My mind gallops ahead, trying to figure out a way I can work the conversation toward non-internet-related topics.
If I started trying to smooth talk her – which I’ve never been good at anyway, not that I’ve tried much – she’d think I was just some creep.
Maybe that’s what I’m being. This perfect young thing has no clue who I am.
But… dammit, I need her. There’s no other way to frame it. She’s mine.
A thought occurs to me. Maybe she has a boyfriend.
Unfair jealousy slams into me, causing my fist to clench and the skin across my knuckles to pull taut.
I’ve got no right to be jealous of a stranger’s boyfriend. I get that.
But the truth is, I am. It hurts just thinking about it.
CHAPTER TWO
Rachel
I sit cross-legged on my bed, humming softly to myself as I input the customer’s details. Music plays in the background – no lyrics, just tunes I can vibe to – and a car horn blares in the distance.
I don’t look around my bedroom at the discolored walls, the faded carpet, or the general misery of it all.
In a weird way, I sort of wish I had to go into an office just so I could get out of here. But I save money on commuting and other travel expenses, so it’s a win… not that this cable company pays well anyway.
A cringe twists through me when my gaze flits to my customer advisor photo. Of course, it was part of the job, a way to make us seem ‘more real,’ whatever the heck that means.
The picture was taken a few weeks ago, on my twenty-first birthday, Autumn insisting I looked great.
I love my big sister with all my heart, but I really wish she’d told me we were going to watch a musical.
The surprise was great, and I’ll always be thankful for it. But I can’t deny I look frumpy in the photo.
Oh, well. It’s not like Ryland Ross cares. He just wants his internet connection fixed. I hope he doesn’t turn nasty like customers sometimes do.
After inputting his details, I read the message on the status screen.
A note of anxiety runs through me, making me feel weak and pathetic. It’s not like I’m one of the phone operators functioning as the verbal punching bags for the outraged customers. Instead, I get to hide behind my computer screen.
But it doesn’t change the fact that this Ryland, whoever he is, will be annoyed that there are unannounced disruptions in his area.
I’m sorry, sir, I type. It seems your internet will be down for the next two days. Our system has been experiencing disruptions, and our team is working hard to resolve them. Right now, two days is the best estimate, but hopefully, it will be shorter.
I bite my lip as three dots appear on the chat screen, telling me Ryland is typing.
Autumn pokes her head around the door to my bedroom, my big sister arches her eyebrow. She’s eight years older than me, built on the thinner side, with dyed black hair and several piercings in each ear. Her arms are covered in tattoos, spiders, dark quotes, and a curling snake, along with some other images.
She sometimes jokes that we dealt with our parents’ deaths in completely opposite ways.
She turned dark, spending her late teenage years obsessed with all things macabre, whereas I threw myself into singing love songs and disappearing into dreams of romance.
“Hungry?” she asks.
I nod. “My shift ends in twenty minutes. I’ll grab a bite then?”
She smiles, walking into the room and adjusting her heavy-metal T-shirt. “The thing is, little sis, I’m hungry and bored. So I might just bother you for a little while.”
I laugh. “Bother away.”
“Who’s this hunk?” she says, striding over to the bed, gesturing at the laptop screen.
I laugh again. One of her running jokes is that I’m not really an online advisor for a cable company. Secretly, I’m running a sex hotline.
It’s one of those jokes that could only be funny coming from my big sister because I know she’d never be mean, never mock me. She’s just having fun.
“Ryland Ross,” I say. “Add him to your list.”
“My list?”
“What?” I grin. “You’re telling me you don’t keep a list of all the eligible bachelors I talk to?”
Autumn drops onto the bed next to me as my laptop pings.
I turn to it, reading his message.
Okay, then.
“Wow,” Autumn says, looking over my shoulder. “No cussing? No outrage? No complaints? This Ryland guy must be a real saint….”
“What?” I ask when she trails off, her voice getting lower.
“I just… Ryland Ross?” she hums.
“Yep, that’s what it says. Why?”
She takes out her phone. “Hang on.”
I type a message of my own as she taps away – I’ve got no idea what she’s doing.
I’m very sorry for the inconvenience, sir. I know we’ve put you in a difficult position.