A Sticky Situation (Awkward Love 7)

By early afternoon, I’ve recovered enough to waddle into the kitchen for some much-needed Tylenol. I give them a few minutes to kick in, then I look around my apartment, feeling more focused than I have all week. No Doctor Phil for me today—which is how I usually fill my days off. If I’m going to be losing out on some much-needed cash, then I might as well make the most of it.

After cleaning the entire apartment, something I haven’t done in months, I head out to stock up on all the essentials. I’d been eating expired instant noodles for the last three days. Not just because I couldn’t afford anything else, but also I haven’t been bothered to shop. Wait, that’s not entirely true. My motivation always kicks in when there’s a need for chocolate.

I trawl through the store, while simultaneously checking Brix’s social media for updates that might be aimed at me. There’s nothing aside from a string of stupid thoughts that do nothing to improve the shallow, self-obsessed persona he exudes. I hope for his sake he has a team of minions who post these for him. If not, he’s even pettier than I thought. Who cares how good his ass looks in a pair of overpriced jeans?

Apparently he does.

I click on the photo and study it thoughtfully. Okay, he does look pretty damn good, but still. There’s such a thing as modesty. I run through some more photos, which of course are all close up shots of him doing that thing with his eyes. He’s such a poser.

My attention lingers on one photo of him, taken at a concert. I check the date, surprised to see it’s a recent photo. There’s something about the Brix I know that’s different from the guy in these photos, but I can’t put my finger on it. I guess it’s amazing what a few days of detox can do to the body.

Jesus, what the heck was that?

Something crashes into me, interrupting my thoughts. I spin around. A woman stands behind me, armed with a trolley and a menacing look on her face. I glare at the women responsible, who just shrugs.

“I asked you three times to get the hell out of the way of the milk,” she snarls, her lip curling up. “You wouldn’t, so I helped you a long a little bit.”

“Gee thanks,” I snap, glaring after her as she stalks off.

I wait until she’s out of sight, and then I turn back to my phone.

What the hell is that…

My eyes widen. It’s me, in possibly the worst selfie I’ve ever taken, and I just sent it to Brix. I’ve barely had time to process what that means, when my message pops through. I stare at that little red notification in a panic. Now I’m really hoping his page is handled by minions. I hold my breath as I open the message.

Brix: Usually I get tit pics, but I welcome Demi Lovato impersonations too.

I stop abruptly to stare at the message, causing the woman behind me to walk into me. Jesus, what is it with this place?

“Watch where you’re going,” she snarls, overtaking me.

“Sorry,” I mutter, making a face at her as she walks off in a huff.

I tuck my phone away and push him out of my mind.

My head is way too fuzzy to be thinking about this right now.I arrive home, exhausted and feeling more worn out than if I’d gone to work in the first place. As I’m struggling to open the door with my mountain of bags, a hand reaches around me to open it for me. I turn, expecting to see Sasha, but I’m bitterly disappointed to find Sara standing there.

“Oh. Hey,” I say.

“You could sound a little happier to see me, you know,” she says, pretending to be hurt.

“This is as happy as it gets with you,” I say. “What do you want?”

“Can’t I just come by to say hi?” She peers past me and inside. I roll my eyes, because I know exactly what this is about.

“Bullshit. Just be honest. You’ve been speaking to Mom,” I accuse.

“She might have mentioned in passing that you had no room for me, because your ‘boyfriend’ had moved in.” She snorts. “Seriously, Hannah? Boyfriend? At least spin a believable web of lies.”

“You want to doubt me? Look inside. Have you ever known me to be so clean?” I ask.

She frowns and pushes past me, stepping inside, then she glances back at me. I bite back a grin, because suddenly she doesn’t look so sure that I’m lying.

“It was never this clean when we were here,” she concedes.

“Maybe if you’d done something other than treat it like a hotel, it might’ve been,” I snap.

“Hotel?” she snorts. “Two stars at best and only coz we’re family.”

I walk inside and shut the door with my foot. The shopping bags I’m still clutching hold of are really starting to restrict the blood flow to my hands. Sara follows me over to the kitchen, and leans against the counter, watching me as I unpack.