Billionaire on the Loose by Jessica Clare

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 you 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