No Complaints - Page 4

Three dots appear, vanish, then appear again.

It’s fine. I get it. Stuff like this happens.

“No fucking way,” Autumn says.

There it is again, the subtle difference between us, the dark and the light. She drops the full F-bomb while I’ve always favored the less severe and probably way dorkier freaking.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you think it’s him? I knew I recognized that name. Jeff used to love boxing.”

Jeff is one of her ex-boyfriends. Another difference.

I’ve never been in a real relationship. Or anything close.

She turns her phone around showing me the screen.

My breath catches. My heart hammers.

My world suddenly feels smaller or more focused – like everything is aimed at this man, this stranger.

Ryland stares from the first photo, standing outside a gym, with big scissors in his hands as he cuts the ribbon for the opening ceremony of some building. He’s tall and wide, with silver hair, glinting eyes, and a body that makes me envision how he’d feel pressed right up against me.

But it’s more than his mouth-watering physical appearance. It’s the twitch in his smirk, as though he knows a secret and he only wants to tell me.

My thoughts rush by as I imagine him wrapping his arms around me, leaning down for a kiss, his smirk widening the closer he gets.

“It must be a pretty common name,” I say, doing my best to hide the sudden torrent of emotions and desire.

She gives me a playful nudge. “Ask him.”

“Autumn.”

“Go on before it’s too late.”

She has such a daring spirit, far more adventurous than me.

“I can’t,” I tell her. “What if my supervisor checks these messages?”

“You told me they only check them if there’s a complaint.”

“He might complain if I ask him a personal question.”

Autumn gets that adventurous glint in her eyes. It’s the way she looked before she dive-bombed into the school swimming pool while there was a swim meet, wearing her clothes, just for a thrill.

“Come on, sis.”

“Why?” I say, my tone is far too strained.

It’s like all the tightness is transmitting into my voice. At least she’s not aiming her phone at me anymore, making me look into his intense eyes and drink in the sight of his wide shoulders.

But I want to see him again, draw him close to me, lay my cheek against his firm chest, and listen to his heartbeat quicken.

But would it beat quicker for me?

No, never.

If he saw me…

“Have you got a crush on him?” I go on, voice rising.

She narrows her eyes. “No. He’s not my type. I prefer the tatted-and-strung-out look. You know that.”

I laugh, nodding, attempting to suppress the relief.

If I’m relieved, it means I’m stupidly hoping something could ever happen between me and this celebrity – this person I didn’t even know existed until a few moments ago.

And it might not even be the same one.

“Sorry.” Autumn stands, then reaches down to squeeze my shoulder. “I shouldn’t get involved in your work. I’ll wait.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, reaching up and touching her hand. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

She shakes her head as she leaves the room. “Already forgotten, sis.”

I turn back to the laptop to find another message.

Is there any way for me to live stream without my Wi-Fi?

A smile touches my lips. At least I can help with this.

Yes, you might be able to use your phone as a hotspot. Would you like me to walk you through it?

For the next several minutes, I explain how he can use his phone’s internet to connect to his laptop.

But then I’m left with nothing to say.

Autumn’s suggestion is bouncing around my head, tempting me to make the leap. Surely it couldn’t be that bad.

It’s not like, if he isn’t the Ryland Ross, people never ask him. I know nothing about boxing, but I’m guessing he’s famous in that world from Autumn's reaction.

I’m sorry, I type, my fingers moving before I give myself a chance to doubt myself. I hope this isn’t rude. But are you THE Ryland Ross, the boxer?

I sit back, interlocking my hands, as those infuriating three dots appear on the screen, vanish, and appear again.

I wonder what he’s typing. I wonder what he thinks of my picture.

The three dots vanish.

Isn’t he going to reply?

CHAPTER THREE

Ryland

My phone is on the arm of the chair, my fists clenched, as I warn myself to get my act together.

I typed out some insane goddamn messages just now.

I told her everything, the mess of swirling need that’s suddenly taken hold of me. I told her how badly I wanted to make her mine, that no other man gets to touch her, that she belongs to me, completely.

Rusty pads to the other side of the room, drinking from his dog bowl, then turns and looks at me with his head cocked. Whining, he walks over, nuzzling my leg.

“I know, boy,” I whisper. “I think I’m cracking up. What should I do, eh?”

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