Page 38 of Take Me Darkly

Except I didn’t feel strong. I felt ridiculous and exposed and utterly out of my depth.

My phone sat on the counter. Calling Anton was out of the question—mortification would kill me faster than any hitman.

Then I remembered Myla.

My sticky fingers fumbled across the screen before I could talk myself out of it. There were only three people programmed into this phone, so I sent a text to the only person who could help.

Today 4:45 PM

Me: It’s Serena. Are you busy?

The response came almost immediately.

Myla: What’s up?

I closed my eyes, gathering what remained of my dignity.

Me: I have an emergency. It’s embarrassing.

Myla: Does it involve blood, weapons, dead bodies, or bugs?

Me: No, but my skin is definitely burning.

Myla: What did you do?

Me: I tried to wax. Down there. The wax is stuck. Literally. I’m trapped and panicking.

Myla: Deep breath, honey. Did you try hot water?

Me: Yes. It made it worse.

Myla: Oil?

Me: Made it slippery.

Three typing dots appeared, vanished, and reappeared. Then, after what felt like forever, her reply came through:

Myla: Do NOT pull anymore or you’ll tear your skin. You need cheap baby oil or petroleum jelly. The fancy stuff in the kit won’t break it down.

I rummaged through the closet with my non-sticky hand.

Me: Found petroleum jelly.

Myla: Slather a thick layer over the wax. Let it sit for five minutes. It will dissolve the bond so you can wipe it away.

I followed her instructions to the letter, holding my breath. Five minutes later, the wax finally began to break down, wiping away in soft chunks. I let out a long, ragged exhale.

Me: Okay, it’s working. I’m an idiot.

Myla: You’re not an idiot. Ask me how I know that trick. You aren’t the first girl to fight a wax kit and lose.

Me: Anton gave me lingerie. Nice lingerie. And I just wanted to look… you know.

Myla: Porn-star smooth.

Me: Please stop.

Myla: You’re adorable. For the record, Anton wouldn’t care if you showed up in granny panties with a full 70s bush.