No Complaints - Page 7

I want to disappear into the bed, have it swallow me up so I can just sleep, and I don’t have to think about this.

Our messages weren’t flirty, fine, but they were something. He asked my age, which might mean he was…

That’s where my thoughts slam into a brick wall. A brick wall full of dynamite that explodes on impact.

He wasn’t asking my age because he was attracted to me.

He doesn’t care about me.

“He ended the chat,” I whisper, trying to convince myself to let this go.

I’m not a little kid anymore, falling into flights of fancy. I used to dream a talent scout would hear me singing on my way home from school and whisk me away into the world of music, my career skyrocketing instantly, but that isn’t how life works.

I sing at open mic cafés and any other place that will take me. For no money. With Autumn and maybe three other people in the audience.

It could be the start of something, but life isn’t a fairytale.

Just like my connection with Ryland could possibly be fabricated. It appears to have been one-sided.

He felt nothing. None of the teasing desire that won’t stop whispering to me, telling me he’s going to find me or I need to figure out a way to find him.

And really, that’s the most obvious statement I could ever make.

What are the chances Ryland freaking Ross, a celebrity, probably a millionaire, the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, wants me… and all because we spoke on an internet chat service for a few minutes?

I need to get my act together.

A few song notes escape me, the way they used to when I was a kid and I couldn’t sleep. I’d lie in bed, not caring that the airflow was terrible from a lying position, simply enjoying the act of letting the notes flutter into the air. I never cared if they sounded good or if anybody else wanted to listen.

It was an escape.

But now, there’s no way to avoid Ryland. His image rises in my mind, taking ownership of my attention, making me wonder what it would be like to drag my fingernails down his chest, to dig them in and feel how rock-solid he is.

Groaning, I roll over, closing my eyes tightly. I’m working tomorrow morning for a twelve-hour shift.

Still, at least I don’t have to head into an office someplace, doing a job I hate.

Sure, I do hate this job. At least, I don’t exactly like it. But as a money-making arrangement, I consider myself lucky.

It gives me time to practice my singing, write songs in between talking with customers, and I don’t have to deal with office politics or any of that awkwardness.

Who knows? Maybe Ryland will have internet problems again.

In the deepest part of my longing, I envision Ryland walking around his apartment, shirtless, his muscles heaving as he tries to work out a way to reconnect with me. I imagine him starting another chat in the hopes of getting me as his advisor, staring down at the phone with his intense eyes, willing me to appear.

Even if he did this – which he never would, let’s face it – what are the chances he’d get me?

I think we have about one hundred online chat advisors in the state working for us, which means the chances wouldn’t be that bad… if he consistently used the online chat service until we reconnected.

But why would he do that?

With another groan, I sit up and rub my eyes. My body and my mind feel tired as if sleep is beckoning, but any time I come close to falling gratefully into it, images of Ryland jolt me awake.

My thoughts are traveling to ludicrous places.

I see Ryland sitting up in bed on a Sunday morning, his silver hair matted, his lips curved into a smile just for me… and our children, who come charging into the room, all of them laughing and happy as they clamber onto the bed. Ryland wrestles with them, my perfect man, my perfect husband, the best father to our children….

Pushing that insanity away, I forcibly tell myself to let this go.

I have to let it go.

Any other choice will only lead to me going crazy. If I let myself obsess about this man – especially all that stuff about a future, a family – I’ll only be disappointed.

I didn’t even know he existed until a little while ago – a few hours.

What the heck is wrong with me?

Maybe Autumn will be able to give me some advice.

But I’ve always sensed my sister views my behavior toward men – and boys back in high school – as a little tragic. Or a little pathetic, not that she’d ever phrase it in those terms.

It’s the way she looks at me whenever the topic comes up when I tell her no man will ever be attracted to me. It’s not as though I’m inventing that out of nothing.

Tags: Flora Ferrari Romance
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