A Sticky Situation (Awkward Love 7)

“Hannah, lemme in!”

I hoist myself off the couch at the sound of Lou’s voice and wander over to the door. She grins at me when I yank it open. I scowl back at her and then wander over to the couch to resume my faceplanted position, which isn’t quite as comfortable as it was two minutes ago.

“Where are the houseguests from hell?” she asks, looking around. “And didn’t you say you had to work this afternoon?”

“They’ve left,” I say, yawning. “After I told Sara to buy milk.”

And thank God for that.

I drove around the city for ages when I left the hotel and then ended up drinking coffee in an all night café until close to three in the morning, because I didn’t want to deal with my sister. When I finally went home, they were gone. There was no note or anything, just the empty container of milk on the kitchen counter, sitting next to my spare key.

“You didn’t use the hotel room, I take it?” she chides, shifting my feet off the couch so she can sit down too.

“Oh, I used it all right,” I mutter, burying my head back in the cushions.

“You did?” She sounds confused. “What happened, then? Did you get performance anxiety?” She chuckles to herself.

“Oh, I had no trouble at all getting into it,” I speak into the cushions.

“Getting into it.” She giggles. “Now, there’s a mental picture I didn’t need. So you were at The Royal last night, huh?”

I lift enough of my face off the cushion to glance at her, not sure why that’s important. I wouldn’t be shocked if she was there, scouting out the place. Maybe that’s why she’s here. She saw the dildo incident. I study her face. Yes, she’s definitely got that look about her.

“You booked the room. You should know,” I remind her.

“What time were you there?” she asks, ignoring my tone and continuing with her interrogation. “Did you stay all night?”

“What’s with all the questions?” I snap.

“Relax, I’m just curious,” she says, rolling her eyes.

My phone buzzes before I can respond. Sighing, I reach down onto the floor where I tossed it just before I faceplanted onto the couch. I know it’s not going to be work, because Luke, my boss, already called me this morning to see if I could come in. It’s a little odd for Luke to call me in himself, but I’ve got enough to worry about without adding work to the mix.

I finally grasp the phone and tilt my head sideways just enough to see who’s calling. I sigh. It’s Mom, probably the only person I want to speak to less than work. But I answer, because I know if I don’t, she’d be down at the police station, filing a missing person’s report faster than I can put my phone back down.

“Hi, Mom.”

I force myself to sound as bright as possible, because if I don’t, Lou’s third degree will have nothing on the grilling Mom will give me. Even on days where there’s nothing bothering me, there will be something by the time Mom’s through. She can turn a great day into a shit one with a two minute phone call. I love her more than anything, but I’m fucked if we can have a conversation without it turning into an argument about me moving away—which, I might add, happened three years ago.

“I’ve been calling you for hours with no answer,” she rants. “Days, even.”

I roll my eyes at her exaggeration. Sure, I’ve ignored her two calls this morning, but only because I was getting into the shower. I should probably have called her back, but I forgot. And it’s not like I didn’t speak to her twice yesterday.

“Has living in LA made you forget how to answer a phone?”

“Sorry, can you hold on for a second while I put my crackpipe down?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

Lou snorts as she covers her mouth with her hand to smother her laughter.

“Don’t be smart,” Mom snaps. “Do you think twenty-four is too old for me to slap you into the middle of next week?”

“No, I’m sure you’ll still be threatening to do that when I’m forty.” I sigh.

“Oh, I’m so sorry that I worry about you,” Mom whines in her usual hurt tone. “Or that when I don’t hear back from you at nearly four in the afternoon—”

“Four?” I repeat, panicked.

Shit.

“Sorry, Mom, I have to get to work.” I hang up on her, knowing I’ll pay for that later, then I toss Lou an accusing glare as I dash down to my room. “Why didn’t you tell me it was almost four?” I holler at her as I strip out of my clothes.

“The first thing I said when I walked through the door was that I thought you had to work. I assumed they’d canceled your shift or something,” Lou protests.