Page 6 of Bad Enough

Self-confidence had never been a characteristic of Sylvan’s. Every day of her life had been one that either ripped apart what few feelings of success she began to build for herself or prevented any such feelings from forming. Her latest situation had pretty much destroyed her joy in her work. The only thing that seemed to keep her going was her chats with Master Lobo.

His arrival tonight had kept the panic attack at bay.

She curled even tighter against the bookcase headboard, staring at the laptop screen, silently begging him to say something.

After three minutes of nothing, bubbles began to appear, letting her know he was typing. Then they disappeared but immediately started back up.

LOBO: I’m sorry I didn’t have time to check in the last few days. We had some excitement here, and I had to focus.

FLAME: Are you ok?

LOBO: Worried for me, princess? Yeah, I’m fine.

LOBO: Another co-worker is, personally, in a tough spot, and we left a friend of his in a bit of a lurch. Hopefully, it will smooth itself out.

FLAME: How’s your friend’s butt? No more snakes, I hope.

LOBO: No more snakes.

LOBO: How did your writing go the past few days?

Smiling, she unconsciously uncurled from her protective position. He always asked. Like he actually cared. Even if it was just out of politeness or even as a means to move on to why they really chatted, she liked to think he actually cared. Foolish, perhaps, but she had so few people in her life.

Well, that’s a lie. You have thousands of fans who love your books and care about your stories.

FLAME: Not great. My deadline is looming, and while I’ve written, it feels like garbage.

FLAME: I can’t seem to think of any new ideas. I feel like I’m repeating what I’ve already written.

LOBO: Hmm.

LOBO: Have you been incorporating your research?

The writer’s block was odd. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have plenty of inspiration. Fantasy after fantasy of a mystery man who up and disappeared for days at a time.

FLAME: Yes, but it feels weird to write about the things you’ve told me about.

LOBO: I thought that was the whole point of this?

LOBO: You wanted to learn about BDSM so that you could write a book that was accurate.

FLAME: Yes, but…

She left the text hanging, unsure how to phrase what she wanted to say without giving away her silly crush.

LOBO: Yes, but what?

Jeepers, how do I get out of this?

LOBO: There’s no getting out of answering me.

“Yikes! How did he know what I was thinking?” She started to type a response. Erased it. Started again. Erased again. “Oh, Frankenstein! Why is this so difficult?” She bit her lip and scrunched up her face. “Oh, what the heck’um, just do it.”

FLAME: It’s begun to feel personal. Especially since you started texting me.

FLAME: It shouldn’t.

FLAME: You’re there, I’m here. It’s not like we’ll ever meet.

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