Confessions of an Ugly Girl Read Online Free Page A

ten.”
    Ten o’clock ? Was he kidding me? I can’t do anything without my computer. I’ve got a report due for a big company that recently acquired a life insurance firm. I don’t have an hour to spend twiddling my thumbs
    Sam noticed the expression on my face. “Okay, how about 9:30?” he said.
    Okay, 9:30 wouldn’t be too terrible. “Deal,” I agreed.
    Now Sam’s coming back tomorrow at 9:30 and I’m going to finally get my damned computer working again. I hope.
    Donna and I got drinks after work and we laughed about how we’d both been ogling Sam. It’s funny the way things work out. Oh well.
     
     
    July 17:
     
    I got to work on the late side this morning because I knew Sam wasn’t showing up till 9:30 and I was completely stuck without my computer. I arrived at a quarter past nine, but Sam was nowhere in sight, so I got about three cups of coffee to kill time. Because I’m an idiot, it didn’t occur to me that all that coffee would make me have to pee like crazy, but I was afraid to move because I didn’t want to miss Sam.
    Thank God, he arrived at 9:25. He looked out of breath and I felt bad for making him race over here. For all I knew, he had a heart condition. Obviously, there was something seriously wrong with him.
    “I came as fast as I could,” he said.
    “Thanks,” I said.
    I noticed he had something on his lap and it turned out to be a little toolbox. I had a sinking feeling. “What are you going to do with those?”
    “Three guesses.” Sam started unscrewing the cover of my CPU.
    I watched him for a few minutes. The screwdriver he was using wasn’t the plain and simple kind I have tucked away in my drawer at home in case of a screw emergency. It was some sort of power screwdriver that seemed to rotate the screw automatically, which I guess he used because he didn’t have full use of his hands. It still seemed like it wasn’t so easy for him. I felt guilty that I was just watching him struggle when I had two perfectly good hands.
    “Do you need any help?” I asked.
    “Sure,” Sam said. He handed me a regular screwdriver, which he somehow wedged in his fingers. “I could always use a little helper.”
    Okay, so now the embarrassing part: Sam had the whole damn thing unscrewed before I even got my one screw out. I have no idea how I managed to be so incompetent or how he managed to be so fast. So much for my plan of being a ringer in the Special Olympics.
    “So I’m guessing woodshop wasn’t your specialty in school,” Sam commented, grinning at me.
    “I chose to focus on more important things in school,” I replied. But I was smiling too. Even though I still felt awkward, I was getting used to the fact that Sam was in a wheelchair. He seemed like a pretty nice guy, and I didn’t mind him flirting with me, even though it obviously didn’t mean anything.
    As Sam opened the panel on my hard drive, a puff of dust blew out. I sneezed loudly, and thanks to my overfilled bladder, I nearly peed in my pants. “Do you mind if I run to the bathroom?” I asked, desperately hoping he wouldn’t mind.
    “Permission for bathroom break granted ,” Sam said with a wink.   
    The situation was pretty dire right now, but I managed to not break into a jog until I was out of the room. My bladder was so full that emptying it was practically orgasmic (you know what I’m talking about). I felt a lot better after that, but I wasn’t in any hurry to race back, so I lingered by the mirror.
    I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a pretty girl looking at yourself in the mirror. It must be nice. Whenever I look in the mirror, it’s just damage control like picking dandruff out of my hair or making sure there isn’t spinach in my teeth. I never have good hair days. I only have “not awful” hair days.
    I don’t like to stare too long at the mirror in a public place though. I don’t want someone to come in and God forbid, think I’m admiring myself. I don’t want people to think I’m