Work sucked, but work always sucked. Her boss was always onto her lately, but they needed her. She’d be fine. She’d be written up for not being available, maybe, and get lectured, but she’d skate through. She always did.
The part that was causing the real pit in her stomach was Excelsior, and Sigmund.
Most of her guild wouldn’t care that she hadn’t been on. It wasn’t like she was forced to be online all the time. If she was, great. She could help them run dungeons. If she wasn’t, no big deal.
But Sigmund would have noticed.
She hadn’t checked email since meeting up with Loch. She’d ignored the texts that Sigmund sent her. And she sure hadn’t logged on to Excelsior, not when she was being (oh so delightfully) sexed six ways to Sunday. Time to pay the piper, though. Mentally steeling herself, Taylor checked her phone. Text message after text message appeared, and she winced, flipping through them. Each one was Sigmund frantically worrying about her. How it wasn’t like her to not show up online. Asking her to send him a line if she was all right. A lot of the messages were repeated, as if he wanted to make sure he was getting through to her, or in case she hadn’t received it the last six times he’d sent it.
Oy.
She clicked through all the messages by the time she’d walked back to her apartment, and immediately sat down and pulled up her email. All of last night’s enjoyment and pleasure was gone, replaced by nagging guilt. What if this was what sent Sigmund’s fragile mind over the edge? She’d never be able to live with it if he hurt himself over her. The unhappy feeling twisted in her gut as she pulled up her email program and read the messages he’d sent her. Each one was more miserable than the last.
With a sense of dread, she logged on to Excelsior, her character appearing in the realm. Brilliant green trees and a verdant forest surrounded her Dragon Rider, and another character zoomed past the spot she was standing in. Her character was logged on to Kraaka Village, which was weird considering she could have sworn she’d logged off in Cityport. Maybe there’d been a global reset of the realm that she was unaware of. Curious, she scrolled through her Message of the Day.
You have 198 days played and last logged on 6 hours ago.
Er. Six hours ago, she was pretty sure Loch was filling up condom number two while inside her. She squeezed her thighs together at the thought. Bad Taylor. Don’t think about hot guy you just bailed out on. You have other problems. No time for nookie. Playtime is over. Shame, too, because she’d loved playtime.
Sigmund: Hi
Immediately, she tensed. She hated that she felt so anxious the moment Sigmund contacted her, but she didn’t know what to do about him.
Sigmund: Before you ask, I logged on as you a few hours ago just to make sure your account was working. I got Esme to give me the password.
Esme was their guild healer, and had Taylor’s password only for emergencies. Now that Sigmund had it? She made a mental note to change it immediately.
HaveANiceTay: Okay, thanks. Yeah, everything is working.
Sigmund: Are you okay?
Sigmund: Where have you been?
Sigmund: I’ve been worried sick!
HaveANiceTay: Something came up and I had to be away for a day or so. Sorry.
Sigmund: What came up?
Sigmund: Are you all right?
Sigmund: Were you sick?
HaveANiceTay: Not sick, just . . . a friend came into town. Remember I told you about that?
Sigmund: Yeah but you said you’d be online last night and you weren’t.
Sigmund: And some of the guys from Liege of Darkness said they saw you at the pub with a guy.
Sigmund: Were you on a date???
Oh, boy. She made a mental note to slaughter any Liege of Darkness characters she ran across in the next player-vs-player event.
HaveANiceTay: Not a date. He’s new to the States and he needed company. A friend asked me to show him around the city.
Sigmund: Sounds like a date to me.
Well, it had definitely turned into a date, complete with massive amounts of sex. Taylor’s toes curled at the thought. Still, she couldn’t exactly say that to Sigmund, since he’d formed a rather obsessive attachment over her.
HaveANiceTay: Wasn’t a date. You gonna believe me or them?
And because she wasn’t laying the guilt on thick enough, she added:
HaveANiceTay: I thought we were better friends than that.
She crossed her arms and stared at her screen, waiting. Please, please believe me. He was totally going to lose control if he didn’t, and then she didn’t know what she’d do. The thought of spending the next eight hours encouraging him not to hurt himself made her want to run away from her computer screaming. But she couldn’t. She was trapped, a captive audience, held prisoner by his threats to wound himself or do something drastic if she left.
Sigmund: Okay. Sorry. Guess I’m just panicking.
Taylor let out a long breath.
HaveANiceTay: No big deal.
Sigmund: I just worried.
HaveANiceTay: I know. I was out late because he was super clueless and then I just went straight to bed. Sorry about missing the raid.
Sigmund: You’d tell me if you were dating someone, wouldn’t you?
HaveANiceTay: Does it matter if I am? We’re just friends, Sigmund. I’ve told you before—I am not involved with anyone. Still not. I’m not looking for a relationship.
Sigmund: Not even . . . with me?
Dear god, especially not you! But the good thing about the Internet was that it made it easier to soft-pedal things and make them sound not quite so harsh.
HaveANiceTay: Not even with you. :)
Sigmund: And not the guy you were with?
HaveANiceTay: We’re just friends, I promise. He’s not looking for a relationship and neither am I.
