A Sticky Situation (Awkward Love 7)

Chapter 1

Hannah

“Hannah, can I borrow—”

I look up to see my niece, Sophie, storming into the bathroom. She stops in her tracks, eyes widening at the sight of me naked and wedged against the bathroom counter, frantically trying to shove the vibrator I’m clutching, behind my back.

“Oh my God,” Sophie gasps. She leans forward, nearly hyperventilating from laughing so hard. “What the hell are you doing?” she heaves.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to knock?” I growl, ignoring her question.

“Didn’t yours teach you to lock the bathroom door?” she taunts through her giggles. “Seriously though, were you just... masturbating?” she whispers.

“No, I was baking a freaking cake.” Sarcasm oozes from every pore in my body.

“Then I hate to break it to you, but you’re doing it wrong.” She pauses for a moment, cocking her head to the side. “Unless this is some kind of new age, hippy way to bake—”

“Sophie,” I growl, gritting my teeth. “Can you please leave?”

“Why, so you can finish the job?” She giggles, wiggling her eyebrows. “Remind me never to eat any of your baked goods.”

“No, so I can get off—” I stop when she erupts into another round of giggles. “So that I can get down from here. Just go. Please.” I’m begging her now.

“Fine, I’ll leave,” she says, rolling her eyes. On her way out, she gives me one last look. Her lips twitch. “Just an FYI, I could record this, or we could livestream it. We’d make a fortune—”

“Out,” I order, squeezing my eyes shut.

She shuffles out and closes the door, but the walls of my apartment are so thin I can still hear her laughing outside in the hallway. I groan, because God knows what she’s going to want in exchange for her silence. I love my niece and all, but everything she does comes with a price.

I try again to free my foot from where it’s pressed against the corner of the wall, but it’s on such an odd angle that I don’t have the strength to pull it free. After a couple more attempts, I give in.

“Soph?” I call out in a small voice.

“Yeah?”

I bow my head in shame. Asking for her help kills me, mainly because I know she’s probably been standing out there, waiting for me to admit defeat.

“Can you give me a hand?” I whisper.

“Fifty dollars.”

“What?” I laugh.

Is she kidding me?

The door opens. Sophie breezes in and expertly yanks my foot free. She takes my hand and helps me get off from the counter. I pretend not to notice her raised eyebrows and outstretched hand as I struggle back into my leggings and T-shirt, so she clears her throat loudly, forcing me to acknowledge her.

“You really think I’m paying you fifty dollars for yanking my foot free?” I hiss.

“No.” She smiles at me. “You’re paying the fifty dollars for me to keep this to myself.”

I open my mouth to argue, but then I slam it shut, because it’s not worth the effort.

“Fine,” I grumble, glaring at her.

We both know if my sister found out about this, she’d tell Mom and if that happens, I’ll never hear the end of it. It will be just another way that moving to Los Angeles has corrupted me. Never mind the fact that I’ve been living here for almost three years now, and I’m yet to resort to prostitution to fund my drug addiction. The fact that I took my sister in when she was jobless and homeless means nothing to Mom. It never does, because Sara can do no wrong, and I’m constantly being reminded how perfect she is.

I take my time washing my hands, then I stare at my reflection in the mirror, taking a moment to fix the few loose strands of my dark hair back into my ponytail. Sophie shifts impatiently, then she follows me back into my bedroom, watching me as I dig around in my purse for some cash.

“Sixteen dollars and we’ll call it even?” I say hopefully.

“Keep your money,” she graciously says with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I was just joking around with you. Besides, I’m sure you’ll find some other way to repay me.”

“You mean like letting you guys stay here, rent free while your mom eats all my food, and pretends to look for a job?” I helpfully suggest.

But she’s already walking down to her room—or my room, should I say—the one I gave up to them three weeks ago for a “few nights.”

“Oh, Auntie Hannah?”

Wait for it…

“I’ll turn my music up real loud, just in case you wanna try and knock one out on the couch.”

I bite back on the scathing remark that’s sitting on my tongue, because I’m sure it would be wrong to call my sixteen-year-old niece a bitch, then I walk out into the kitchen to pour myself a water. My only hope is that they leave soon, because I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.