Free Smart Girl by Rachel Hollis Page A

makes him hot?”
    I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Some allowances must be made in the name of looking good.”
    “Exactly!” She pauses long enough to take a sip of whatever she’s drinking. “I do like it when they shave Pomeranians to look like a lion, though. Now that is adorable!”
    And just like that we’re off on the topic of dog haircuts and her aunt’s cousin who once got bit by a Doberman and lost a finger but still plays a beautiful dulcimer even with the nine-finger limitation. And I’m laughing and considering dulcimer lessons, and even though we never get around to figuring out what my next—hopefully much more subtle—plan is with Liam, I feel so much better than I did before I called her. Which was her exact hope all along, I’m sure.

Chapter FIVE
    In Twilight there are so many great options to choose from that it was difficult to narrow it down to one for the list. So I didn’t. I added several different choices and figured that when the opportunity presented itself, I’d know which one to choose. When Landon suggested something with an activity involved, I remembered that scene where Bella almost gets jumped by some street thugs and Edward rescues her. Sure, the rescue is heroic and he’s battling the urge to go vampire on everyone, but my favorite part is their drive back home. Being locked in a car together for a lengthy period of time has a way of drawing out conversation. I’m just hoping a conversation goes better this time than it did the last.
    As for our last interaction, I will be the first to admit that mistakes were made. Nearly poisoning Liam to death and ruining my favorite purse are definitely cause for concern. I recognize now that I made a bad choice with the whole syrup idea. I mean, in the book Marianne Dashwood clearly had a respiratory problem, and I decided to go rogue with something gastrointestinal. I consider the fact that my car still reeks of chicken tikka masala as a justified penance for a badly thought-out plan.
    This time I’ve got a great plan. This time I’ve got a whole slew of ideas, and whether he likes it or not, my brother, Tosh, is at the center of most of them.
    I throw him a side eye, but he’s too distracted by whatever is on his phone to notice it.
    “You have to put that away when we get inside,” I say as we walk slowly towards the Ashtons’ ornately carved front door.
    His fingers are a blur as he types out instructions for whichever of his poor underlings are being forced to work on a Sunday.
    “I know, Koko. You’ve said it at least twelve times.”
    “Because it’s rude to openly flaunt your obsession with your iPhone in front of new people. If they were old acquaintances or your lifetime best friends—”
    “Or an annoying younger sibling.”
    I point at him emphatically. “Yes! Exactly. But otherwise it’s just—”
    “Rude. I get it.” He puts the phone in the pocket of his jeans and then crosses his arms to stare me down. “You know, some people might concede that it’s also rude, or at least slightly selfish, to insist a person accompany you to an event when said person is horrendously busy at work. To go so far as to beg and plead and send a hundred text messages demanding they come along—”
    I shake my hair out in agitation. “Well, I—”
    “And then , when said person finally relents, to spend forty-five minutes instructing them on what to wear.” He raises an eyebrow in annoyance, and I tuck my hair back behind my ears demurely.
    He has me there. I did possibly spend a little too much time figuring out my outfit tonight, and when I finalized what it would be, I had nowhere to turn my frenetic energy except to what he should wear. For Sunday Supper this week I chose an empire-waist baby-doll dress, which would feel like summer were it not for my Kelly-green old-man cardigan and my tan Frye boots. The dress and cardigan say casual and innocent , and the noticeable is all in my hair. It’s a gorgeous