Now, a fiercely sexy hookup, that was different. Taylor looked over at her bed, still rumpled from last night’s fun. She wondered: If she put her nose to the pillows, would they smell like Loch’s wonderful musky scent? Her thighs tightened again.
Sigmund: Is it weird that I’m glad to hear that?
HaveANiceTay: I’ve got too much going on. Work’s a beast and the guild takes up all my time.
HaveANiceTay: I barely get out of the house as it is!
Sigmund: Heh.
This conversation was going a lot better than she’d anticipated. The awful tension in her shoulders relaxed a little and she decided to send the message home:
HaveANiceTay: Even if I miss a day online, it doesn’t mean you should freak out and send me a million text messages or hack my account, okay? That’s starting to freak me out.
There was a long pause, so long that the hackles raised on the back of Taylor’s neck. Maybe she’d pushed too far. Maybe scolding Sigmund for being a cyberstalker wasn’t the smartest move, but damn it, she was low on moves.
Sigmund: It’s just that . . . you’re my best friend.
Sigmund: My ONLY friend.
Sigmund: I almost hurt myself last night.
Sigmund: I kept worrying I’d said something to piss you off.
Sigmund: And it made me so upset that I went in the kitchen and grabbed a knife.
Sigmund: I tried to remember which way you’re supposed to cut your wrists to make it the most effective.
Sigmund: But then I chickened out.
Taylor sucked in a breath, hot tears of frustration and panic rushing to her eyes. She pressed her fingers to her temples. She was normally a happy person, but Sigmund was making her a nervous wreck.
HaveANiceTay: You can’t hurt yourself just because I’m not online for ONE DAY. Jesus, Sig.
HaveANiceTay: You can’t be so drastic.
Sigmund: I know.
Sigmund: But the despair just gets so bad . . . and I love y
ou so much.
Sigmund: As friends, don’t worry.
Sigmund: Love as friends.
Sigmund: And I just panicked. I’m sorry.
HaveANiceTay: This doesn’t make me feel any better!
Sigmund: I’m sorry.
Sigmund: If it helps, I decided a knife wouldn’t be the way to go. Too messy. I’d do pills.
HaveANiceTay: This is still not helping. You can’t kill yourself, Sigmund. Please. Do you have anyone you can talk to? Family? A psychologist? A roommate? Someone?
Sigmund: I’m talking to you, aren’t I?
She wanted to throw up. He was talking to her, all right, but she wasn’t equipped to handle this. She didn’t know what to do . . . other than be online with him.
HaveANiceTay: Just promise me you won’t do anything to yourself, all right?
Sigmund: I can’t make that promise.
Sigmund: But I promise I won’t do anything without talking to you first.
Sigmund: Hey, a group’s running to Darkest Citadel in a few. Want to join them?
HaveANiceTay: Sure. Let me grab this work call and then I’ll join you. AFK.
She flagged her character as “away from computer” and then pushed her chair away from her tiny corner desk. There was no work call, but Sig wouldn’t know that. She just . . . needed a few minutes. She wanted to run away. She wanted to delete her account and never look back, but that would just push Sig over the edge, wouldn’t it?
Frustrated and full of anxiety, Taylor flung herself onto her bed and hugged her pillow.
It did smell like Loch.
A helpless little sob escaped her throat and she buried her face in the pillow and let herself cry for a few minutes before she had to be online again.
Chapter Seven
Every morning, Loch left his posh Park Avenue hotel and went jogging in Central Park.
On Monday, Loch had a meeting with the local Bellissime ambassadors.
On Wednesday, he had a charity photo op. He showed up, shook hands, and smiled for pictures.
On Thursday, he checked out the local polo club.
Other than that, he was completely and utterly bored stiff and had entirely too much time on his hands. He swam laps in the pool. Went riding. Ate out for his meals. Did more jogging. Watched a few football matches on television.
It was fucking dreadfully boring. He’d made a few acquaintances, and the chaps at the polo club seemed nice enough . . . and yet. Everyone either thought he was British, which was annoying to constantly explain, or they looked at him like he was a walking, talking wallet. They asked him if he knew Prince William or Duchess Kate. They asked him if he hung out with Prince Harry. They joked and asked if he’d been to Hogwarts. A few of the women at the polo club had looked at him like they’d wanted to devour him whole, but instead of being intriguing, it was just . . . irritating. To those women he wasn’t an easygoing man who happened to have a title and some family connections. He was a status symbol of some kind, or worse yet, an oddity.
And he was prey, which was alarming. They’d sidled up to him, asked him to buy them drinks, and then dropped veiled hints, asking about his family and what he did for a living. It took about three questions before he realized they were trying to suss out just how much money he had.
Joke was on them—Loch had no clue how much money he had. He’d not gone back to the polo club after that. He’d rather be bored and watch football—or soccer as they called it here—on television, than feel like an outcast or hunted animal.
It was a damn odd feeling for him.
After a week of this, though, he was feeling isolated and restless, and resentful of the situation at home that kept him here. Damn separatists.
