ID he was nervous because Poppy only called when it was an emergency. So he’d turned off the water, quickly towel-dried, and answered.

He hadn’t intended to be gone for more than a few minutes to check on Sophie, but now he was still holding her elbow to make sure she didn’t crumple to the ground like a slinky. And then, of course, there was the vomit. Which was just...not great!

Sophie’s head lifted, and her dry, bloodshot eyes met his. “I’m so, so sorry.” Her painted nails flashed like bright red warning signs as she wiped at the corners of her mouth.

Even though he didn’t want to spend another minute in this situation, he couldn’t just leave her there. He was going to have to help her back inside because, with her shaky legs, she looked about as stable as a Chihuahua in a wind tunnel.

“Do you think you can walk?”

She shook her head no. “I just need to stop moving for a minute, if that makes sense?”

He let out a resigned sigh. “Sit here. I’ll get you some water.”

“Can you make it a coconut water, please?” She looked up at him. “Extra electrolytes. Thank you!”

She’d clearly been spending way too much time with his health-nut sister. He cocked his head in an intentionally mocking way. Then he quickly moved up the steps, through the open front door, and into her place.

Well, his place, legally speaking. But as he eyed the potted ponytail palm, the framed photos of clementines over the gas fireplace, and the honey-lemon couch in the center of the room, he realized this wasn’t really his anymore. The guesthouse was sunshine—unrecognizable from when he’d first rented the plain one-bedroom to her. He couldn’t say he appreciated all of Sophie’s choices—he was pretty sure an IKEA kitchen table was threatening to disintegrate from the weight of a stack of notebooks—but this wasn’t his space to decorate.