“Ugh.”
I step backward, mentally shaking myself off.
“You should go answer that,” Max says. “Could be important.”
“Right,” I say, sucking in air through my teeth as I turn and rush into the house. My agent’s name lights up my phone screen. Oh wow. It really is important.
“Hello?” I answer, barely able to hear my own voice over the rush of my beating heart.
“Julie, I have fantastic news,” she says. “Sorry to call late, but it’s a big deal. Clark TV wants to interview you about your new book series!”
“Oh, wow!” I lean against the wall in my bedroom for support. “Seriously?”
Clark TV is the biggest entertainment channel. They have the number one entertainment podcast and cable show. This is big. This is huge.
“Yep. They’re sending a camera crew out and you’ll be interviewed by Zoey herself!”
“Sending a camera crew where?” I ask.
“To your address! How cool is that? You don’t even have to go anywhere.”
“Oh…”
“Make sure you play up the single thing,” my agent cheerfully drones on. “They love how you went from romantic to fierce single woman.”
Yep. Fierce single woman.
That’s me.
Eight
“I’m gonna throw up.”I grab my stomach and lean against the kitchen counter. It’s been five minutes since the call with my agent and I’m in full panic attack mode. The delicious Monte Cristo sandwich I had at the diner threatens to come right back up, and I have a suspicion it won’t be so delicious this time around. I grit my teeth and try to breathe, but it feels like hyperventilating instead of breathing.
Max’s hand touches my back. “Julie?”
“I’m fine,” I squeak out, pushing away from him and scurrying to my room. I fall on my bed and drag in air through my teeth. The nausea isn’t real—I’m not truly sick, but anxious and panicky and—
Holy crap did I kiss Max?
I roll onto my back and cover my hands with my face. My cheeks are hot. My heart is pounding. I lay like this for a long time, or maybe no time at all. How am I supposed to know? I’m too busy freaking out!
The next thing I know I’m waking up to the morning sunlight filtering in through my window. I’m still wearing the clothes I wore to dinner last night, which means my face is also sporting day-old makeup. Ew. My bladder screams at me to go pee, but peeing means leaving my room and leaving my room means facing Max and facing Max means remembering how I kissed him.
And I shouldn’t be kissing anybody. Not anymore, and never again.
I am an independent woman who does not make her money on romance novels anymore.
Oh gosh, my bladder does not care about my personal problems. Unless I want to completely humiliate myself by having some kind of accident like a toddler, I have to get up and face the music.
On my tiptoes, I prance my way to the door. This house is so new to me that I haven’t memorized which floorboards are squeaky and which will let me sneak around unnoticed. I make it to the hallway, and around my boxes of junk, without making a sound. I can’t hear Max’s tools or music, so hopefully he’s still asleep.
Once I’m in the bathroom, I pee like I’ve never peed in my entire life, and then I try to figure out where I go from here. I could cancel the TV interview, but that would be the dumbest career choice I’ve ever made. You can’t just turn down Clark TV.
I wash my hands and then brush my teeth. I really need a shower, but I’m too frazzled for that much hygiene so early in the morning. The only thing that would be more draining than a shower right now would be talking to Max.
I dry my hands on the bathroom towel and then open the door.
“Morning!”
