It's a Fugly Life (Fugly #2)(15)

“I’m going to take a shower.” A cold one. I got off the couch and scurried to the bathroom. I closed the door and pressed my back to it, wincing. Honestly, I needed to get out of here, maybe go to my brother’s apartment. My parents’ house was not an option because my mother and father were serial worriers. They freaked out whenever I wasn’t smiling. “What’s wrong? Something’s wrong. What happened?” My mother’s face would turn pale and my father’s would go red. I suspected their overprotective, worrying nature stemmed from feeling guilty that they’d brought me into the world with an extremely ugly face, making life a bit hard. As for my brother, he was born with a rare spinal deformation and was wheelchair bound, which still evoked heavy doses of daily worrying from my parents despite his very good health, intelligence, and capable body. He was Mr. Independence.

I slipped my cell from my pocket and dialed my brother to leave a message. He’d be at work right now, teaching math over at the elementary school. “Hey, John. It’s me. Can you leave your house key for me at your front office? I need a place to hide today—a long and wonderful story I’ll share with you later. Love you, bye.” I hung up, feeling kind of green.

Okay. The orange juice had not been such a great idea. I scrambled for the toilet and threw up.

“Lily?” Max’s voice projected from the now open doorway.

“Go away!” I swiped my hand through the air to shoo him out.

“This is the third time I’ve seen you get sick since I got here.”

I groaned with my head over the toilet. “Go…I’m fine.”

Max grumbled and left the bathroom. I pried myself from the floor, shut the door again, and started the shower, taking time to use the entire miniature bottle of complimentary mouthwash to remove the foul taste.

After rinsing the sweat from my morning run, my mind settled back to Patricio. I needed to call him. I needed to tell him what a piece of lying garbage he was. He had to know by now that I’d seen the photos.

I finished the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and peeked out the door. “Do you have a robe I could borrow?”

Max stood next to the dining table, texting away with a huge frown on his face—lips in a hard line, brows pushed together.

“Max?”

He looked up and his eyes set on me and my towel-encased body. A lust-crazed yearning burned in his eyes.

“Max? Robe.”

“My apologies. Seeing you all wet like that brings back very nice memories.”

“I just threw up and my almost fiancé cheated on me. Maybe you can put a hold on the sexual commentary.”

Max stared for a moment. “Doubtful. Being near you makes me think about very sexual things.”

I felt the same thing, too, which only made me more confused. How could I feel heartbroken over Patricio and lust after Max at the same time?

Max walked into the bedroom and brought out a fluffy white robe for me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” I grabbed it, closed the door, and then slid it on. I wrapped my long blonde hair in my towel and then went back out to await some clothing and a call or text back from my brother.

“So,” Max said, watching me walk back over to the couch, “I had the hotel recommend a doctor nearby.”

“I have a doctor.” She’d been my physician since I was ten, and she’d already seen me a few times over the past months. I was stressed out and overworking myself. Plain and simple.

“Then you should make an appointment.”

“I don’t need to see her. I know exactly what’s wrong with me.” An unfaithful boyfriend and an ex I still burned for but couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t be with.

Max stared for a moment and then, as if a switch flipped, he turned ice cold—rigid posture, emotional void in his stunning hazel eyes.

“What?”

He blinked. “Nothing.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like…” His eyes shifted from side to side. “What?”

“Like a unicorn landed on my head.”

“I have no clue what you mean.”

He’s lying. I could see it on his face. I physically felt him withdraw from the room despite him still standing in front of me.

Before I could push him further, my phone beeped and the doorbell buzzed.

“Excuse me.” Max turned away to answer, and I grabbed my cell from my pocket. It was a text from my brother.

John: The f*cking *! I’ll kill him.

Me: Be my guest. Did you leave the key?

John: I’m not letting anyone run you out of your home. I’ll meet you at your place in ten.

What? No. There were reporter-parasites waiting.

Me: Just leave me a key, and we’ll catch up later.

I waited for a reply, but it didn’t come.

Me: ????

Nothing.

“Dammit,” I whispered.

Max appeared with two pairs of shorts—pink and black—and a few small T-shirts draped over his arm. “Sorry. They didn’t have large.”

I frowned with confusion. I was a size six. Today, I could possibly squeeze into a four. No, I wasn’t obsessed with my weight, but I had a naturally thin frame and obsessed over running. Like I said, having the face of the elephant girl left me with few advantages to exploit: intelligence, personality, body, and hair.