He’d called and texted Taylor a few times during the week, but he’d never gotten anywhere with her. Each time she was sincerely apologetic, and funny, and sweet, but she didn’t have time. She was on call, or she was on a raid, or she was working late . . . any number of excuses. Her life was simply too busy to put aside time to entertain him.
And it was a shame, because she was the most entertaining thing in the States so far. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her happy, playful laugh, her bizarre clothing and her enthusiasm. Her uninhibited excitement in bed. Sex with her had been amazing. Couple that in with the fact that she was blowing him off? She was a mystery and one he wanted to explore a bit more . . . if she’d give him the chance.
So he picked up his phone again on Friday and tried again.
It went to voice mail three times and each time he hung up. No texts, because texts were too easy to ignore. He’d been texting her all week and now he wanted to talk to her and not give her the chance to brush him off.
On the fourth try, it went through. Her light voice came on the line. “Tech Support level two, how can I help?”
“Yes,” he said. “I can’t figure out how to turn my computer on.”
There was a long pause, then a giggle that made his cock ache. “Loch?”
“Hi there.”
“I’m working, sorry. I didn’t realize it was a personal call.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “How are you?”
“Bored witless. You?”
She gave a little sigh. “Busy. Work has been a nightmare this week. I picked up an extra shift because my boss was pressing on me hard, but it’s eating up all my time.” The happiness in her voice was gone, replaced by stress.
“You should go out to lunch with me, then.”
“I can’t. I’m on call. I have to stay here and work.”
“Dinner, then?”
“I’m on call until midnight.”
“I can be over there at midnight,” he said, keeping his voice smooth. “Then we can grab a bite to eat somewhere. Someone’s got to be open that late, right? This is a big city.”
Her little sigh was unhappy. “I wish I could, but I’m just going to go to sleep at that point. I’m sorry, I’m not a very fun girl. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t have time for much of anything.”
“I know, but you can’t blame me for trying. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow night’s the raid, and after last week, I truly can’t miss it.”
“Mmm, well, that’s a shame.” She was blowing him off for a computer game. It stung his ego. “Want to hook up for some filthy, no-strings-attached sex after your raid? I can come over there.”
She giggled again. “I’d better not. I do appreciate the offer, though.”
Damn, there was no breaking down her defenses. “All right, then. Well, if you want to get together, you have my number.”
“I do,” she said cheerfully. “I’m sorry, Loch. My life is just crazy hectic right now. You understand, right?”
“Of course.” He mumbled something about her having a good day and then hung up, frustrated. Normally women fell into his lap. The one time he was the one pursuing? He couldn’t get her to leave her damned apartment.
He stared down at his phone, thinking. Actually, she did leave her apartment at least once a week—for the party thing she mentioned on Saturday nights at the pub. Odds were good that if he went there, she’d be there.
Looked like he had plans for the weekend after all.
***
Taylor was not looking forward to the LAN party.
Saturday nights were supposed to be fun. It was supposed to be the time where she could unwind after spending a rough week in the tech-support mines. She’d worked two extra shifts, was on call for overnights, and had somehow managed to play her character daily so Sigmund wouldn’t freak out. Now it was the weekend, and instead of being a relief from stress, it was just more stress. She didn’t want to go to the LAN party. If she did, it’d mean socializing for hours on end. They’d run an instanced raid available only on the LAN, and then they’d run a guild raid after the fact. She’d be out
until three in the morning, at the very least, when all she wanted to do was sleep.
But if she didn’t go, Sigmund would suspect she was out on a date again, and he’d been on edge all week.
Irony of ironies? She really wanted to go out with Loch again but had to turn him down. She was still thinking about—okay obsessing over—the one-night stand they’d had, and the fact that he’d called and texted her this week to get together again. She’d have loved to say yes, but every time she thought about it, she remembered Sigmund. Sigmund, who threatened to hurt himself on a daily basis.
She felt trapped. All the joy in Excelsior had been sucked out long ago, and now she felt obligated to play, and obligated to spend time with Sigmund, when all she really wanted to do was call Loch and tell him that she wanted him. Hell, she’d even have considered jogging, and she didn’t sweat for just any man.
But as long as Sigmund was pulling the strings on her day-to-day life, just the thought of trying to add another person into her day made her stressed out. Loch would just forever exist as the one-night-stand-of-awesome.
Shame.
She stuffed her hair into her favorite newsboy cap, put on a T-shirt, jeans, her Doctor Who scarf, and grabbed her laptop. She had to go. It won’t be too miserable, Tay-Tay, she told herself. You’ll have fun once you’re there. You can relax when you get home. You love your guild. You enjoy the game.
Funny how the pep talk was getting tougher every time she had to give it.
Taylor slung her laptop bag over her shoulder and headed out the door. The walk to the pub was an easy one, and she stopped to grab herself a bolstering iced coffee before she got there, because she was dragging, both mentally and physically.
She ran into a few of the guys on the street and chatted as they hauled their computer equipment along. “Hey, Taylor,” Nate said, waving at her. He was with Crispin and Geoff. “You excited for the raid?”